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Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 10

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Title: Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 10

Compiler: John Mackay Wilson

Editor: Alexander Leighton


        
Release date: October 27, 2010 [eBook #34148]
                Most recently updated: January 7, 2021

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILSON'S TALES OF THE BORDERS AND OF SCOTLAND, VOLUME 10 ***




Produced by David Clarke, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net









                     WILSON'S TALES OF THE BORDERS

                            AND OF SCOTLAND.

                HISTORICAL, TRADITIONARY, & IMAGINATIVE.

                            WITH A GLOSSARY.

                               REVISED BY

                           ALEXANDER LEIGHTON

              ONE OF THE ORIGINAL EDITORS AND CONTRIBUTORS.


VOL. X.

LONDON:

WALTER SCOTT, 14 PATERNOSTER SQUARE

AND NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE.

1885.




CONTENTS.


THE FIRST-FOOT, _(JOHN MACKAY WILSON)_

THE ROMANCE OF THE SIEGE OF PERTH, _(ALEXANDER LEIGHTON)_

THE PROFESSOR'S TALES, _(PROFESSOR THOMAS GILLESPIE)_

    PEAT-CASTING TIME
    THE MEDAL

THE MEETING AT ST BOSWELL'S, _(OLIVER RICHARDSON)_

THE STORY OF MAY DARLING, _(JOHN FRANCIS SMITH)_

I CANNA BE FASHED; OR, WILLIE GRANT'S CONFESSIONS, _(JOHN MACKAY
WILSON)_

TALES OF THE EAST NEUK OF FIFE, _(MATTHEW FORSTER CONOLLY)_

        THE CASTLE OF CRAIL; OR, KING DAVID AND MAUDE
        THE LEGEND OF THE CHURCH OF ABERCROMBIE
        THE ROMANCE OF THE MAY

CALEB CRABBIN, _(ALEXANDER LEIGHTON)_

THE SERJEANT'S TALES, _(JOHN HOWELL)_

        THE IMPRUDENT MARRIAGE

THE BEWILDERED STUDENT, _(JOHN BETHUNE)_

THE CROOKED COMYN, _(ALEXANDER LEIGHTON)_




WILSON'S TALES OF THE BORDERS, AND OF SCOTLAND.




THE FIRST-FOOT.


Notwithstanding the shortness of their days, the bitterness of their
frosts, and the fury of their storms, December and January are merry
months. First comes old Christmas, shaking his hoary locks, belike, in
the shape of snow-drift, and laughing, well-pleased, beneath his crown
of mistletoe, over the smoking sirloin and the savoury goose. There is
not a child on the south side of the Borders who longs not for the
coming of merry Christmas: it is their holiday of holidays, their season
of play and of presents; and old and young shake hands with Christmas,
and with each other. And even on the northern side of "the river," and
"the ideal line by fancy drawn," which "divide the sister kingdoms,"
there are thousands who welcome and forget not "blithe Yule Day." Next
comes the New Year--the bottle, the hot pint, and the _first-foot_--and
we might notice, also, Hansel Monday, and "Auld Hansel Monanday," which
follow in their wake, and keep up the merriment till the back of January
is broken. But our business at present is with the _first-foot_, and we
must hold. It matters not on what side of the Borders it may be--and
northward the feeling extends far beyond the Borders--there is a
mysterious, an ominous importance attached to the individual who first
crosses the threshold, after the clock has struck twelve at midnight, on
the 31st of December, or who is the _first-foot_ in a house after the
New Year has begun. The _first-foot_ stamps the "luck" of the house--the
good fortune or the evil fortune of its inmates throughout the year! But
to begin with our story. There was not a person on all the Borders, nor
yet in all Scotland, who attached more importance to the first-foot than
Nelly Rogers. Nelly was a very worthy, kind-hearted, yea, even sensible
sort of woman; but a vein of superstition ran through her sense: she had
imbibed a variety of "auld-warld notions" in infancy, and, as she grew
up, they became a part of her creed. She did not exactly believe that
ghosts and apparitions existed in her day, but she was perfectly sure
they _had_ existed, and _had_ been seen; she was sure, also, there was
something in dreams, and she was positive there was a great deal in the
luckiness or unluckiness of a first-foot; she had remarked it in her own
experience thirty times, and, she said, "it was o' nae use attempting to
argue her out o' what she had observed hersel." Nelly was the wife of
one Richard Rogers, a respectable farmer, whose farmhouse stood by the
side of the post-road between Kelso and Lauder. They had a family of
several children; but our business is with the eldest, who was called
George, and who had the misfortune to receive, both from his parents and
their neighbours, the character of being _a genius_. This is a very
unfortunate character to give to any one who has a fortune to make in
the world, as will be seen when we come to notice the history of George
the Genius--for such was the appellation by which he was familiarly
mentioned. Now, it was the last night of the old year--George was about
twelve years of age, and, because he was their first-born, and,
moreover, because he was a genius, he was permitted to sit with his
father and his mother, and a few friends, who had come to visit them, to
see the old year out, and the New Year in. The cuckoo clock struck
twelve, and the company rose, shook hands, wished each other a happy new
year, and, in a bumper, drank, "May the year that's awa be the warst o'
our lives."

"I wonder wha will be our first-foot," said Nelly; "I hope it will be a
lucky ane."

The company began to argue whether there was anything in the luck of a
first-foot or not, and the young genius sided with his mother; and,
while they yet disputed upon the subject, a knocking was heard at the
front-door.

"There's somebody," said Nelly; "if it's onybody that I think's no luck,
I winna let them in."

"Nonsense!" said Richard.

"It's nae nonsense," replied Nelly; "it may be a _flat-soled_ body, for
onything I ken; and do ye think I wad risk the like o' that. Haud awa,
see wha it is, George," added she, addressing the genius; "and dinna let
them in unless you're sure that they dinna come empty-handed."

"Did ever ye hear the like o' the woman?" said her husband. "Sic havers!
Rin awa, George, hinny; open the door."

The boy ran to the door, and inquired--"Who's there?"

"A stranger," was the reply.

"What do ye want?" inquired the genius, with a degree of caution seldom
found in persons honoured with such an epithet.

"I have a letter to Master Rogers, from his brother," answered the
stranger.

"A letter frae my brother John!" cried Richard, starting from his seat;
"open the door, laddie--open the door."

Now, Richard Rogers had a brother, who also had been considered a sort
of a genius in his youth. He was of a wild and restless disposition in
those days, and his acquaintances were wont to call him by the name of
Jack the Rambler. But it is a long road that has no turning--he had now
been many years at sea--was the captain of a free-trader--and as
remarkable for his steadiness and worldly wisdom, as he had been noted
for the wildness of his youth. There was a mysterious spot in the
captain's history, which even his brother Richard had never been able to
clear up. But that spot will be brought to light by and by.

George opened the door, and the stranger entered. He was dressed as a
seaman; and Nelly drew back and appeared troubled as her eyes fell upon
him. It was evident she had set him down in her mind as an unlucky
first-foot. He was not, indeed, the most comely personage that one might
desire to look upon on a New-year's morning; for he was a squat little
fellow, with huge red whiskers that almost buried his face; his burly
head was covered with a sou-wester, and his eyes squinted most
fearfully. Nelly could not withdraw her eyes from the man's eyes--she
contemplated the squint with horror! Such eyes were never in the head of
a first-foot before! She was sure that "something no canny would be the
upshot."

"Tak a seat, sir--tak a seat, sir," said Richard, addressing the sailor;
"fill out a glass, and mak yoursel at hame. Nelly, bring a clean
tumbler. And ye hae a letter frae my brother, the captain, sir," added
he, anxiously; "how is he?--where is he?--when did ye see him?"

"I left him at Liverpool, sir," replied the queer-looking sailor; "and,
as I intended to take a run down over and to Leith to see my old mother,
'Bill,' says he to me (for my name's Bill, sir--Bill Somers)--well, as
I'm saying, 'Bill,' says he, 'you'll be going past the door of a brother
of mine, and I wish I were going with you'--(and I wish he had, for, not
to say it before you, sir, there an't a better or a cleverer fellow than
Captain Rogers in the whole service--nor a luckier one either, though,
poor fellow, he has had his bad luck too in some things; and it sticks
to him still, and will stick to him)--however, as I say, said he to
me--'Bill, here is a bit of a letter, give it to my brother--it concerns
my nevy, George'--(yes, George, I think he called him). So I took the
letter and set off--that is some days ago--and I arrived at the
public-house, a little from this, about four hours since, and intended
to cast anchor there for the night; but having taken a glass or two, by
way of ballast, I found myself in good sailing trim, and, having
inquired about you, and finding that you lived but a short way off, and
that the people in the house said, it being New-year's times, you
wouldn't be moored yet, I desired the landlady to fill me up
half-a-gallon or so of her best rum, that I mightn't come
empty-handed--for that wouldn't be lucky, ma'am, I reckon," added he,
squinting in the face of Mrs Rogers, who looked now at his eyes, and now
at a large bottle, which he drew from beneath a sort of half greatcoat
or monkey-jacket. Nelly was no friend to spirit-drinking; nevertheless
she was glad that her first-foot, though he did squint, had not come
empty-handed.

The letter was handed to Mr Rogers, who, having broke the
seal--"Preserve us, Richard!" said Nelly, "that's a lang epistle! I
daursay the captain's made his will in't--what does he say?"

"It's a kind, sensible, weel-written letter," said Richard, "for John
was a genius a' his days; and there is mair about a will in't than ye're
aware o'. But there's nae secret in't. George will read it."

The letter was then given to the genius, who read as follows:--

     "DEAR DICK,--As one of my crew, Bill Somers, who has sailed
     with me for a dozen years, is going down to Scotland, and will
     pass your way, I take the opportunity of writing to you, and
     letting you know that I am as well as a person who has as much
     cause to be unhappy as I have can desire to be. The cause of
     that unhappiness you don't know, and few know it--but I do, and
     that's enough. I have made some money--perhaps a good deal--but
     that's of no consequence. I once thought that I might have
     _them_ of my own flesh and blood to inherit it; however, that
     was not to be. It is a long story, and a sad story--one that
     you know nothing about, and which it is of no use to tell you
     about now. As things are, my nevy George is to be heir to
     whatever money, goods, and chattels I possess."

As her son read this, Nelly thought that it was nonsense, after all, to
say that a squint first-foot was unlucky.

"Read on, George," said his father, "and tak heed to what your uncle
says."

The boy resumed the letter, and again read--

     "Now, as my nevy is to be my heir, I think it my duty to lay
     down a sort of chart--or call it what you like--by which I
     would wish him to shape his future conduct. I am glad to hear
     that his head is of the right sort; but let us have none of
     your fiddle ornaments about it. A lofty prow is not always the
     best for a storm, and looks bad enough with a Dutch stern.
     Beware, also, how you let him to sea before his vessel is
     fairly rigged, caulked, and waterproof--or, if you do, then
     look out for his growing top-heavy, and capsising in the turn
     of a handspike. If you set him off with a bare allowance of
     ballast, and without a single letter of credit--do you expect
     him to bring home a cargo? It is stuff, Dick--arrant stuff! All
     your boy exhibitions are downright swindling. Prodigies,
     forsooth!--why, parrots can speak, and jackdaws chatter. Or, to
     render myself intelligible to your agricultural senses, a tree
     blossoms in its first year, and a selfish, deluded idiot plucks
     it up, exhibits it in the market-place--the bud perishes, and
     the tree withers, while gaping lubbers wonder that it did not
     bear fruit! Now, Dick, this is always the case with all you
     fast-sailing miracles. Give a boy the helm, and get him to the
     drudgery of the cabin again, if you can.

     "As to his love affairs, provided the girl of his choice be
     virtuous, and tolerably pretty--though neither very rich nor
     very intelligent--see that you don't strike off at a tangent,
     and, like one of your own stupid cattle, run counter to his
     will. If you do, it will only hasten what you wish to
     prevent--or render a marriage certain, which the young couple
     thought sufficiently doubtful. Besides, your opposition might
     spoil a poor girl's reputation; and I have always found that
     imputations of a certain class, upon a man, are like marks left
     upon the sand within a tide-mark; but to a woman--a lovely,
     helpless woman--they adhere like a limpit to the rock. Besides
     this, Dick, I am certain the most powerful impression of moral
     rectitude you can imprint upon his heart would be like a pistol
     fired from a cock-boat, compared to the glorious and
     irresistible broadside of a seventy-four, when you contrast its
     influence upon his actions with the delightful and conquering
     emotions of love and esteem which he entertains for an amiable
     woman. Don't preach to me, Dick, for I know when the devil, the
     world, and the flesh, war against our better principles, and
     when early instructions, counsels, and all that sort of things,
     are fairly run down and drop astern, why, if a fellow just
     think for a moment of the beautiful being, whose soul is as
     pure as the blue sea on a summer day--if he just think of
     her--or of her last words, '_Don't forget me!_'--belay! is the
     word--about goes the helm--head round from the lee-shore of
     inconsistency, and he is again quietly moored in the fair-way
     of virtue.

     "When he begins to shape into manhood, _Discretion_ is the
     watchword; and whatever he or others may think of his
     abilities, let him douse _Presumption_, and stow it below,
     hoist a _desire to please_ at the fore-top, place
     _Perseverance_, at the helm, and _Civility_ and _Moderate
     Ambition_ upon the watch. People say they like a plain-spoken,
     honest fellow, who says what he thinks. But it is all a fudge.
     Just speak in the jack-blunt manner which they praise
     respecting themselves, and, mark me, they will march off to
     another tune. Let any man practise this for a time, and he will
     soon be hated by every soul on board. I don't mean to advise
     dissimulation; but a man can get enemies enough without making
     them; therefore, where he has no good to say of a person,
     though they may have injured him, let him hold his tongue.

     "Another thing, and an important one, for him to remember,
     is--he who is the king of good fellows, and a 'good soul'
     amongst his associates, is styled by the public a thoughtless
     man, and by his enemies a drunkard. Now, Dick, in the world of
     business, a _good fellow_ simply means a _good-for-nothing_.
     Therefore, see to it, and put my nevy on the look-out; for, not
     to speak of the growing influence of habit, just attribute
     unsteadiness to a man, and you bring him a wind ahead, stop his
     credit, and hurl him to ruin headlong. Sobriety is his
     compass--sobriety is his passport.

     "Again, Dick, I would neither wish to see him a booby nor a
     maw-worm; but I must tell you that the opinion the world forms
     of us is often cast upon very trivial circumstances. A
     heedlessly committed action, which we forget in half-an-hour,
     others will remember to our disadvantage for twelve months.
     There is nothing like being well-braced with circumspection;
     let him always look well to his bearing and distance, or he
     will soon find himself out in his latitude. No man of any
     ambition, or whether he was ambitious or not, ever loved a man
     who presumed to be in all things wiser that himself. I don't
     wish to lecture upon humbug humility, but diffidence and
     good-breeding should never be under the poop. Let him take
     heed, also, how he dabbles in politics or religion. Both
     concern him, and he must think and act upon both; but he must
     do so as becomes a man. I hate all your noisy boatswain
     politicians, both aboard the Commons and out of it. The moment
     I see a lubberly fellow swinging his arms about and blowing a
     hurricane, whether he be endeavouring to blow a nation or a
     tavern into agitation--there rages a grand rascal, say I; his
     patriotism, and the froth which he scatters from his mouth, are
     of a piece. Now, as to his religious principles, of all things,
     let him keep them to himself. Every man is as much in the
     right, in his own estimation, as he is. Nothing will procure a
     man more enemies than a real or affected singularity in matters
     of religion. For though there is a great deal of good sense
     afloat in the world, yet there is such a fry of feverish,
     canting, small craft, always skulking about, and peeping into
     our _pees_ and _ques_, which, though they cannot sink your
     character, they annoy it with their sparrow-hail. In a word,
     Dick, every intelligent being's religion lies between his own
     conscience and his Maker. Give my nevy a Bible, with a father's
     best blessing--in it he will find the ennobling hopes of
     eternity, and learn to do unto others as he would wish others
     to do unto him; and this, from the bottom of my heart, is the
     advice of his uncle Jack.

     "A sterling, upright, moral character, is absolutely
     indispensable. If the heart be well built, and kept in good
     sailing trim, he will have a tell-tale there which will keep
     all right aloft. As well set a seaman upon a voyage of
     discovery without a compass, as a young fellow upon the world
     without a character. But, d'ye see, because you can't go to sea
     without a compass of this kind, you are not to expect that, in
     all cases, it will insure you of reaching the pole. No, Dick,
     it is rather like a pilot sent out to steer you in, when you
     are within sight of land, and without whose assistance you
     cannot reach the port.

     "In conversation, too, I hate to see a smooth-water puppy
     running at the rate of twelve knots, as if no vessel in the
     fleet could sail but his own. I have seen fellows of this sort
     showing off like gilded pinnaces at a regatta, while they were
     only showing how little they had on board. Two things, in
     particular, I wish my nevy to avoid--namely, argufying in
     company, and speaking about himself. There is a time and a
     place for everything; and, though argument be well enough in
     its way, he who is always upon the look-out for one is just as
     sure as he finds it to find an enemy; and, as to speaking of
     one's-self, independent of its ill-breeding, it is like a dose
     of salt-water served round the company. The grand secret of
     conversation is, to say little in a way to please, and the
     moment you fail to do so, it is time to shove your boat off.
     Whenever you see a person yawn in your company, take your hat.

     "Independent of these things, let him look well to his
     tide-table. Without punctuality, the best character becomes a
     bad one. The moment a man breaks his word, or becomes
     indifferent to his engagement, why, the confidence of his
     commodore is at an end; and, instead of being promoted to the
     quarterdeck, he may slave before the mast till the boatswain's
     last whistle pipes all hands to his funeral. Punctuality,
     Dick--systematical, methodical punctuality--is a fortune to a
     fellow ready made. Let him once listen to the syren voice of
     delay--neglect to weigh anchor with the tide, and if he don't
     drift back with the current, go to pieces on a sand-bank, or be
     blown to sticks by a foul wind, my name's not Jack. Let him
     keep a sharp eye upon the beginning, the middle, and the end of
     everything he undertakes. He must not tack about, like a fellow
     on a cruise or a roving commission, but, whatever wind blows,
     maintain a straight course, keeping his head to the port.
     Burns, the poet, spoke like a philosopher, when he said it was
     the misfortune of his life to be without an aim. But I tell you
     what, Dick, we must not only have an object to steer to, but it
     must be a reasonable object. A madman may say he is determined
     to go to the North Pole, or the moon; but that's not the thing,
     Dick: our anticipations must be likelihoods, our ambitions
     probabilities; and when we have made frequent calculations, and
     find ourselves correct in our reckoning, though we have made
     but little way, then down with despondency, and stick to
     perseverance. I don't mean a beggarly, servile, grovelling
     perseverance, but the unsubdued determination of an
     unconquerable spirit, riding out the storm, and, while small
     craft sink on every side, disdaining to take in a single reef.

     "Now, having said thus much about shaping his course, and
     laying in a freight, it is material that I drop a concluding
     word with regard to his rigging. Send him out with patched
     canvas, and the veriest punt that ever disgraced the water will
     clear out before him. A patch upon his coat will be an embargo
     on his prospects. People affect to despise tailors; but it is
     base ingratitude, or shallow dissimulation. Not that I would
     for the world see my nevy an insignificant dandy, but remember,
     the moment the elbows of your coat open, every door shuts.

     "But my fingers are cramped with this long epistle, and,
     moreover, the paper is full; and with love to nevy George, to
     Nelly, and the little ones, I am, dear Dick, your affectionate
     brother,

    "JOHN ROGERS,

    "Otherwise, JACK THE RAMBLER."

All applauded this letter, when they had heard it, and they vowed the
captain was a clever fellow--a noble fellow--ay, and a wise one; and
they drank his health and a happy New Year to him, though half of what
he had written, from his nautical types and symbols, was as Greek and
Latin unto those who heard it, and worse unto George the Genius, who
read it; though some parts of it all understood.

When the health of Captain Rogers had gone round--

"I wonder in the world," said Richard, "what it can be that my brother
aye refers to about being unhappy? I've written to him fifty times, to
try to fathom it; but I never could--he never would gie me ony
satisfaction."

"Why," said the seaman, as he sat leaning forward, and turning round his
sou-wester between his knees, "I believe I know, or I can guess a
something about the matter. It's about ten years ago, according to my
reckoning, we were coming down the Mediterranean--the captain was as
fine a looking young fellow then as ever stood upon a deck. Well, as I
was saying, we were coming down the Mediterranean, and at Genoa we took
a gentleman and his daughter on board. She was a pretty creature; I've
seen nothing like her neither before nor since. So, as I'm telling you,
we took them on board at Genoa, for England, and they had not been many
days on board, till every one saw, and I saw--though my eyes are none o'
the smartest--that the captain could look on nothing but his lovely
passenger. It wasn't hard to see that she looked much in the same way at
him, and I have seen them walking on the deck at night, with her arm
through his, in the moonlight; and, let me tell you, a glorious sight
it is--moonlight on the Mediterranean! It is enough to make a man fall
in love with moonlight itself, if there be nothing else beside him.
Well, d'ye see, as I am saying, it wasn't long until the old gentleman,
her father, saw which way the land lay; and one day we heard the lady
weeping; she never came out of her cabin during the rest of the voyage,
nor did her father again speak to the master. We were laid up for a long
time, and there was a report that the captain and her had got married,
unknown to her father. However, we sailed on a long voyage; we weren't
back to England again for more than twelve months; but the day after we
landed, the captain shut himself up, and, for long and long, we used to
find him sitting with the salt-water in his eyes. We again heard the
report that he had been married, and also that his lady had died in
childbed; but whether the child was living or ever was living, or
whether it was a boy or a girl, we didn't know; nor did he know; and, I
believe, he never was able to hear any more about the old gentleman--so,
as I say, that's all I know about the matter, poor fellow."

Now, the squinting sailor remained two days in the house of Richard
Rogers, and he was such a comical man, and such a good-natured,
kind-hearted man, that Mrs Rogers was certain he would be a lucky
first-foot, even though he had a very unfortunate cross look with his
eyes; and she was the more convinced in this opinion, because, in a
conversation she had had with him, and in which she had inquired--"What
siller he thought the captain might be worth?"--"Why, I'm saying,"
answered the sailor, "Captain Rogers is worth a round twenty thousand,
if he be worth a single penny;--and that, I'm thinking, is a pretty
comfortable thing for Master George to be heir to!"--"Ay, and so it is,"
responded Nelly. And there was no longer anything disagreeable in the
sailor's squint.

Well, week followed week, and month succeeded month--spring came, and
summer came, and harvest followed; and it was altogether a lucky year to
Richard Rogers. Nelly declared that the squinting sailor had been an
excellent first-foot.

Another year came, another, and another, until eight years passed round
since they had been visited by the outlandish seaman. Nelly had had both
lucky and unlucky first-feet. George the Genius was now a lad of twenty,
and the other children were well grown--but George was still a genius,
and nothing but a genius. He was indeed a good scholar--a grand scholar,
as his mother declared--and a great one, as his father affirmed. He had
been brought up to no profession, for it was of no use thinking of a
profession for one who was heir to twenty thousand pounds; and, at any
rate, his genius was sure to make him a fortune. In what way his genius
was to do this was never taken into consideration. Many people said, "If
we had your genius, George, we could make a fortune." And George thought
he would and could. The joiner in the next village, however, said, that
"Wi' a' George's genius, he didna believe he could mak an elshin-heft,
and stick him!--and, in his opinion, there was mair to be made by making
elshin-hefts than by writing ballants!"

As I have said, eight years had passed; it was again the last night of
the old year, and a very dark and stormy night it was. Mr Rogers, his
wife, their son George, and the rest of their family, had again seen the
old year out, and the New Year in, and exchanged with each other the
compliments of the season, when the cuckoo-clock again announced the
hour of twelve. Nelly had "_happed_ up the fire" with her own hands--a
thing that she always did on the last night of the old year, that it
might not be out on a New-year's morning. She was again wondering who
would be their first-foot, and expressing a hope that it would be a
lucky one, when a chaise drew up before the house, and the driver,
dismounting and knocking at the window, begged that they would favour
him with a light, as the roads were exceedingly dark, and the lamps of
the chaise had been blown out by the wind.

"A licht!" exclaimed Betty, half petrified at the request; "preserve us!
is the man beside himsel? Do ye imagine that onybody is gaun to gie ye
out a licht the first thing on a New-year's morning? Gae awa!--gae awa!"

In vain the driver expostulated--he had met with similar treatment at
other houses at which he had called. "Ye hae nao business to travel at
siccan a time o' nicht," replied Betty to all his arguments. Her husband
said little, for he entertained some of his wife's scruples against
giving a light at such a time. George mildly ridiculed the absurdity of
the refusal; but--"I am mistress o' my ain house," answered his mother,
"and I'll gie a licht out o't when I please, and only when I please. Wi'
a' yer learnin, George, ye wad be a great fool sometimes."

The voice of a lady was now heard at the window with the driver,
saying--"Pray, good people, do permit us to light the lamps, and you
shall have any recompense." No sooner did George hear the lady's voice,
than, in despite of his mother's frowns, he sprang to the door and
unlocked it. With an awkward sort of gallantry he ushered in the fair
stranger. She was, indeed, the loveliest first-foot that had ever
crossed the threshold of Mrs Rogers. She had no sooner entered, than
Nelly saw and felt this, and, with a civility which formed a strange
contrast to her answers to the driver, she smoothed down for her the
cushioned arm-chair by the side of the fire. The young lady (for she
hardly appeared to exceed seventeen) politely declined the proffered
hospitality. "Sit down, my sweet young leddy; now, do sit down just to
oblige me," said Nelly. "Ye are our first-foot, and I hope--I'm sure
ye'll ba a lucky ane; and ye wadna, ye canna be gaun out without tasting
wi' us on a New-year's morning."

The young lady sat down; and Nelly hastened to spread upon the table
little mountains of short-bread (of which she was a notable maker), with
her spice-loaf, milk-scones, and her best ewe-cheese, and her
cream-cheese, which was quite a fancy! And while his mother was so
occupied, George produced three or four sorts of home-made wine of his
own manufacture; for, in his catalogue of capabilities as a genius, it
must be admitted that he had some which might be said to belong to the
useful.

"Now, make yoursel at hame, my dear leddy," said Nelly; "need nae
pressing. Or if ye wad like it better, I'll get ye ready a cup o' tea in
a minute or twa; the kettle's boiling; and it's only to mask, so dinna
say no. Indeed, if ye'll only consent to stop a' nicht, ye shall hae the
best bed in the house, and we'll put the horses in the stable; for it's
no owre and aboon lucky to gie or tak a licht on a New-year's morning."

A faint smile played across the lips of the fair stranger, at the
mixture of Nelly's kindness and credulity; and she thanked her for her
hospitality, but stated that she must proceed on her journey, as she was
hastening to the death-bed of a near and only relative. The young lady,
however, sat longer than she wist, for she had entered into conversation
with George--how, she knew not, and he knew not; but they were pleased
with each other; and there were times (though it was only at times) that
George could talk like an inspired being; and this was one of those
times. The knowledge, the youth, the beauty of the lovely stranger, had
kindled all the fires of his genius within him. Even his father was
surprised, and his mother forgot that the chaise-driver was lighting the
lamps; and how long the fair lady might have listened to George, we
cannot tell, had not the driver hinted, "All's ready, ma'am; the horses
will get no good in the cold." She arose, and took leave of her
entertainers; and George accompanied her to the chaise, and shook her
hand, and bade her farewell, as though she had been an old and a very
dear friend. He even thought, as she replied, "_Farewell_," that there
was a sadness in her tone, as if she were sorry to say it.

Richard and his spouse retired to rest; but still the thought of having
given a light out of her house on a New-year's morning troubled her, and
she feared that, after all, her lovely first-foot would prove an unlucky
one. George laid his head upon his pillow, to dream dreams, and conjure
up visions of the fair stranger.

A short week had not passed, however--Richard was returning from Kelso
market, the roads were literally a sheet of ice (it is said that bones
are most easily broken in frosty weather), his horse fell, and rolled
over him, and he was carried home bruised, and with his leg broken.
Nelly was loud in her lamentations, and yet louder in her upbraidings,
against George and against herself, that she permitted a light to be
carried out of her house on a New-year's morning.

"It was borne in upon me," said she, "the leddy wadna be lucky, that
something would come out o' the giein the licht!"

But this was not all: before two months elapsed, and just as her husband
was beginning to set his foot to the ground again, from friction and
negligence together, the thrashing-machine took fire. It was still a
severe frost, there was scarce a drop of water to be procured about the
place, and, in spite of the exertions of all the people on the farm, and
their neighbours, who came to their assistance, the fierce flames
roared, spread, and rushed from stack to stack, until the barn, the
stables, the stackyard, and the dwelling-house presented a heap of
smouldering ashes and smoking ruins. Yet this was not the worst evil
which had that day fallen upon Richard Rogers. He was one of those
individuals who have an aversion to the very name of a bank, and he had
the savings and the profits of twenty years--in fifty-pound notes, and
in five-pound notes, and crown-pieces--locked away in a strong drawer
in his bedroom. In the confusion of the fire, and as he bustled halting
about, with the hope of saving some of his wheat-stacks (for wheat was
selling high at the time), he forgot the strong drawer, and his twenty
years' savings, until flames were seen bursting from the window of his
bedroom. The window had been left open, and some of the burning
materials having been blown into the room, it was the first part of the
house which caught fire.

"Oh, I'm ruined!--I'm ruined!" cried Richard; "my siller!--my
siller!--my hard-won siller!"

A rush was made to the bedroom; but before they reached it, the stairs
gave way, the floor fell in, and a thick flame and suffocating smoke
buried the fruits of poor Richard's industry--the treasure which he had
laid up for his children.

"Now, I am a beggar!" groaned he, lifting up his hands, while the flames
almost scorched his face.

"Oh, black sorrow tak that leddy!" cried Nelly, wringing her hands;
"what tempted her to be my first-foot?--or what tempted me to gie her a
licht? George! George! it was a' you! We gied fire out o' the house, and
now we've brocht it about us! Wae's me!--wae's me! I'm a ruined woman!
Oh, Richard, what will we do? What was ye thinking about, that ye didna
mind the siller?"

Richard knew nothing of the number of his notes, and his riches had
indeed vanished in a flash of fire! He was now obliged to take shelter
with his family in an outhouse, which had been occupied by a cottar. He
had not heard from Captain Rogers for more than twelve months, and he
knew not where he was; therefore he could expect no immediate assistance
from him. It was now necessary that George should bring his genius into
action--his father could no longer support him in idleness; and, as it
had always been said that he had only to exert his genius to make a
fortune, George resolved that he would exert it, and he was pleased with
the thought of setting his father on his feet again by the reward of his
talents. He had read somewhere in the writings of Dr Johnson (and the
doctor had a good deal of experience in the matter), that "genius was
_sure_ to meet with its reward in London;" and, if the doctor was _sure_
of that, George was as _sure_ that he was a genius, and therefore ho
considered the reward as certain. So George determined, as his uncle
might live many years, that he would go to London and make a fortune for
himself, and to assist his father in the meantime. A cow was taken to
Kelso market and sold for eight pounds, and the money was given to
George, to pay his expenses to the metropolis, and to keep him there
until his genius should put him in the way of making the anticipated
fortune. His coat was not exactly such a one as his uncle desired he
should be sent out into the world in--not that it was positively a bad
coat, but it was beginning to be rather smooth and clear about the
elbows, a lighter shade ran up on each side of the seams at the back,
and his hat was becoming bare round the edges on the crown. To be sure,
as his mother said, "he would aye hae ink beside him, and a dip o' ink
would help to hide that." These, however, were things that could not be
mended--the wardrobe of the whole family had been consumed at the fire;
but these things did not distress George, for he did not consider it
necessary for a genius to appear in a new coat. There were many tears
shed on both sides when George bade adieu to his father, his mother, and
his brethren, and took his journey towards London.

It was about the middle of March when he arrived in the metropolis; and,
having spent two days wandering about and wondering at all he saw,
without once thinking how his genius was to make the long-talked-of
fortune, on the third day he delivered a letter of introduction, which
he had received, to a broker in the city. Now it so happened that in
this letter poor George was spoken of as an "_extraordinary genius_!"

"So you are a _great genius_, young man, my friend informs mo," said the
broker; "what have you a genius for?"

George blushed and looked confused; he almost said--"for everything;"
but he hung down his head, and said nothing.

"Is it a genius for making machines--or playing the fiddle--or what?"
added the broker.

George looked more and more confused; he replied--"that he could neither
make machines, nor did he know anything of music."

"Then I hope it's not a genius for making ballads, is it?" continued the
other.

"I have written ballads," answered George, hesitatingly.

"Oh, then, you must try the west end--you won't do for the city," added
the broker; "your genius is an article that's not in demand here."

George left the office of the London citizen, mortified and humiliated.
For a dozen long years everybody had told him he was a genius; and now,
when the question was put to him--"what had he a genius for?" he could
not answer it. This rebuff rendered him melancholy for several days, and
he wandered from street to street, sometimes standing, unconscious of
what he was doing, before the window of a bookseller, till, jostled by
the crowd, he moved on, and again took his stand before the window of
the printseller, the jeweller, or the vender of caricatures. Still he
believed that he was a genius, and he was conscious that that genius
might make him a fortune; only he knew not how to apply it--he was
puzzled where to begin. Yet he did not despair. He thought the day would
come--but how it was to come he knew not. He took out his uncle's
letter, which his father had put into his hands when he left him, and he
read it again, and said, it was all very good, but what was he the
better of it?--it was all very true--too true, for he understood every
word of it now; and he turned round his arm, and examined his coat with
a sigh, and beheld that the lining was beginning to show its unwelcome
face through the seams of the elbows. I should have told you that he was
then sitting in a coffee-house, sipping his three-halfpence-worth of
coffee, and _kitchening_ his pennyworth of bread, which was but
half-a-slice, slightly buttered--and a thin slice, too, compared with
those of his mother's cutting. He was beginning to feel one of the first
rewards of genius--_eating by measure_! To divert the melancholy of his
feelings, and the gloom of his prospects, he took up a magazine which
lay on the table before him. His eyes fell upon a review of a poem which
had been lately published, and for which the author was said to have
received a thousand guineas!

"_A thousand guineas!_" exclaimed George, dropping the magazine--"a
_thousand guineas_! I shall make a fortune yet!"

He had read some of the extracts from the poem--he was sure he could
write better lines--his eyes flashed with ecstasy--his very nostrils
distended with delight--a thousand guineas seemed already in his pocket!
though, alas! out of the eight pounds which he had received as the price
of his father's cow, with all his management, and with all his economy,
he had but eight shillings left. But his resolution was taken--he saw
fortune hovering over him with her golden wings--he purchased a quire of
paper and half-a-dozen quills, and hurried to his garret--for his
lodging _was_ a garret, in which there was nothing but an old bed and an
olden chair, not even an apology for a table; but sometimes the bed
served the purpose of one, and at other times he sat upon the floor like
a Turk, and wrote upon the chair. He was resolved to write an epic; for
the idea of a thousand guineas had taken possession of all his
faculties. He made a pen--he folded the paper--he rubbed his hands
across his brow for a subject. He might have said with Byron--had Byron
then said it--

    "I want a hero!"

He thought of a hundred subjects, and with each the idea of his mother's
beautiful but most unlucky first-foot was mingled! At length he fixed
upon one, and began to write. He wrote most industriously--in short, he
wrote for a thousand guineas! He tasked himself to four hundred lines
a-day, and in a fortnight he finished a poem containing about five
thousand. It was longer than that for which the thousand guineas had
been given; but George thought, though he should get no more for his,
that even a thousand guineas was very good payment for a fortnight's
labour. Of the eight shillings which we mentioned his being in
possession of when he began the epic, he had now but threepence, and he
was in arrears for the week's rent of his garret. The landlady began to
cast very suspicious glances at her lodger--she looked at him with the
sides of her eyes. She did not know exactly what a genius meant, but she
had proof positive it did not mean a gentleman. At times, also, she
would stand with his garret-door in her hand, as if she intended to say,
"Mr Rogers, I would thank you for last week's rent."

Scarce was the ink dry upon the last page of his poem, when George,
folding up the manuscript, put it carefully into his coat-pocket, and
hurried to the bookseller of whom he had read that he had given a
thousand guineas for a shorter work, and one, too, that, he was
satisfied in his own mind, was every way inferior to his. We do not say
that he exactly expected the publisher to fall down and worship him, the
moment he read the first page of his production, but he did believe that
he would regard him as a prodigy, and at once offer terms for the
copyright. He was informed by a shopman, however, that the publisher was
engaged, and he left the manuscript, stating that he would call again.
George did call again, and yet again, trembling with hope and anxiety;
and he began to discover that a great London publisher was as difficult
of access as his imperial mightiness the Emperor of China. At length, by
accident, he found the bibliopole in his shop. He gave a glance at
George--it was a withering glance--a glance at his coat and at his
elbows. The unfortunate genius remembered, when it was too late, the
passage in his uncle's letter, "the moment the elbows of your coat open,
every door shuts." We have already mentioned that the lining was
beginning to peer through them, and, during the fervour of inspiration,
or the _furor_ of excitement in composing the epic, he had not observed
that the rent had become greater, that the lining, too, had given way,
and that now his linen, which was not of a snow colour, was visible. He
inquired after his manuscript.

"What is it?" asked the publisher.

"A poem," answered George--"an epic!"

The man of books smiled; he gave another look at the forlorn elbows of
the genius--it was evident he measured the value of his poetry by the
value of his coat.

"A poem!" replied he; "poetry's a drug! It is of no use for such as you
to think about writing poetry. Give the young man his manuscript," said
he to the shopman, and walked away.

The reader may imagine the feelings of our disappointed genius: they
were bitter as the human soul could bear. Yet he did not altogether
despair; there were more booksellers in London. It is unnecessary to
tell how he offered his manuscript to another, and another, yea, to
twenty more--how he examined what books they had published in their
windows--and how he entered their shops with fear and trembling, for
his hopes were becoming fainter and more faint. Some opened it, others
did not, but all shook their heads, and said, nobody would undertake to
publish poetry, or that it was not in their way; some advised him to
publish by subscription, but George Rogers did not know a soul in
London; others recommended him to try the magazines. It was with a heavy
heart that he abandoned the idea of publishing his epic, and with it
also his fond dream of obtaining a thousand guineas. He had resolved
within himself that the moment he received the money, he would go down
to Scotland, and rebuild his father's house; and all who knew him should
marvel, and hold up their hands, at the fame and fortune of George the
Genius. But a hungry man cannot indulge in day-dreams, and his visions
by night are an aggravation of his misery; he therefore had to renounce
the fond delusion, that he might have bread to eat. His last resource
was to try the magazines. His epic was out of the question for them; and
he wrote songs, odes, essays, and short tales, on every scrap of paper,
and on the back of every letter in his possession. With this bundle of
"shreds and patches," he waited upon several magazine publishers. One
told him he was overstocked with contributions; another, that he might
leave the papers, and he should have an answer in two or three weeks.
But three weeks was an eternity to a man who had not tasted food for
three days. A third said, "he could seldom make room for new
contributors--poetry was not an article for which he gave money--essays
were at a discount, and he only published tales by writers of
established reputation." There was one article, however, which pleased
him, and he handed George a guinea for it. The tears started into his
eyes as he received it--he thought he would never be poor again--he was
as proud of that guinea as if it had been a thousand! It convinced him
more and more that he _was_ a genius. I need not tell you how that
guinea was husbanded, and how it was doled out; but, although George
reckoned that it would purchase two hundred and fifty-two penny loaves,
and that that was almost as many as a man need to eat in a twelvemonth,
yet the guinea vanished to the last penny before a month went round.

He had frequently called at the shop of his first patron, the publisher
of the magazine; and on one day when he so called--

"Oh, Mr Rogers," said the bookseller, "I have just heard of a little job
which will suit you. Lord L---- wishes me to find him a person to write a
pamphlet in defence of the war. You are just the person to do it. Make
it pungent and peppery, and it will be five or ten guineas for you, and
perhaps the patronage of his lordship; and you know no bookseller will
look at genius without patronage."

A new light broke upon George--he discovered why his epic had been
rejected. He hurried to his garret. He began the pamphlet with the
eagerness of frenzy. It was both peppery and passionate. Before the
afternoon of the following day it was completed, and he flew with it to
the house of the nobleman. Our genius was hardly, as the reader may
suppose, in a fitting garb for the drawing-room or library of a British
peer, and the pampered menial who opened the door attempted to dash it
back in his face. He, however, neither lacked spirit nor strength, and
he forced his way into the lobby.

"Inform his lordship," said George, "that Mr Rogers has called with the
pamphlet in defence of the war!" And he spoke this with an air of
consequence and authority.

The man of genius was ushered into the library of the literary lord,
who, raising his glass to his eye, surveyed him from head to foot with a
look partaking of scorn and disgust; and there was no mistaking that its
meaning was--"Stand back!" At length he desired our author to remain
where he was, and to read his manuscript. The chagrin which he felt at
this reception marred the effect of the first two or three sentences,
but, as he acquired his self-possession, he read with excellent feeling
and emphasis. Every sentence told. "Good! good!" said the peer, rubbing
his hands--"that will do!--excellent!--give me the manuscript!"

George was stepping boldly forward to the chair of his lordship, when
the latter, rising, stretched his arm at its extreme length across the
table, and received the manuscript between his finger and thumb, as
though he feared contagion from the touch of the author, or fancied that
the plague was sewed up between the seams of his threadbare coat. The
peer glanced his eye over the title-page, which George had not read--"A
Defence of the War with France," said he; "by--by who!--the
deuce!--George Rogers!--who is George Rogers?"

"I am, your lordship," answered the author.

"You are!--you!" said his lordship, "you the author of _the Defence_?
Impertinent fool! had not you the idea from me? Am not I to pay for it?
The work is mine!" So saying, he rang the bell, and addressing the
servant who entered, added, "Give that gentleman a guinea."

George withdrew, in rage and bewilderment, and his poverty, not his
will, consented to accept the insulting remuneration. Within two days,
he saw at the door of every bookseller a placard with the words--"Just
published, A DEFENCE OF THE WAR WITH FRANCE, by the Right Hon. Lord
L----." George compared himself to Esau, who sold his birthright for a
mess of pottage--he had bartered his name, his fame, and the fruits of
his genius, for a paltry guinea.

He began to be ashamed of the shabbiness of his garments--the withering
meaning of the word clung round him--he felt it as a festering sore
eating into his very soul, and he appeared but little upon the streets.
He had been several weeks without a lodging, and though it was now
summer, the winds of heaven afford but a comfortless blanket for the
shoulders when the midnight dews fall upon the earth. He had slept for
several nights in a hayfield in the suburbs, on the Kent side of the
river; and his custom was, to lift a few armfuls aside on a low rick,
and laying himself down in the midst of it, gradually placing the hay
over his feet, and the rest of his body, until the whole was covered.
But the hay season did not last for ever; and one morning, when fast
asleep in the middle of the rick, he was roused by a sudden exclamation
of mingled horror and astonishment. He looked up, and beside him stood a
countryman, with his mouth open, and his eyes gazing wistfully. In his
hand he held a hayfork, and on the prongs of the fork was one of the
skirts of poor George's coat. He gazed angrily at the countryman, and
ruefully at the fragment of his unfortunate coat; and, rising, he drew
round the portion of it that remained on his back, to view "the rent the
envious _hayfork_ made."

"By goam! chap," said the countryman, when he regained his speech, "I
have made thee a spencer; but I might have run the fork through thee,
and it would have been no blame of mine."

They were leading the hay from the field, and the genius was deprived of
his lodging. It was some nights after this he was wandering in the
neighbourhood of Poplar, fainting and exhausted--sleeping, starting,
dreaming--as he dragged his benumbed and wearied limbs along; and, as he
was crossing one of the bridges over the canal, he saw one of the long
fly-boats, which ply with goods to Birmingham and Manchester, lying
below it. George climbed over the bridge, and dropped into the boat, and
finding a quantity of painted sailcloth near the head of it, which was
used as a covering for the goods, to protect them from the weather, he
wrapped himself up in it, and lay down to sleep. How long he lay he
know not, for he slept most soundly; and, when he awoke, he felt more
refreshed than he had been for many nights. But he started as he heard
the sound of voices near him; and, cautiously withdrawing the canvas
from over his face, he beheld that the sun was up; and, to increase his
perplexity, fields, trees, and hedges were gliding past him. While he
slept, the boatmen had put the horses to the barge, and were now on
their passage to Birmingham, and several miles from London; but, though
they had passed and repassed the roll of canvas, they saw not, and they
suspected not, that they "carried Caesar and his fortunes." George
speedily comprehended his situation; and extricating his limbs from the
folds of the canvas as quietly as ho could, he sprang to his feet,
stepped to the side of the boat, and, with a desperate bound, reached
the bank of the canal.

"Holloa!" shouted the astonished boatmen--"holloa! what have you been
after?"

George made no answer, but ran with his utmost speed down the side of
the canal.

"Holloa! stop thief!--stop thief!" bellowed the boatmen; and, springing
to the ground, they gave chase to the genius. The boys, also, who rode
the horses that dragged the boat unlinked them, and joined in the
pursuit. It was a noble chase! But when George found himself pursued, he
left the side of the canal, and took to the fields, clearing hedge,
ditch, fence, and stone wall, with an agility that would have done
credit to a first-rate hunter. The horses were at fault in following his
example, and the boys gave up the chase; and when the boatmen had
pursued him for the space of half-a-mile, finding they were losing
ground at every step they returned, panting and breathless, to their
boat. George, however, slackened his pace but little until he arrived at
the Edgeware Road, and there he resumed his wonted slow and melancholy
saunter, and sorrowfully returned towards London. He now, poor fellow,
sometimes shut his eyes, to avoid the sight of his own shadow, which he
seemed to regard as a caricature of his forlorn person; and, in truth,
he now appeared miserably forlorn--I had almost said ludicrously so. His
coat has been already mentioned, with its wounded elbows, and imagine it
now with the skirts which had been torn away with the hayfork, when the
author of an epic was nearly forked upon a cart, as he reposed in a
bundle of hay--imagine now the coat with that skirt awkwardly pinned to
it--fancy also that the button-holes had become useless, and that all
the buttons, save two, had taken leave of his waistcoat--his trousers,
also, were as smooth at the knees as though they had been glazed and
hot-pressed, and they were so bare, so very bare, that the knees could
almost be seen through them without spectacles. Imagine, also, that this
suit had once been black, and that it had changed colours with the
weather, the damp hay, the painted canvas, and the cold earth on which
he slept; and add to this a hat, the brim of which was broken, and the
crown fallen in--with shoes, the soles of which had departed, and the
heels involuntarily gone down, as if ready to perform the service of
slippers. Imagine these things, and you have a personification of George
Rogers, as he now wended his weary way towards London.

He had reached the head of Oxford Street, and he was standing irresolute
whether to go into the city or turn into the Park, to hide himself from
the eyes of man, and to lie down in solitude with his misery, when a
lady and a gentleman crossed the street to where he stood. Their eyes
fell upon him--the lady started--George beheld her, and he started
too--he felt his heart throb, and a blush burn over his cheek. He knew
her at the first glance--it was the fair stranger--his mother's
first-foot! He turned round--he hurried towards the Park--he was
afraid--he was ashamed to look behind him. A thousand times had he
wished to meet that lady again, and now he had met her, and he fled from
her--the shame of his habiliments entered his soul. Still he heard
footsteps behind him, and he quickened his pace. Ho had entered the
Park, but yet he heard the sound of the footsteps following.

"Stop, young man!" cried a voice from behind him. But George walked on
as though he heard it not. The word "stop!" was repeated; but, instead
of doing so, he was endeavouring to hurry onward, when, as we have said,
one of the shoes which had become slippers, and which, bad before, were
now worse from his flight across the ploughed fields, came off, and he
was compelled to stop and stoop, to put it again upon his foot, or to
leave his shoe behind him. While he stopped, therefore, to get his shoe
again upon his foot, the person who followed him came up--it was the
gentleman whom he had seen with the fair unknown. With difficulty he
obtained a promise from George that he would call upon him at his house
in Pimlico in the afternoon; and when he found our genius too proud to
accept of money, he thrust into the pocket of the memorable skirt, which
the hayfork had torn from the parent cloth, all the silver which he had
upon his person.

When the gentleman had left him, George burst into tears. They were
tears of pride, of shame, and of agony.

At length, he took the silver from the pocket of his skirt; he counted
it in his hand--it amounted to nearly twenty shillings. Twenty shillings
will go farther in London than in any city in the world, with those who
know how to spend it--but much depends upon that. By all the by-ways he
could find, George winded his way down to Rosemary Lane, where the
"_Black and Blue Reviver_" worketh miracles, and where the children of
Israel are its high priests. Within an hour, wonderful was the
metamorphosis upon the person of George Rogers. At eleven o'clock he was
clothed as a beggar--at twelve he was shabby-genteel. The hat in ruins
was replaced by one of a newer shape, and that had been brushed and
ironed till it was as clear as a looking-glass. The skirtless coat was
thrown aside for an olive-coloured one of metropolitan cut, with a
velvet collar, and of which, as the Israelite who sold it said, "de
_glosh_ was not off." The buttonless vest was laid aside for one of a
light colour, and the place of the decayed trousers was supplied by a
pair of pure white; yea, his feet were enclosed in sheep-skin shoes,
which, he was assured, had never been upon foot before. Such was the
change produced upon the outer man of George Rogers through twenty
shillings; and, thus arrayed, with a beating and an anxious heart, he
proceeded in the afternoon to the home of the beautiful stranger who had
been the eventful first-foot in his father's house. As he crossed the
Park by the side of the Serpentine, he could not avoid stopping to
contemplate, perhaps I should say admire, the change that had been
wrought upon his person, as it was reflected in the water as in a
mirror. When he had arrived at Pimlico, and been ushered into the house,
there was surprise on the face of the gentleman as he surveyed the
change that had come over the person of his guest; but in the
countenance of the young lady there was more of delight than of
surprise. When he had sat with them for some time, the gentleman
requested that he would favour them with his history and his adventures
in London. George did so from the days of his childhood, until the day
when the fair lady before him became his mother's first-foot; and he
recounted also his adventures and his struggles in London, as we have
related them; and, as he spoke, the lady wept. As he concluded, he
said--"And, until this day, I have ever found an expression, which my
uncle made in a letter, verified, that 'the moment the elbows of my coat
opened, every door would shut.'"

"Your uncle!" said the gentleman, eagerly; "who is he?--what is his
name?"

"He commands a vessel of his own in the merchant service," replied
George, "and his name is John Rogers."

"John Rogers!" added the gentleman; "and your father's name?"

"Richard Rogers," answered George.

The young lady gazed upon him anxiously, and words seemed leaping to her
tongue, when the gentleman prevented her, saying, "Isabel, love, I wish
to speak with this young man in private;" and she withdrew. When they
were left alone, the gentleman remained silent for a few minutes, at
times gazing in the face of George, and again placing his hand upon his
brow. At length he said--"I know your uncle, and I am desirous of
serving you--he also will assist you, if you continue to deserve it. But
you must give up book-making as a business; and you must not neglect
business for book-making. You understand me. I shall give you a letter
to a gentleman in the city, who will take you into his counting-house;
and if, at the expiration of three months, I find your conduct has been
such as to deserve my approbation, you shall meet me here again."

He then wrote a letter, which, having sealed, he put, with a purse, into
the hands of George, who sat speechless with gratitude and astonishment.

On the following day, George delivered the letter to the merchant, and
was immediately admitted as a clerk into his counting-house. He was
ignorant of the name of his uncle's friend; and when he ventured to
inquire at the merchant respecting him, he merely told him, he was one
whose good opinion he would not advise him to forfeit. In this state of
suspense, George laboured day by day at the desk; and although he was
most diligent, active, and anxious to please, yet frequently, when he
was running up figures, or making out an invoice, his secret thoughts
were of the fair Isabel--the daughter of his uncle's friend, and his
mother's first-foot. He regretted that he did not inform her father
that he was his uncle's heir--he might then have been admitted to his
house, and daily seen her on whom his thoughts dwelt. His situation was
agreeable enough--it was paradise to what he had experienced; yet the
three months of his probation seemed longer than twelve.

He had been a few weeks employed in the counting-house, when he received
a letter from his parents. His father informed him that they had
received a letter from his uncle, who was then in London; but, added he,
"he has forgotten to gie us his direction, where we may write to him, or
where ye may find him." His mother added an important postscript, in
which she informed him that "She was sorry she was richt after a', that
there wasna luck in a squintin first-foot; for he would mind o' the
sailor that brought the letter, that said he was to be his uncle's heir;
and now it turned out that his uncle had found an heir o' his ain."

It was the intention of George, when he had read the letter, to go to
the house of his benefactor, and inquire for his uncle's address, or the
name of the ship; but when he reflected that he might know neither--that
he was not to return to his house for three months, nor until he was
sent for--and, above all, when he thought that he was no longer his
uncle's heir, and that he now could offer up no plea for looking up to
the lovely Isabel--he resumed his pen with a stifled sigh, and abandoned
the thought of finding out his uncle for the present.

He had been rather more than ten weeks in the office, when the unknown
Isabel entered and inquired for the merchant. She smiled upon George as
she passed him--the smile entered his very soul, and the pen shook in
his hand. It was drawing towards evening, and the merchant requested
George to accompany the young lady home. Joy and agitation raised a
tumult in his breast--he seized his hat--he offered her his arm--but he
scarce knew what he did. For half-an-hour he walked by her side without
daring or without being able to utter a single word. They entered the
Park; the lamps were lighted amidst the trees along the Mall, and the
young moon shone over them. It was a lovely and an imposing scene, and
with it George found a tongue. He dwelt upon the effect of the
scenery--he quoted passages from his own epic--and he spoke of the time
when his fair companion was his mother's first-foot. She informed him
that she was then hastening to the death-bed of her grandfather, whom
she believed to be the only relative that she had in life--that she
arrived in time to receive his blessing, and that, with his dying
breath, he told her her father yet lived--and, for the first time, she
heard his name, and had found him. George would have asked what that
name was, but when he attempted to do so he hesitated, and the question
was left unfinished. They spoke of many things, and often they walked in
silence; and it was not until the watchman called, "Past nine o'clock,"
that they seemed to discover that, instead of proceeding towards
Pimlico, they had been walking backward and forward upon the Mall. Ho
accompanied her to her father's door, and left her with his heart filled
with unutterable thoughts.

The three months had not quite expired, when the anxiously-looked-for
invitation arrived, and George Rogers was to dine at the house of his
uncle's friend, the father of the fair Isabel. I shall not describe his
feelings as he hastened along the streets towards Pimlico. He arrived at
the house, and his hand shook as he reached it to the rapper. The door
was opened by a strange-looking footman. George thought that he had seen
him before--it was indeed a face that, if once seen, was not easily
forgotten. The footman had not such large whiskers as Bill Somers, but
they were of the same colour, and they certainly were the same eyes that
had frightened his mother in the head of her first-foot. He was shown
into a room where Isabel and her father waited to receive him. "When I
last saw you, sir," said the latter, "you informed me you were the
nephew of John Rogers. He finds he has no cause to be ashamed of you.
George, my dear fellow, your uncle Jack gives you his hand! Isabel,
welcome your cousin!"

"My cousin!" cried George.

"My cousin!" said Isabel.

What need we say more--before the New Year came, they went down to
Scotland a wedded pair, to be his mother's first-foot in the farmhouse,
which had been rebuilt.




THE ROMANCE OF THE SIEGE OF PERTH.


In the year 1310, King Robert Bruce had overcome many of those
extraordinary difficulties that threatened to render all the efforts of
mere man unavailable in regaining for Scotland that perfect liberty of
which she had so long boasted, and which, though it had never been taken
from her absolutely, had been, by the unwarrantable schemes and policy
of the first Edward, loosened from her grasp, and lay trampled on by the
fierce genius of war. Great and wonderful, however, as had already been
the prowess and determination of Bruce, and successful beyond the
aspirations of hope as had been his efforts in the glorious cause of his
country's freedom, there was great room for question whether Scotland
would even at this period have triumphed, had the sceptre of England not
fallen so opportunely into the hands of the second Edward. The first and
greatest of all Scotland's foes, the first Edward, had died three years
before, at Burgh-upon-Sands, leaving, as Froissart informs us, his dying
injunction on his son, to boil his body in a caldron, till the bones
should part with the flesh, and to carry the grim relics with him into
Scotland, with the condition that they should not be buried till
Scotland was subdued. The legacy of dry bones, from which the spirit of
the great king had departed, was apparently all of his father that the
young Edward inherited; for he soon displayed so much vacillation of
policy, and so little genius for war, that, if Providence had intended
to work to the hands of Bruce for the salvation of his country, she
could not have brought about her designs with greater effect than by
giving Bruce as an enemy the young King of England. Things were going
straight forward to the result of Bannockburn. Bruce had been successful
almost everywhere. The clergy at Dundee had declared his right to the
throne, and the injustice of the decision that gave Baliol the crown;
the nobles, with the exception of Angus, Buchan, and some others, were
in his favour; but, above all, the common people, in whom the true
sovereignty of every country lies, had begun to see in their new king
those qualities that are calculated to move the heart. The hopes of
Bruce rose every hour; and, having scattered the forces of the English
in every recent encounter, he saw the necessity, and felt the power, of
seizing some of the walled towns that Edward had fortified with much
care, as if stone and lime could bind the freedom of Scotland. The town
of Perth was the one that seemed then of greatest importance, as well
from its central situation between the Highlands and Lowlands, as from
the state of its battlements, which were a regular fortification, with
strong walls defended by high towers, and all surrounded by a broad and
deep fosse.

The town had for some time been under siege, and, being one of those
that Edward was determined to hold to the last, was promised succour
with the first supplies that should enter the Tay. It was commanded by
William Oliphant, an Anglicised Scot, who, with a firmness worthy of a
better cause, had resolved to be true to the enemy of his country, and
to give up the town only with his life. But his efforts were sorely
thwarted by the remissness of Edward in sending provisions, and by the
effects of a grievous famine, that, as a consequence of the intestine
wars by which the country had been so wofully torn, was desolating the
land in every quarter. He had already drained the pockets of the most
wealthy of the citizens, by forcing them to supply him with money, by
which he contrived to get in provisions to enable him to hold out
against Bruce. Among the rest, a rich burgher from the Lower Provinces,
Peter of Ghent (his latter name has not reached us) was expected to lend
him a large sum of money. The Fleming was, in those days, what the Scots
afterwards became--remarkable for the possession of the faculty of
prudence--the legitimate offspring of the genius of merchandise. By the
importation of broadcloths and armour gear, he had contrived to realise
a large fortune, and was reported by the good men of Perth as one of the
wealthiest merchants in the kingdom. He had only one child, a daughter,
commonly known by the name of Anne of Ghent, a young creature of great
beauty, and, what may appear to have been somewhat remarkable in her
station, of a spirit that was deeply imbued with the love of chivalry.
But we would form a very inadequate estimate of the charms of that
extraordinary power which overturned kingdoms and damsels' hearts
wherever its influence was felt, if we were to limit its sphere to the
sons and daughters of nobility. Its principles, indeed, are found in
every bosom that responds to the sentiments of love and heroism; and
from the humble and beautiful Anne of Ghent, up to the noble and heroic
Isabella of Buchan, the spirit burned with a fervour that was only in
some accounted less strong because no opportunities wore afforded for
its display.

It was not in Scotland that this spirit had been first fanned into a
flame in the bosom of the fair Fleming, but in France, where the _preux
chevalier_ was seen in all his pride and glory. When about sixteen years
of age, she had accompanied her father to Flanders, when he resorted
thither for the purpose of traffic; and, in order to gratify his
daughter, of whom he was justly proud, he had taken her to Paris, to be
present at a joust held before Louis IX. The display of arms on that
occasion was a trial between Sir Piers Guyard and Sir William
Indelgonde, the latter of whom, having defamed the mistress of the
former, had been compelled, by order of Louis, to prove his assertion by
the issue of a mortal combat. The battle ended by the death of
Indelgonde; but what possessed greater charms to Anne than the details
of the _duellum_, was the extraordinary sight she witnessed of twenty
untried squires of France, all arrayed in shining coats of armour, with
long flowing plumes of various colours on their glittering basnets,
taking, according to the custom of these days, their first oaths,
"before the peacock and the ladies," that they would not see with both
eyes until they had accomplished some daring deed of arms. The gay bird
of gaudy hues was brought into a large pavilion erected at the end of
the arena; and, like that before which King Edward I. swore at
Westminster when he denounced poor Scotland, was encircled with a thin
covering of golden gauze, and placed on a tripod ornamented with many
carved devices of chivalry. The squires, one by one, knelt before the
bird, and recited their oaths, and then, turning round to the queens of
their destinies, solicited like mendicants, with one knee on the ground,
a silk riband to bind up the orb which was about to be deprived of the
fair sight of their charms. Nearly opposite to where Anne sat, a very
young chevalier of the name of Rolande of Leon knelt for his eye gear;
and though twenty ladies of birth, all anxious that their gifts should
be accepted, threw to him ribands of silk, it happened that, whether
from chance or from some mysterious sympathy between the hand and eyes
of the young mendicant, a narrow green stripe, that Anne in her
enthusiasm tore hurriedly from her head-gear, fell into his willing
grasp. When she saw the fluttering trophy in the hands of so comely a
youth, she trembled with modest fear; for she knew that, as the daughter
of a burgher, rich as he was, she had but a very questionable title to
compete for the honours of chivalry; but, when she saw the riband bound
round his head, and the helmet placed upon it, she was ready to faint
outright, and it was with difficulty that she retained her position on
the bench. As soon as the crowd began to move, she hastened away to join
her father, who was waiting for her beyond the palisades. Next day she
was on her way to Flanders, and shortly afterwards she arrived at the
city of Perth.

Two or three years had now passed since the fair Fleming acted the
almost involuntary part of a high lady, within the pale of the _Theatre
de la chevalerie_. Living, with the rich old merchant, within the walls
of a city devoted to traffic, she had had few opportunities of
witnessing another show of arms. The warriors of Scotland were then
holding their jousts in the open fields and thick forests; and, in place
of fighting for the smiles of women, were doing battle for the liberties
of their ancient and much-abused country. But the rising fame of Bruce,
his brother Edward, and Douglas, and Randolph, claimed her feelings of
admiration; and she would have given her rosary itself, with her
jewelled cross, to have got a glimpse of men of whom all the ladies of
Christendom were enamoured. She often pictured to herself, as she sat in
her small parlour that fronted the city wall, their forms firmly girt
with their shining armour; but a visor was never lifted up to the eye of
her fancy without revealing the feature of Rolande, as she saw him
kneeling at her feet for the gift he solicited and obtained. The face
had been deeply imprinted in her memory, and the encircling gift which
she had bestowed, seemed to connect her by some indefinable tie with one
whom she might never see again, but of whom she could never cease to
think. His elegant and manly form, which displayed all the graces of the
accomplished man-at-arms, mixed itself with all her thoughts, and her
greatest delight was to pre-figure to herself the appearance, on some
occasion, of that same warrior, with his left eye bound by the badge she
had given him, and a declaration on his tongue, as he knelt before her,
that she had the sole power of restoring him full-orbed to the light,
which he might now claim as the reward of his prowess.

Anne was thus one evening indulging in some of these reveries of a
love-sick brain, when Peter of Ghent entered the room. He was dressed in
his Sunday's suit, with his ample surcoat of the best broadcloth, girt
round the waist with a leather belt, his broad slouched hat of felt, and
boots of the old Flemish style turned down at the tops, forming
altogether a favourable contrast with the roughly-clad people of those
early times, when the rough hats, coarse jerkins, and untanned shoes,
constituted the apparel of Scotland's sons. Anne looked up, and a slight
feeling of surprise passed through her mind as she noticed him thus
arrayed.

"The town is still in great danger, Anne," said he, as he took a seat by
her side, at the fire of blazing faggots, that threw a bright glare over
the beautiful face of his daughter. "The enemies of Edward seem to be on
the increase. Dundee has surrendered, the whole of Galloway has been
ravaged, and Bruce, become bolder by his success, lies looking on our
good town, as the wolves of Atholl look on the sheepfold in the glen."

"If there had been lions in these parts, father," answered Anne, "I
might have heard from thee a comparison more suitable to the qualities
of that brave soldier."

"These words, Anne," replied Peter, "but ill become a liege woman of
King Edward. This poor country cannot thrive without the protecting
power of England, where more broadcloths are disposed of in one year
than Scotland uses in ten. The limbs of the sturdy hills and dales men
seem to spurn all modes of human comfort; yet verily the love of ease
and warmth to the body is the parent of all arts and improvement; and
until that begins to be felt, we can have no hope of Scotland."

Anne looked up, and smiled at this professional allusion to the source
of her father's wealth.

"But I need not so speak to the pretty Anne," he added, returning her
smile; "for I know that thou hast the fashionable womanish affection of
these times for steel, as the commodity of man's apparel; and thereto
appertaineth the subject of which I came to speak to thee. Our governor,
William Oliphant--who, though a Scotchman, is as true an adherent of
Edward as ever fought under the banner-borne bones of his
father--wanteth a thousand Flemish nobles, to enable him to get
provisions for our citizens from a Dutch galley in the Tay; and whom
should he apply to for it but Peter of Ghent, who is looked upon as
being the richest man of Perth?"

"And wilt thou give it him, father?" said Anne. "Of a surety, thou wilt
lose it, if thou dost; for, were Perth as strong as Roxburgh, which,
they say, is the strongest hold of these parts, it would not stand
against such a warrior as Robert Bruce; and where wilt thou get thy
money again, if the town falls into the hands of the Scots?"

"That is a good point of argument for a woman, love," replied Peter. "I
fear for the old town myself; for they tell me that Bruce's fame has
brought to his blue banner three French knights, with their left eyes
bound up by ladies' favours, who deem that their feats of arms in an
escalade of Perth may restore to them their sight. Doubtless they will
fight like lions or devils; but seest thou not, that, whether I give the
money or not, the town may fall, and all I have in the world may be
wrenched from me by these naked caterans, to whom a single merk, albeit
it were clipped to the dimensions of King David's bodles, would be a
fortune?"

Anne was silent. The mention of the monoculous knights of France had
driven merks and all other moneys from her mind, and she would have
rejoiced to have seen Perth taken upon the instant, provided always that
she were taken with it. But Peter understood not her absence of mind,
and resumed his argument, on the assumption that Anne was listening with
all due attention to his scheme.

"But Peter of Ghent," he again said, "never gave a silver piece, or a
woollen piece either, for nothing; and, if my dutiful Anne will enter
into my scheme, she may have for her consort no less a man than William
Oliphant himself, the Governor of Perth, and her wedding-dress shall be
of the best silks of Nismes, the richest gloves of Grenoble, and sandals
from the fair of Bocaire."

This announcement of some cunning purpose of her father filled Anne with
alarm. Oliphant, a dissolute man, had been sometimes in the habit of
calling at the house, and she had often thought that she herself was the
object of his attraction. Her father, by mentioning the French knights
that fought under the banner of Bruce, had raised a hope that her
chevalier of the green riband was among them, and now he had caused an
alarm that might have been read in her countenance.

"William Oliphant, the Governor of Perth," she replied, as she held down
her face towards the blazing faggots, "will not surely stoop to marry
the daughter of a Flemish merchant."

"Money will make any man stoop, fair Anne," replied Peter. "I have heard
the back armour of the bravest knight of the lists crack with the bow to
Mammon, as loud as when he knelt to the peacock. A merchant knows the
science of provisos, and conditions, and stipulations, and never a
Scotch plack will William Oliphant get from Peter of Ghent, but upon the
condition that he wed my Anne, when the town is saved from the arms of
Bruce and his blind knights, and the promised succours shall arrive from
England. By Saint Dennis, we may have a jolly wedding in the midst of
our jubilee of liberation. What sayest, my love?"

Anne still hung down her head. She feared to oppose her father, who was
indulgent to her, and had hitherto prided himself on her obedience. She
was, besides, overcome with the conflicting thoughts that had been so
suddenly raised in her mind by the mention of the French knights, and of
this new purpose of her father, that seemed to destroy all the hopes she
still entertained of one day enjoying the affections of the man who had
first produced an effect upon her heart. A deep sigh escaped from her,
and roused her father's suspicions of the cause of her silence.

"Speak, Anne," he said; "thou hast already captivated the governor by
thy beauty, and my money will do the rest. He will be knighted by
Edward, if he beat off the Bruce; and my daughter will be a lady."

"William Oliphant is not a man according to my heart, father," answered
she, at last, with a trembling heart; "but might I be absolved from my
engagement to marry him, if the town falls before the arms of the
Scots?" she added, as she looked modestly and fearfully into his face.

"Most certainly, love," replied Peter; "and, moreover, thou shalt not be
bound to Oliphant personally, for it is I that must make the condition
that he will marry thee, in consideration of the loan I gave him for the
good old town."

Well pleased with the dutiful answer he had got from his daughter, the
worthy man of traffic sallied forth to meet, by special appointment, the
governor, who anxiously waited for him in his residence. After he had
gone forth, Anne bethought herself of what her fear of offending her
father had wrung from her. Though timid from love and duty, she was of a
noble spirit, and upheld her heart, as it recoiled from the thought of
becoming the wife of a man she hated, by revolving in her mind the
chances of the gallant Scots forcing the town to surrender, and
relieving her from her qualified obligation. She wished all success to
the chivalrous Bruce, because she loved the character of him, and the
great and enthusiastic spirits who were struggling for freedom; but she
was filled with a high swelling hope, that burned in her bright eye, and
heaved her bosom, that her chosen knight of the lists was among the
three Frenchmen, who were undergoing their probation for the honours of
chivalry. At that moment, her lover was in all probability at a very
short distance from her--her lady-gift still bound the flowing hair of
dark auburn she had seen and admired, as it escaped from beneath his
helm; her power was still exercised in occluding one of the darkest and
most brilliant eyes that ever peered through the warrior's visor, and
the thought of her then sitting and dreaming of him was perhaps
occupying his mind, and filling his heart. Then rose the thrilling
thought, that, ere another week passed over, her own hands might be
required to unbind the pledge, and the light of the eye that had so long
been hid from the sun, might first be thrown upon the face of her who
bound it. The hazards of a siege were despised by her bold spirit, as it
contemplated these glowing visions. She feared nothing for either
herself or her father from men who, while they fought like lions for
their country's liberty, were actuated by the high and noble spirit of
chivalry. Possessing that confidence in the generosity of noble hearts
which seems to be natural to lovely women, she would throw herself on
the protection of Bruce himself; claiming that, she could defy all
danger, from whatever quarter it might come; and her request for safety
to her father would be as successful as her petition for herself. In the
siege and capture of the town, her best and dearest interests were
involved; for she would contemplate the success of great men fighting in
a cause she loved, she would have the chance of meeting her lover, and
she had the certainty of escaping the licentious Oliphant, who could not
claim her, in the event of losing his treacherous cause in fighting
against his country. The sounds of the clang of arms of the assailants
would at that moment have been the sweetest sound she ever heard; and
she drew deep sighs, as she contemplated the chances of their triumph.

Unconscious of the thoughts that were revolving in the excited mind of
his daughter, Peter of Ghent walked along the streets of Perth, till he
came to the residence of the governor. His mind was too much occupied on
the subject of his diplomatic undertaking to allow him to notice the
gazing burghers, who, from their windows, stared at the rich Fleming,
and suspected that the object of his expedition was in some way
connected with the perilous state of the town. He found the governor
waiting for him; and, having made his bow, was soon seated by the
official's fire.

"Well, Peter of Ghent," began Oliphant, "hast thou bethought thyself of
my request--to give me the thousand nobles that are required for the
support of the town against the arms of the Bruce, whose head deserveth
a spear, alongside of that which upholdeth Wallace's on London Bridge,
or whose body meriteth a cage, alongside of the Countess of Buchan's
crib, in the Castle of Berwick. What sayest thou?"

"The sum thou mentionest, Sir Governor," replied the cunning burgher,
"hath been laid apart for the tocher of Anne, who meriteth well of the
good consideration thou hast bestowed on her. The marriage dower is a
sacred gift. Dost thou think as well of her now as formerly?"

"Why, yes, Peter of Ghent, I do," replied Oliphant, who probably saw
some obscure connection between Peter's sentences which the words
themselves scarcely supplied. "No man with a heart could see that maiden
once, and forget her ever. Less beautiful women have been the cause of
the meeting of bleeding heads and sawdust; and thou wilt not be far
beyond the Saracen's head of thy suspicion, if thou deemest me a lover
of fair Anne of Ghent."

"That I have had a fair cause to suspect," said Peter; "and I am well
entitled to opine that Anne would give her consent to my paying the sum
required of me, upon the consideration that it was merely a species of
foreinstalment of dowery, given for the double purpose of saving the
town and securing a governor of her heart. A man that can defend, so
nobly as you have done, a walled city, could keep a woman's heart in
good discipline."

"A right fair point of dialects, Peter of Ghent," replied Oliphant; "but
we had better speak of concernments of love after the city is saved. Let
us have the nobles in the meanwhile, and we will discuss the merits of
the fair Anne, when we have time and leisure to appreciate the qualities
of womankind."

"Well and veritably indited," said Peter; "but it would lubricate and
facilitate the gaining of Anne's consent to the payment of this money,
if I could report to her that it was to be paid as a matrimonial propine
to the man she loveth; and, to be honest, I cannot, of a truth, pay it,
but upon that stipulation."

"And, by the honour of a governor! I am well pleased to think that I am
thus estimated by so fair a creature. Let us have the money; and, if all
goes well with the town, I shall look for a second tocher, of another
thousand, with the hand of thy daughter."

"Concluded, Sir Governor," cried Peter, in ecstasy.

And the two sat down to finish, over a bottle of Burgundy, the details
of a bargain which, on one side, was, at least, sincere; but on the
other, was deemed, by those who knew the faithless character of the man,
of, at least, dubious faith. Whatever sincerity, however, was felt and
exhibited by Peter, in so far as concerned the governor, it was very
clear that he had acted a part of true mercantile subtlety, in so far as
regarded the interests of his fair daughter. Meanwhile, the money was
paid, and extraordinary efforts were made by Oliphant to get foraging
parties sent abroad, to procure, for the inhabitants, the necessary
supplies. The motions of these troops, as well as those of the
besiegers, were regularly noticed by Anne from a part of the wall to
which she had access from her father's house. Her interest in the issue
of the impending strife was the greatest that could be felt by woman;
for it involved the dearest rights of her sex. Bound to Oliphant only in
the event of his success, his defeat might bring to her the object of
her affections, and she looked for every demonstration of activity on
the part of Bruce as a sign of her coming liberation.

During these watchful operations of the fair Fleming, the soldiers of
Bruce remained steady at their post, where they had already been for
five weeks, endeavouring to prevent any supplies from being sent into
the town. Their numbers as yet, however, were so few, and the
fortifications of Perth so extensive, that a considerable portion of the
ground surrounding the town was left under the surveillance of a species
of riding patrole, which the indefatigable endeavours of Oliphant
sometimes succeeded in enabling the purveyors to elude. A like good
fortune did not attend some of those sent to turn the merks of Peter of
Ghent into edibles; for several foragers were intercepted in their
passage from the country to the besieged city. One of these--a person
called Giles Mortimer--was taken before Bruce, and examined as to the
state of the town's provisions.

"Well, sirrah, are these rebels still determined to hold out?" said the
king.

"There are many murmurs in the town, sire," replied the man; "and were
it not, as fame reporteth, that a rich citizen hath given the governor a
thousand Flemish nobles, on condition that he marry his daughter, I do
believe that not another noble would have been wrung from any one in the
whole city."

"And what is the name of this rich citizen?" said Bruce.

"How could it be any other than Peter of Ghent?" said the man, with a
smile; "for is he not the richest citizen of Perth?"

"We have heard of this same Peter of Ghent," said Bruce; "and, by our
crown, we should not be ill pleased to be present at the wedding of his
daughter. We have some French knights here, who would dance merrily, in
honour of the fair bride. What is her name?"

"Anne of Ghent she is called," replied the man; "and, by'r lady, she
might, for the matter of beauty, be the wife of a king."

"And when is the wedding to be?" rejoined Brace.

"When the governor can declare the town to be safe from the Bruce,"
replied the man.

"And that will be when the hares in the pass of Ben Cruachan are safe
from the wolves of Lorn," replied Bruce, laughing, and looking around to
his chiefs. "Now, look around you, sir, at these warriors, and after
thou hast made a gauge of their numbers, and learned that every castle
we have yet attempted hath fallen before us, go and tell William
Oliphant that we intend to be present at his wedding with the fair Anne
of Ghent, and cannot think of waiting either for the succours of King
Edward, or for our own defeat. Hie thee on our message, sirrah."

The man was accordingly liberated; and Bruce, during that same day,
having resolved to perform by stratagem what seemed to be impossible by
the fair play of arms, took with him Sir James Douglas, and went to
reconnoitre. Great and even marvellous as was the courage of these
far-famed assertors of their country's freedom, it may be doubted
whether their genius for daring and successful stratagem did not excel
the chivalrous spirit of fair-fighting by which they were actuated to
perform deeds of arms that have made the whole world ring with their
fame. The capture of the peel or castle of Linlithgow, and that of
Edinburgh, afterwards performed, were the most cunningly-devised pieces
of military stratagem that had ever been witnessed; and the work of old
Polyaenus on the warlike acts of the strategists of Greece exhibits
nothing that can be compared to them. Bruce had already exhibited this
talent for scheming, in the affairs of Lindon Hill and Cruachan Ben; but
his powers in this respect were yet to be developed on a grander scale,
and as it were by gradation, till the final triumph of Bannockburn
should establish his fame for ever. The capture of Perth was one of
those intermediate and probationary trials that were fitting the great
master for that final and glorious display of all his talents for war;
but, small as it was in comparison of what followed, it exhibited
perhaps as much of his peculiar genius as had yet been shown.
Accompanied by Sir James, he went, during the hours of twilight, up to
the margin of the fosse.

"We must know the depth cf this miniature Styx," he said to his
companion.

"But we have no measuring-rods," replied Sir James.

"By thine own St Bride! we have though," replied Bruce, smiling. "I am
six feet two inches in height." And, in an instant, he was up to the
neck in the water; proceeding forward he reached the bottom of the wall,
and satisfied himself that all the tall men of his army might make their
way through the ditch without incurring the danger of being drowned.
Having ascertained this, he returned to the camp, and having provided
himself and his companion (for he avoided any show of men) with
scaling-ladders of ropes, they again sallied forth under the shade of
the increasing darkness, and reached the spot that had already been
tested. With one of the ladders in his hand, he again plunged into the
water, and made a signal for Sir James to follow; but the knight wanted
full two inches of the height of the king, and hesitated a moment, from
a well-grounded suspicion that he would be overwhelmed. But shame
mastered his scruples, and in an instant he was alongside of the king,
who, however, required to seize and sustain him, to prevent his being
taken off his feet by the power of the water, that was almost on a level
with his lips. They paused a moment in this position, to listen if there
were any sounds of stir on the walls, and, perceiving all quiet, they
proceeded, and reached the bottom of the fortification. Sir James stood
close to the wall, and Bruce, by the aid of some jutting stones, mounted
upon his shoulders, remarking, with a quaint humour, that the knight
required some weight to be placed upon him, to enable him to keep his
erect position. In this strange attitude the king contrived to throw up
and fix the ladders to the top of the first bartizan of the wall, and
having tugged them with all his force, to ascertain their steadfastness,
he came down, and was about to retrace his steps, when Sir James, who
disdained to be behind even his king in feats of daring, seized the end
of one of the ladders, and, mounting up, looked calmly over the top of
the wall, and satisfied himself of two things--first, that the ladders
were properly fixed; and, second, that their daring act had not been
observed. Having descended, he was again laid hold of by the king; and
they reached the bank, where they deliberately shook the water off them
after the manner of water-spaniels, and returned to the camp.

Some of the heads of the army were informed of what had been done, and,
next morning, after all the inhabitants of the town were astir, the
clarion was sounded, loud and long, as if the city had been upon the
instant to be attacked. The tents were struck; but, in place of an
attack, a retreat was the order of the day, and in the course of an hour
the whole Scottish host were beyond the sight of the inhabitants of
Perth. The intelligence was soon therefore circulated within the city,
that Bruce had given up the siege, and had departed upon some expedition
of less difficulty; and the friends of Edward rejoiced that they were
liberated from so fearful a foe. The communication was received by many
with great rejoicings; and a courier, who arrived that same day from
England, announced that Edward had despatched succours to the city,
which would arrive in the Tay nearly as soon as the messenger would
reach the end of his journey. To Peter of Ghent, this change of
circumstances was the apparent prelude to the honours he expected to be
showered upon his daughter; but Anne herself, dreaming still of her
monoculous knight, and of her anticipated delivery by the champions she
desired so ardently to see, looked forward with fear and trembling to
the sacrifice that seemed to await her. Her watching at the city walls
had been persevered in; but all her care and perspicacity had not
enabled her to perceive the strange act of Bruce in suspending the
ladder before sounding a retreat. The guarding of the walls was in some
degree relaxed, and the inhabitants began again to go forth, and engage
in their avocations. About three days afterwards, the handmaid of the
fair Fleming, who was in the secret of her mistress, informed her that,
as she returned from a meeting near the fortifications with her lover, a
soldier, she had observed the top of a rope-ladder affixed to the lower
bartizan of the west wall; but the girl's information ended with the
announcement of the fact, for her simple mind had suggested no
explanation of the circumstance. But to Anne's quick thought the
communication presented an aspect pregnant of hope; and, having
cautioned the maiden against speaking of what she had seen to any of the
inhabitants, she sallied forth in the light of the moon, and by the
directions of her informant soon came to the spot where the ladder was
suspended. A train of reflections opened up to her the scheme of Bruce,
who had, as she thought, raised the siege, to lull the inhabitants into
a security which he might turn to his advantage. By some bold efforts,
she reached the part of the wall to which the instrument of escalade was
attached, and, in the height of her enthusiasm, she took from her dress
a narrow riband, and bound it to the top of the ropes.

"The design of these bold spirits," she said, "shall not lack the
inspiring gift of a woman to hail, as that favour streameth in the wind,
the success of the cause that giveth freedom to their country. If
Rolande de Leon may not see this, the eyes of Bruce, that are unbound,
may catch a sight of the trophy; and what better evidence may he have
that Anne of Ghent wisheth him triumph?"

After indulging in her short monologue, she retreated from the wall, and
with some difficulty escaped the eyes of some of the neighbouring
guards, as she sought with quick steps the house of her father. As she
entered, Peter of Ghent looked at her as if he would have questioned her
as to where she had been at so late an hour; but his mind was too much
occupied by matters of greater moment.

"Welcome, my love," said he to her, as she sat down by the fire. "I have
been with the governor, who is full of rejoicing at this unexpected
quittance of the Bruce and his host of wolves. The period of the
fulfilment of our condition approaches. The succours of Edward are
expected every hour; and then, Anne, I have a right to claim for thee a
lord, who is worthy of thy beauty and thy goodness."

"The Bruce may return, father," replied Anne. "It is not thus that he
resigns his prey."

"That is nothing to thee or to me, Anne," said Peter, somewhat roused.
"A knighthood will be the more sure to the governor; and I should like
as well to see that honour bestowed on thy husband as on thy betrothed.
Get ready thy marriage-gear, love, and lay aside thy maiden blushes,
which can aid thee as little in capturing a husband, as Bruce's
backwardness in the taking of Perth."

"The governor hath not claimed me, father," replied Anne, hesitatingly.
"He hath not called here since the money was paid to him."

"More still of thy doubtful questionings, wench!" cried Peter, rising in
his anger. "What is his remissness to thee, if I adhere to my condition,
and demand my bond? He is bound by his honour; to-morrow he is to be
here, and thou must show thy fairest qualities in his presence. Go and
assign thee thy appurtenances and paraphernals."

Anne rose silently and left the room; but it was not to obey her father.
Her mind was occupied with meditations on the chances of the return of
Bruce, upon which her safety from the arms of Oliphant, and her hope of
meeting her French knight, depended. Her calculations of the probability
of that event were but the operations of her own unaided mind, and
misgivings, ushering in painful fears, vindicated a place in her
thoughts, and made her alternately the victim of hope and apprehension.
She could not retire to rest, and her devotions before the Holy Virgin
were performed with a fluttering heart, that shook off the holy feelings
with which she was accustomed to kneel before the sacred image. The moon
still shone bright in at the window, and the stillness that reigned
within the house told her that the inmates had retired to rest. She felt
a strong inclination to go forth, and find that relief which is often
experienced by troubled spirits, in the calm beams of the queen of
night; and, wrapping around her a mantle, she obeyed the impulse of her
feelings. A large garden nearly connected the house with a part of the
fortifications; and, having perambulated the open space, she sauntered
along till she came to an embrasure, at which she set herself down, and
fixed her eyes on the surrounding ground, where she had formerly seen a
part of Bruce's besieging forces. She could perceive nothing now but the
wide plain spread forth in the silver light of the moon, and below her
feet the deep fosse which reflected the bright beams from its quiet
surface. The wind was hushed, and an unbroken silence seemed to reign
throughout all nature. A deep train of meditations took possession of
her mind; and the sublimed feelings that were called forth by the still
and solemn silence around her, mixed with and lent an influence to the
thoughts that were ever and anon busy with the hopes that had not yet
forsaken her breast. As she sat thus meditating, she thought she
observed a dark mass of some moving body upon the plain beyond; and, as
she gazed, her attention became more and more fixed upon the
extraordinary appearance.

In a short time, the dense mass became more perceptible, and she could
now distinguish that it was composed of a body of men, whose motion
forward was so noiseless that scarcely a single sound met her ear. There
was a small body somewhat in advance of the rest, and she now saw that
the direction which they held was towards the spot where she had seen
the instrument of escalade fixed to the wall. Rising hurriedly, she
crept along by the covered way, and was surprised to find that her
passage was not interrupted by a single guard, the men having, in
consequence of the fatigue to which they had been exposed for five
weeks, taken advantage of Bruce's retreat, and betaken themselves to
rest. She soon arrived at the spot, and about the same time she observed
that the van she had noticed had also got to that part of the fosse
opposite to where she was now placed. The silence enabled her now to
catch the low tones of the men; and the coruscations of their steel
armour, as the moonbeams played upon it, met her eye. She hesitated a
moment whether she would remain or retreat; for the terrors of a siege
were before her, and her father was in danger; but she felt that her own
freedom from a hated union depended upon the success of the besiegers,
and the workings of an enthusiastic spirit stilled the whisperings of
fear. She bent and listened, for articulate sentences now rose from the
warriors, who stood for a moment on the brink of the fosse. A gigantic
individual, in full mail, stood in the midst of the group, and he could
be no other than Bruce himself, whose height exceeded that of most men
of his day.

"Art ready?" said he, as he held forth his spear, the point of which
glittered in the moonbeams, as he waved it.

"Ay--on, noble king!" was responded by another behind him.

"Come on, then," again said the former, and immediately he dashed into
the water, which seemed to cover his body to the head.

Some of the others appeared to hesitate for a moment.

"What shall we say of our French lords," cried another, in a French
accent, "who live at home in the midst of wassail and jollity, when so
brave a knight is here putting his life in hazard to win a hamlet?" And
he was the second that followed the Bruce.

"Shall a Frenchman, who hath not yet redeemed the sight of his left eye,
bound by a lady's pledge, be the second to mount the wall," was said by
a third, as he rushed forward. In an instant the whole party were in the
water.

Bruce was now on the ladder. He stopped suddenly, and gazed for a moment
at the riband on the top of the escalade. Anne's voice met his ear.

"Come on, come on, brave warriors," she said, in a low tone.

"Who art thou, in Heaven's name?" replied he.

"Anne of Ghent, thy friend. The guard is asleep, and the governor
deemeth thee far away. I claim indemnity in life and limb to Peter of
Ghent."

"Granted, noble damsel, by the sword of Bruce!" was the answer;
"away--away!--to a place of safety."

Anne lost no time in obeying the command. She flew along the covered way
with the quickness of light. In her speed she stumbled on the feet of a
soldier who lay in a recess of the ramparts, and was almost
precipitated to the ground. The man looked up in agitation, and, seeing
that it was a woman, growled out a few incoherent sentences, and again
resigned himself to sleep, from which he might awake only to feel the
sharp steel of a Scotch dagger, as it sought his heart. She paused a
little, to satisfy herself that the man was not sufficiently roused to
hear the sounds of the assailants, and, finding all safe, she sought
hurriedly the dwelling of her father. He was sound asleep when she
entered, and there was no one stirring; but the sounds of horns were now
ringing through the city, and, as she opened the door of his
sleeping-apartment, the clamour roused him. Starting to his feet, he
called out to Anne to know the cause of the disturbance.

"The Bruce is in the act of storming the city, father," she said.

"Then are the dreams of my ambition finished," replied Peter; "and we
shall be the marks for the vengeance of these savages. I have no chance
of escape. My money is gone, and the reward that will be given for it
will be death."

"Fear not, father," said Anne, calmly; "thou art safe."

"Peter of Ghent," replied he, "who hath furnished money for the support
of the city, will be among the first objects of the vengeance of the
Bruce. Ha! I hear already the groans of the dying. Whither shall I fly,
or where shall I conceal myself?"

"Thou canst be safe only in this house," said Anne. "The Bruce hath, by
his sword, pledged his faith to me that Peter of Ghent shall be safe in
life and limb."

"What meaneth the damsel's strange words?" cried the father. "Art thou
mad? Where couldst thou have seen the Bruce?"

"Concern not thyself for that, father," replied she, with the same
unperturbed air. "Thou art safe. The Bruce hath said it."

Peter looked at his daughter in blank wonder; and, as the sounds of
horns, the clashing of swords, and the screams of the dying met his ear,
he trembled and seemed irresolute whether he should repose faith in her
words, or take means for his safety. A loud noise now approached the
house; the door was burst open, and three naked caterans entered the
apartment, with bloodstained swords gleaming in their hands. One of them
rushed forwards, and, seizing Peter, was on the point of thrusting the
weapon into his bosom.

"He is safe by the word of the Bruce," ejaculated Anne, as she rushed
between the soldier and her father.

"His name, then?" cried one of the soldiers behind.

"Peter of Ghent," answered Anne.

The sword of the soldier was dropped in an instant.

"To pe sure he will pe safe if that pe his name," said the man, with a
grim smile. "Te prince has said it. Here, Tuncan, guard this maiden and
her father, while I and Tonald will pe after sending te neebours to
their lang hames."

With these words the two caterans left the house, and joined the other
soldiers who were careering through the city, and slaying every
Anglicised Scot that came in their way. The guard Duncan remained in
Peter's house, and sat with grim majesty, surveying in silence the
terrified Fleming, who was lost in wonder at what he had seen and heard;
for everything appeared to him a mystery. Others of the soldiers burst
at intervals into the house, with the intent to slay the inmates; but
Duncan silenced them all by the watchword, "Peter of Ghent," and at
every demonstration of the charm the worthy burgher seemed more and more
surprised. He questioned Anne as to the meaning of the strange effect of
his name and of the unlooked-for security that it afforded to him who
deserved death more than any one in the city, except the governor
himself. But he got small satisfaction from the maiden, for she felt
that it was impossible for her to explain the part she acted, without
incurring the charge that she had been untrue to the cause of her
father, and the rights of the governor and the king. Neither would
Duncan give him any information but what tended rather to increase the
mystery; for he merely said that it was the command of the Bruce that
Peter of Ghent should be saved from the general massacre, and guarded
safely from the fury of the soldiers by the first man that entered his
house. In the midst of this mystery, a suspicion took possession of him,
that Bruce wished to save him for a more cruel death, after the siege
should be ended; and, notwithstanding of all that Anne could say to him
to calm his fears, he still retained doggedly the apprehension, and
sighed bitterly as he contemplated his expected fate.

"Thou hast given me no reason, girl," he whispered to her, "to satisfy
me that I am not reserved for the heading-block. Bruce hath, of a
verity, heard of the money I lent to the governor, and thou shalt by and
by mourn the death of thy father. But what didst thou mean, Anne, by thy
statement to the soldier, that I was safe by the word of the Bruce? Was
it a device of thy quick fancy to save me from the sword of that man,
who weareth no broadcloth on his body, and whose limbs are, of a
consequence, as hard as his heart?"

"If thou wilt stand by thy pledge, father," answered Anne, "that I shall
not be required to marry Oliphant, now that the city is taken, I will
pledge a simple damsel's word that thou shalt be as safe from the
headsman's falchion as thou art from the broadsword of that wild man,
whose bare limbs terrify me more than the bright steel of the Bruce."

"Of a surety I will stand by my pledge, girl; but I cannot rest
satisfied till I hear thy reason for the confidence thou reposest in the
clemency of the Scottish leader, whose name is a terror to every enemy
of his country."

"Nay, father, I am now trafficking with thee--driving a bargain, as thou
sayest," replied she, with a smile, which the still terrified Fleming
could not for the soul of him understand. "The bargain is concluded, and
I cannot, for my honour, say more, even to my father."

"Tell me, man," cried Peter, to the Highlander, who still stood guarding
the door, with the drawn sword in his hand--"tell me, since my daughter
will not, what the Bruce intendeth to do with Peter of Ghent, whose name
hath operated as a charm on thy ear?"

"Hoigh, hoigh, man!" replied Duncan; "ye'll pe trying to get secrets oot
o' Tuncan Thu Mohr."

"I will give thee money, my brave preserver," rejoined Peter, as he ran
forward. "Let me escape, and I will reward thee with ten nobles. Here
they are--see, see--it is meet thou shouldst have them, seeing thou wilt
get no share of the spoils of the city."

"Keep him securely," whispered Anne, in the ear of the Highlander, "and
I will reward thee better on the morrow."

"Thou art mad, Anne. What means the rebellious wench?" cried Peter,
angrily. "Thou hast become a trafficker with the enemies of thy father.
Henceforth I have no faith in thee. Wilt thou not let me free, good
Master Mohr?"

Duncan turned, and looked knowingly at Anne, who, he probably thought,
was wishing to torment the old merchant.

"To pe surely, she will pe keeping her prisoner," said he, in aid of the
imputed design of the fair accomplice, and with a twinkle in his eye.
"Te auld merchant's head will pe worth more than te ten nobles, she will
pe thinking."

"Dost thou not hear, Anne, that I am, as I suspected, doomed to lay my
head on the block?" cried Peter again. "Thou hast apparently some power
over the savage," he added, in a whisper; "aid me in bribing him, and
we may yet escape to Flanders, with my wealth, otherwise thou wilt lose
thy dowery, and I my head."

"I have told thee that thou art safe, and thou wilt not listen to me,"
replied she. "Thou oughtst to be thankful for thy condition. Hearest
thou not the groans of the dying citizens amidst the loud clang of arms?
Thousands are now dying, and thou hast a royal guard to save thee from
harm; yet art thou grumbling at thy fate!"

During all this time, the work of destruction had been going on in all
parts of the city. Bruce was well aware that the great evil he had to
cure could only be overcome by extreme measures, and the better feelings
of his nature had for a time given place to the thirst for vengeance for
the many wrongs he had suffered from the tyrants, who had not only
ruined the country, but stained his domestic hearth with the cruelties
of persecution. He gave orders, on entering the city, that every Soot
that had favoured Edward should die; and his command was but too
literally obeyed--thousands on that night felt, in the pangs of death,
the effects of his dreadful retaliation. When the day dawned, he
collected his captains in the court hall of the city, for the purpose of
issuing ordinances of confiscation, settling the terms on which the city
should in future be held, and passing sentence on the governor, who had
been taken alive, and stood in the hall bound in chains. Bruce sat in
the chair of office, his captains were ranged around him, and by his
left side sat two of the French squires already spoken of, who had
trusted to the events of that siege for getting the leave of the bravest
knights of these times to remove the bandages from their left eyes, and
be declared entitled to the rights and honours of chivalry. The scene
presented one of the most extraordinary aspects of these times of war
and bloodshed. Bruce himself had fought hand to hand with the officers
of the garrison, and slain every one who dared to withstand his terrible
onset. His face and hands were covered with blood; his bright armour
was stained; and the sword which he still held in his hand bore
evidence to the work of deadly execution it had done against Scotland's
foes. Sir James Douglas, Randolph, and others of the fiercest of his
captains, bore the same grim aspect; and the French squires exhibited by
their gore-stained shields that they merited the reward for which they
looked, from the honour-dispensing sword of the king.

At a table before the king, there sat a man habited as a clerk, with a
black cloak over his shoulders, and a small felt cap, that covered the
crown of his head. He was busy calling forth the names of the
inhabitants who had adhered to the cause of Edward; and, as he repeated
them, the king awarded his fiat of confiscation of the effects of the
individuals. As the man proceeded, he came to the name of Peter of
Ghent, and Bruce paused. The recollections of Anne and her father had
been, by the turmoils of the siege, for some time absent from his mind;
but now his face glowed as the adventure of the preceding night flashed
upon him, and the heroic conduct of the maiden was appreciated in the
triumph he was now enjoying. He thought for a moment, and remembered
that it was she who was to have been wedded to the governor. He could
not account for the apparent contradiction between this purpose and the
conduct of the girl in hailing him on to the siege of the city; but his
quick mind at once suggested the solution that she had been hostile to
the match, and that it had been projected merely by her father as a part
of the transactions of the loan that had been given for the support of
the city.

"Let Peter of Ghent and his fair daughter Anne be called to our
presence," cried the king. And in a short time the wealthy Fleming, with
Anne, who was covered with a deep veil, was led forwards in the midst
of the assembled chiefs. It was apparent, from Peter's manner, that he
was still actuated by the fear of punishment, for he trembled and shook
all over, while Anne, looking at him with side-glances from beneath her
veil, seemed to contemplate him with a mixed feeling of pity and
good-humour. Bruce, who was anxious to see the face of the maiden who
had acted so noble and fearless a part, would have requested her to lift
her veil; but the high-bred feelings inculcated by the peculiar formula
of knighthood induced him to wait till he could accomplish the object of
his wish after the legitimate manner of the chevaliers. Turning to the
trembling culprit, he raised his voice to the highest pitch.

"What does that inhabitant of old Scotland deserve," he said, as he
fixed his eyes on Peter, "who giveth his means in aid of rebellion
against his crowned king? Answer us, Peter of Ghent, according to the
estimate thou formest of thine own act, in giving to Mr Oliphant,
governor of our city, the money wherewith he endeavoured to resist our
authority."

Peter was silent, for he was now satisfied that he had been spared to be
reserved for the gallows or the heading-axe.

"Speak, sirrah!" cried the Bruce, assuming a more stern tone of
authority.

"What it meriteth in the mind of Scotland's lawful king," replied Peter,
at length; "but spare the old father for the sake of his child, and what
is left of my substance shall go to support the crown, which a king's
leniency to repentant subjects renders the more lustrous."

"Flattery is no atonement for rebellion," thundered out Bruce.

"God have mercy upon me!" cried Peter of Ghent. "Thou knowest, my liege,
that I had no power to resist the command of the governor, when he
demanded of me a thousand nobles; nor could I resist thy higher
authority, wert thou to ask of me to lay another thousand at this moment
at thy royal feet."

"Thou wouldst now even bargain for thy head, as thou didst for the
marriage of thy fair daughter," cried Bruce. "Is it not true, sir, that
thou didst sell the maiden to the traitor Oliphant?"

"It is even true that I did make it a condition of the advance of the
thousand nobles, that he should fulfil the intentions he had manifested
towards my daughter; yet I was not the less necessitated to give the
money, seeing it would have been taken from me otherwise."

"Then what does the man merit who sells his daughter for the liberties
of the country by whose industry and means he liveth?" replied the king.
"I put it to the nobles here assembled."

"The heading-block--the heading-block," resounded in hoarse groans
through the hall.

"Will she not yet throw off her veil?" muttered the king, as he cast his
eyes on Anne.

"Lead Peter of Ghent to the block," he cried aloud.

Anne threw back her veil, and, with her face uncovered, cast herself at
the feet of Bruce. The assembled lords fixed their eyes upon the damsel,
as she occupied a position which exhibited the graces of her perfect
figure, and the intelligence of her beautiful face lighted up with
feelings which moved the hearts of the sternest warriors around. They
were struck with the full blaze of a beauty that was not excelled by the
fairest woman of Scotland in her day, and whispers went round among them
that told eloquently the effect she had produced by the sudden display
of her charms.

"Is this the reward, my liege," she said, in a clear, tuneful voice,
"that is due to me for my humble efforts in behalf of the success of
thine arms? Is this the faith of the Brace, whose name has filled the
nations as the trumpet resounds within the palisades when honour is to
be sought and won?"

A smile played upon the face of the king. The quick, dark eye of the
maiden searched his heart, and was satisfied. A mantling blush,
accompanied by a smile that seemed to respond to the humour of the king,
enhanced her beauty, and showed that she understood the play that was
enacted by the noble monarch.

"It is the privilege of beauty," said the king, still smiling, "to
inspire its possessor with an unshaken faith in the sanctions of the
brave. We are not oblivious, fair Anne of Ghent, of our promise, as this
will testify." And he undid her own riband from his arm, and put it
around the neck of the supplicant. "The colour of this streamer shall
afterwards be that of the banner of Perth. Thy father is safe in life
and limb; but tell us, fair damsel, what other method could we have
adopted, to gratify our sense of justice and our love of beauty, than
to show thy father that he owes his safety to thee, and to make thee
throw off the veil that concealeth so fair a face?"

At this moment, one of the French squires, with his left eye bound up by
a green riband, advanced to the feet of the king, and stood for a moment
surveying the countenance of the supplicant.

"By the patron saint of the house of Leon," cried the Frenchman, "it is
my fair queen of the lists! Knowest thou this silken band, lady, by
which my left orb is occluded, and my affections bound to the giver?"

"If thou art Rolande de Leon," said Anne, as she rose, by the hand of
the king, "thou canst tell if that gift was bestowed by my hands. To
that valiant squire, Anne of Ghent did once award the humble pledge of a
silken band, which was to remain on his temples till he achieved a feat
of arms."

"Ha, well timed!" cried Bruce. "Hear the command of thy liege
sovereign. We command Anne of Ghent to give the light of heaven to that
occluded organ, which is so well entitled to see the glitter of the
sword of knighthood, and the charms of her who restores it to its
natural rights."

Anne proceeded, amidst the applause of the lords, to obey the commands
of the king. With a firm hand, but a palpitating heart, she undid the
bandage, as the Frenchman knelt at her feet.

"Rise not yet," said Bruce, when he saw the operation concluded; and,
taking his sword, he touched the back of the squire, and pronounced the
words, "Rise, Sir Rolande de Leon, one of the bravest knights that it
has been our good fortune to see fighting under the blue banner of
Scotland."

The knight rose, amidst the acclamation of the nobles. The clerk again
proceeded with his monotonous vocation of calling out the names of the
citizens. Peter, with his daughter, accompanied by Sir Rolande, left the
court-room, and proceeded to his house, where, after proper
explanations, the Fleming saw no reason to regret the taking of the
city. On that same day, William Oliphant was beheaded. The town was
quickly restored to order; and, before Bruce's army again set out on a
new expedition, Anne of Ghent became the lady of Sir Rolande de Leon.

This brave knight accompanied Bruce through all his engagements, taking
frequent opportunities, throughout the wars, of stealing a few days of
the society of his fair Anne of Ghent. In a short time he was covered
with honours; and, by the end of Scotland's period of direst strife and
danger, old Peter of Ghent died, leaving a large fortune to his
daughter. The couple, we have reason to believe, retired afterwards to a
castle somewhere in Perthshire, to enjoy the peace and happiness of a
domestic life, after so many toils and dangers. We have somewhere seen
the arms afterwards adopted by the knight, in which _three Lioncels
rampant topaz_ figure on a _field sapphire_, _crest_, wreathed with a
_riband vert_. The wreath we may easily understand; nor can we be at any
loss for the derivation of the young Lions, seeing that, according to
our authority, Anne bore Sir Rolande three sons, whose descendants,
under the name of Lion, long lived in Perthshire; and, if we are not led
astray by old writs, they afterwards intermarried with the Lions of
Strathmore.




THE PROFESSOR'S TALES.




PEAT-CASTING TIME.


In the olden times, there were certain fixed occasions when labour and
frolic went hand in hand--when professional duty and kind-hearted glee
mutually kissed each other. The "rocking" mentioned by Burns--

    "On Fastening's E'en we had a rocking"--

I still see in the dim and hazy distance of the past. It is only under
the refractive medium of vigorous recollection that I can again bring up
to view (as the Witch of Endor did Samuel) those images that have been
reposing, "'midst the wreck of things that were," for more than fifty
years. Yet my early boyhood was familiar with these social senile and
juvenile festivities. _There_ still sits Janet Smith, in her toy-mutch
and check-apron, projecting at intervals the well-filled spindle into
the distance. Beside her is Isabel Kirk, elongating and twirling the yet
unwound thread. Nanny Nivison occupies a _creepy_ on the further side of
the fire (making the third Fate!), with her shears. Around, and on
bedsides, are seated Lizzy Gibson, with her favoured lad; Tam
Kirkpatrick, with his jo Jean on his knee; Rob Paton the stirk-herd; and
your humble servant. And "now the crack gaes round, and who so wilful as
to put it by?" The story of past times; the report of recent
love-matches and miscarriages; the gleeful song, bursting unbid from the
young heart, swelling forth in beauty and in brightness like the waters
from the rock of Meribah; the occasional female remonstrance against
certain _welcome_ impertinences, in shape of, "Come now, Tam--nane o'
yer nonsense." "Will! I say, be peaceable, and behave yersel afore folk.
'Od, ye'll squeeze the very breath out o' a body."

        "Till, in a social glass o' strunt,
        They parted off careering
                          On sic a night."

    "Ye've heard a lilting at our ewes-milking."

How few of the present generation have ever heard of this "lilting,"
except in song. It is the gayest and sunniest season of the year. The
young lambs, in their sportive whiteness, are coursing it, and bleating
it, responsive to their dams, on the hill above. The old ewes on the
plain are marching--

    "The labour much of man and dog"--

to the pen or fold. The response to the clear-toned bleat of their
woolly progeny is given, anon and anon, in a short, broken, low bass. It
is the raven conversing with the jack-daw! All is bustle, excitement,
and badinage.

"Weer up that ewe, Jenny, lass. Wha kens but her woo may yet be a
blanket for you and ye ken wha to sleep in!"

"Haud yer tongue, Tammie, and gang hame to yer books and yer schoolin.
Troth, it will be twa days ere the craws dirty your kirk riggin!"

Wouf, wouf, wouf!--hee, hee, hee!--hoch, hoch, hoch!--there _in_ they
go, and _in_ they are, their horny heads wedged over each other, and a
trio of stout, well-made damsels, with petticoats tied up "_a la
breeches_," tugging away at their well-filled dugs.

"Troth, Jenny, that ewe will waur ye; 'od I think ye hae gotten haud o'
the auld tup himsel. He's as powerfu, let me tell ye, as auld Francie,
wham ye kissed sae snug last nicht ayont the peat-mou."

"Troth, at weel, Tam, ye're a fearfu liar. They wad be fonder than I am
o' cock birds wha wad gie tippence for the stite o' a howlet."

"Howlet here, howlet there, Jenny, ye ken weel his auld brass will buy
you a new pan."

At this crisis the crack becomes general and inaudible from its
universality, mixed as it is with the bleating of ewes, the barking of
dogs, together with the singing of herd-laddies and of your humble
servant.

Harvest is a blithe time! May all the charms of "Sycorax, toads,
beetles, bats, light on him" who shall first invent a reaping-machine!
The best of all reaping-machines is "the human _arm_ divine," whether
brawny or muscular, or soft and rounded. The old woman of sixty sits all
year long at her domestic occupations--you would deem her incapable of
any out-door exertions; but, at the sound of the harvest-horn, she
renews her youth, and sallies forth into the harvest-field, with hook
over shoulder, and a heart buoyant with the spirit of the season, to
take her place and drive her rig with the youngest there. The half-grown
boy and girl of fourteen are mingled up in duty and in frolic, in jest
and jibe, and jeer and laugh, with the stoutest and the most matured.
Mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, and, above and beyond all,
"lads and lasses, lovers gay!" mix and mingle in one united band, for
honest labour and exquisite enjoyment; and when at last the joyous kirn
is won--when the maiden of straw is borne aloft and in triumph, to adorn
for twelve months the wall of the farmer's ben--when the rich and
cooling curds-and-cream have been ram-horn-spooned into as many mouths
as there are persons in the "toun"--then comes the mighty and
long-anticipated festival, the roasted ox, the stewed sheep, the big pot
enriched with the cheering and elevating draught, the punch dealt about
in ladles and in jugs, the inspiring fiddle, the maddening reel, and the
Highland fling.

    "_We_ cannot but remember such things were,
    And were most dear to us!"

Hay harvest, too, had its soft and delicate tints, resembling those of
the grain harvest. As the upper rainbow curves and glows with fainter
colouring around the interior and the brighter, so did the hay harvest
of yore anticipate and pre-figure, as it were, the other. The hay tedded
to the sun; the barefooted lass, her locks floating in the breeze, her
cheeks redolent of youth, and her eyes of joy, scattering or collecting,
carting or ricking, the sweetly-scented meadow produce, under a June sun
and a blue sky!

    "Oh, to feel as I have felt,
    Or be what I have been!"

The favoured lover, namely, of that youthful purity, now in its
fourteenth summer--myself as pure and all unthinking of aught but
affection the most intense, and feelings the most soft and
unaccountable.

    "Ah, little did thy mother think,
      That day she cradled thee,
    What lands thou hadst to travel in,
      What death thou hadst to dee!"

Poor Jeanie Johnston! I have seen her, only a few weeks ago, during the
sittings of the General Assembly, sunk in poverty, emaciated by disease,
the wife of an old soldier, himself disabled from work, tenanting a dark
hovel in Pipe's Close, Castlehill of Edinburgh.

In the upper district of Dumfries-shire--the land of my birth, and of
all those early associations which cling to me as the mistletoe to the
oak, and which are equally hallowed with that druidical
excrescence--there are no coals, but a superabundance of moss;
consequently peat-fires _are_ very _generally_ still, and _were_, at the
time of which I speak, _universally_, made use of; and a peat-fire, on a
cold, frosty night of winter, when every star is glinting and goggling
through the blue, or when the tempest raves, and

    "There's no a star in a' the cary,"

is by no means to be despised. To be sure, it is short-lived--but then
it kindles soon; it does not, it is true, entertain us with fantastic
and playful jets of flame--but then its light is full, united, and
steady; the heat which it sends out on all sides is superior to that of
coals. Wood is sullen and sulky, whether in its log or faggot form. It
eats away into itself, in a cancer ignition. But the blazing peat--

    "The bleezing ingle, and the clean hearth-stane"--

is the very soul of cheerfulness and comfort. But then peats must
be prepared. They do not grow in hedges, nor vegetate in meadows.
They must be cut from the black and consolidated moss; and a
peculiarly-constructed spade, with a sharp edge and crooked ear, must be
made use of for that purpose; and into the field of operation must be
brought, at casting-time, the spademen, with their spades; and the
barrowmen, and women, boys, and girls, with their barrows; and the
breakfast sowans, with their creamy milk, cut and crossed into circles
and squares; and the dinner stew, with its sappy potatoes and
gusty-onioned mutton fragments; and the rest at noon, with its active
sports and feats of agility, and, in particular, with its jumps from the
moss-brow into the soft, marshy substance beneath--and _thereby hangs my
tale_, which shall be as short and simple as possible.

One of the loveliest visions of my boyhood is Nancy Morrison. She was a
year or so older than me; but we went and returned from school together.
She was the only daughter of a poor widow woman, who supported herself,
in a romantic glen on the skirts of the Queensberry Hills, by bleaching
or whitening webs. In those days, the alkalis and acids had not yet
superseded the slower progress of whitening green linen by soap-boiling,
tramping, and alternate drying in the sun, and wetting with pure running
water. Many is the time and oft that Nanny and I have wielded the
watering-pan, in this fairy, sunny glen, all day long. Whilst the
humble-bee boomed past us, the mavis occupied the thorn-tree, and the
mother of Nanny employed herself in some more laborious department of
the same process, Nanny and I have set us down on the greensward--_in
tenaci gramine_--played at chucks, "head him and cross him," or some
such amusement. At school, Nanny had ever a faithful defender and
avenger in me; and I have even purloined apples and gooseberries from
the castle garden--and all for the love I bore "to my Nanny, oh!"

I know not that any one has rightly described a first love. It is not
the love of man and woman, though that be fervent and terrible--it is
not the love of mere boy and girlhood, though that be disinterested and
engrossing--but it is the love of the period of life which unites the
two. "Is there a man whose blood is warm within him" who does not
recollect it? Is there a woman who has passed through the novitiate of
fifteen, who has not still a distinct impression of the feeling of which
I speak. It is not sexual, and yet it can only exist betwixt the sexes.
It is the sweetest delusion under which the soul of a created being can
pass. It is modest, timid, retiring, bashful; yet, in absence of the
adored--in seclusion, in meditation, and in dreams--it is bold,
resolute, and determined. There is no plan, no design, no right
conception of _cause_; yet the _effect_ is sure and the bliss perfect.
Oh, for one hour--one little hour--from the thousands which I have
idled, sported, dreamed away in the company of my darling
school-companion, Nancy!

Will Mather was about two years older than Nancy--a fine youth,
attending the same school, and evidently an admirer of Nancy. Mine was
the love of comparative boyhood; but his was a passion gradually
ripening (as the charms of Nancy budded into womanhood) into a manly and
matrimonial feeling. I loved the girl merely as such--his eye, his
heart, his whole soul were in his future bride. Marriage in no shape
ever entered into my computations; but his eager look and heaving bosom
bespoke the definite purpose--he anticipated felicity. I don't know
exactly why, but I was never jealous of Will Mather--we were companions;
and he was high-souled and generous, and stood my friend in many
perilous quarrels. I knew that _my_ pathway in life was to be afar from
that in which Nancy and Will were likely to walk; and I felt in my heart
that, dear as this beautiful rosebud was to me, I was not _man_
enough--I was not _peasant_ enough to wear it in my bosom. Had Nancy on
any occasion turned round to be kissed by me, I would have fled over
muir and dale, to avoid her presence--and yet I had often a great desire
to obtain that favour. Once indeed, and only once, did I obtain, or
rather steal it. She was sitting beside a bird's nest, the young ones of
which she was feeding and cherishing--for the parent birds, by the
rapacity of a cat, had recently perished. As the little bills were
expanding to receive their food, her countenance beamed with pity and
benevolence. I never saw even _her_ so lovely--so, in a moment, I had
her round the neck, and clung to her lips with the tenacity of a
creature drowning. But, feeling at once the awkwardness of my position,
I took to my heels, becoming immediately invisible amidst the
surrounding brushwood.

Such was "Will Mather," and such was "Nancy Morrison" at the period of
which I am speaking. We must now advance about two or three years in our
chronology, and find Will possessed of a piece of information which bore
materially on his future fortunes. Will was an illegitimate child. His
mother had kept the secret so well that he did not know his father,
though he had frequently urged her to reveal to him privately all that
she knew of his parentage. In conversing, too, with Nancy, his now
affianced bride, he had expressed similar wishes; whilst she, with a
becoming and feminine modesty, had urged him not to press an aged parent
on so delicate a point. At last the old woman was taken seriously ill,
and, on her death-bed and at midnight, revealed to her son the secret of
his birth. He was the son of a proprietor in the parish, and a
much-respected man. The youth, so soon as he had closed his mother's
eyes, hurried off, amidst the darkness, to the abode of his father, and,
entering by a window, was in his father's bedchamber and over his body
ere he was fully awake.

"John Scott!" said the son, in a firm and terrible tone, grasping his
parent meantime convulsively round the neck--"John Scott of
Auchincleuch, _I am thy son_!"

Tho conscience-stricken culprit, being taken by surprise, and almost
imagining this a supernatural intimation from heaven, exclaimed, in
trembling accents--

"But who are you that makes this averment?"

"I am thy son, father--oh, I am thy son!"

Will could no more; for his heart was full, and his tears dropped hot
and heavy on a father's face.

"Yes," replied the parent, after a convulsive solemn sob--(O Heaven!
thou art just!)--"yes, thou _art_ indeed my son--my long-denied and
ill-used boy--whom the fear of the world's scorn has tempted me, against
all the yearnings of my better nature, to use so unjustly. But come to
my bosom--to a father's bosom _now_, for I know that voice too well to
distrust thee."

In a few months after this interesting disclosure, John Scott was
numbered with his fathers, and Will Scott (no longer Mather) became
Laird of Auchincleuch.

Poor Nancy was at first somewhat distressed at this discovery, which put
her betrothed in a position to expect a higher or genteeler match. But
there was no cause of alarm. Will was true to the back-bone, and would
as soon have burned his Bible as have sacrificed his future bride. After
much pressing for an early day on the part of the lover, it was agreed,
at last, that the marriage should take place at "Peat-casting Time," and
that Nancy should, for the last turn, assist at the casting of her
mother's peats.

I wish I could stop here, or at least proceed to give you an account of
the happy nuptials of Will Scott and Nancy Morrison, the handsomest
couple in the parish of Closeburn. But it may not be! These eyes, which
are still filled (though it is forty-eight years since) with tears, and
this pen, which trembles as I proceed, must attest and record the
catastrophe.

Nancy, the beautiful bride, and I (for I was now on the point of leaving
school for college) agreed to have a jump for the last time (often had
we jumped before) from a suitable moss-brow.

"My frolicsome days will sune be owre," she cried, laughing; "the
guidwife of Auchincleuch will hae something else to do than jump frae
the moss-brow; and, while my name is Nancy Morrison, I'll hail the
dules, or jump wi' the best o' my auld playmates."

"Weel dune, Nancy!" cried I; "you are now to be the wife o' the Laird o'
Auchincleuch, when your jumping days will be at an end, and I am soon to
be sent to college, where the only jump I may get may be from the top of
a pile of old black-letter folios--no half sae guid a point of advantage
as the moss-brow."

"There's the Laird o' Auchincleuch coming," cried Peggy Chalmers, one of
the peat-casters, who was standing aside along with several others.
"He's nae langer the daft Will Mather, wha liked a jump as weel as the
blithest swankie o' the barnyard. Siller maks sair changes; and yet, wha
wad exchange the Will Scott of Auchincleuch, your rich bridegroom,
Nancy, for the Will Mather, your auld lover? Dinna tempt Providence, my
hinny! The laird winna like to see his bride jumpin frae knowe to knowe
like a daft giglet, within a week o' her marriage."

"Tout!" cried Nancy, bursting out into a loud laugh; "see, he's awa
round by the Craw Plantin, and winna see us--and whar's the harm if he
did? Come now, Tammie, just ae spring and the last, and I'll wad ye my
kame against your cravat, that I beat ye by the length o' my marriage
slipper."

"Weel dune, Nancy!" cried several of the peat-casters, who, leaning on
their spades, stood and looked at us with pleasure and approbation.

The laird had, as Nancy said, crossed over by what was called the Craw
Plantin, and was now out of sight. To make the affair more
ludicrous--for we were all bent on fun--Nancy took out, from among her
high-built locks of auburn hair, her comb--a present from her lover--and
impledged it in the hands of Billy Watson, along with my cravat, which I
had taken off, and handed to the umpire.

"Here is a better moss-brow," cried one, at a distance.

And so to be sure it was, for it was much higher than the one we had
fixed upon, and the landing-place was soft and elastic. Our practice
was, always to jump together, so that the points of the toes could be
measured when both the competitors' feet were still fixed in the moss.
We mounted the moss-brow. I was in high spirits, and Nancy could
scarcely contain herself, for pure, boisterous, laughing glee. I went
off, but the mad girl could not follow, for she was still holding her
sides, and laughing immoderately. I asked her what she laughed at. She
could not tell. She was under the influence of one of those
extraordinary cachinnations that sometimes convulse our diaphragms,
without our being able to tell why, and certainly without our being able
to put a stop to them. Her face was flushed, and the fire of her glee
shone bright in her eye. I took my position again.

"Now!" cried I; and away we flew, and stuck deeply in the soft and
spongy moss.

I stood with my feet in the ground, that the umpire might come and mark
the distance. A loud scream broke on my ear. I looked round, and,
dreadful sight! I saw Nancy lying extended on the ground, with the blood
pouring out at her mouth in a large stream! She had burst a
blood-vessel. The fit of laughing which preceded her effort to leap had,
in all likelihood, distended her delicate veins, and predisposed her to
the unhappy result.

The loud scream had attracted the notice of the bridegroom, who came
running from the back of the Craw Plantin. The sight appalled and
stupefied him. He cried for explanation, and ran forward to his dead or
dying bride, in wild confusion. Several voices essayed an explanation,
but none were intelligible. I was as unable as the rest to satisfy the
unhappy man; but, though we could not speak intelligibly, we could act,
and several of us lifted her up. This step sealed her fate. The change
in her position produced another stream of blood. She opened her eyes
once, and fixed them for a moment on Will Scott. She then closed them,
and for ever.

I saw poor Nancy carried home. Will Scott, who upheld her head, fainted
before he proceeded twenty yards, and I was obliged to take his place. I
was almost as unfit for the task as himself; for I reproached myself as
the cause of her death. I have lived long. Will the image of that
procession ever pass from my mind? The bloodstained moss-ground, the
bleeding body, the trailing clothes, the unbound locks, are all before
me. I can proceed no further. Would that I could stop the current of my
thoughts as easily as that of this feathered chronicler of sorrow! But--

    "There is a silent sorrow here,
      A grief I'll ne'er impart;
    It breathes no sigh, it sheds no tear,
      But it consumes my heart."

I have taken up my pen to add, that Will Mather still remains a
bachelor, and that on every visit I make to Dumfries-shire, I take my
dinner, _solus cum solo_, at Auchincleuch, and that many tears are
annually shed, over a snug bottle, for poor Nancy.




THE MEDAL.


I was educated in a Scottish university, where prizes were distributed
to the most distinguished students in each class at the termination of
the session. The most distinguished prize was a gold medal, value ten
guineas, the gift of a departed _eleve_, and awarded to the best scholar
in the mathematical class. Having a natural turn or bias for
mathematical pursuits, I applied myself night and day to the attainment
of this my object of ambition; and this, too, at the expense and neglect
of all the other classes which I attended. I was a very imperfect Latin
scholar, I knew almost nothing of Greek, and held the unscientific
reasoning of logic and moral philosophy in great contempt. By great
labour, and after a severe competition, I succeeded in attaining the
distinction at which I aimed, and saw myself blazoned in several
newspapers as the holder of this distinguishing badge. My great chum at
college was a Mr Donald Ferguson, a lad of a staid and persevering
disposition, of a well-balanced and judicious mind, and without any
talents, _apparently_, which bespoke future distinction. We had been
friends and companions at school--our parents were friends before
us--and, although we differed materially in disposition, this did not
prevent the closest and most affectionate intercourse. Oh! such
recollections as now rush upon my mind!--

    "Dear happy scenes of innocence and ease--
    Scenes of my youth, when every sport could please!"

Ferguson and I spent whole days together in the solitude of nature, with
nothing but the deep blue and fleecy white overhead; the stunted thorn
and the croaking raven above; and the brawling brook and trout-dimpled
pool before us. In all games of activity I had the start of Ferguson,
and was always first chosen at "King o' Cantilon," "the dools," and
"shinty;" but he had the advantage again of me in feats of strength and
precision of eye--in the quoits and putting-stone. But I am wandering
from my purpose, and forgetting my narrative.

Ferguson would often admonish me that I was giving offence to several
professors, in order to gain the good opinion of one, and that the
applause which my medal would procure for me might be too dearly bought
at the expense of every other department of study. I took all this in
good part, but without altering, in the least, my conduct, as I answered
that my friend was making a virtue of necessity, and recommending that
course of obscure diligence to me which he, by nature, was destined to
pursue.

In consequence of the _eclat_ of the medal, I had an invitation to make
one of a pleasure party to Roslin, and had the happiness of being
introduced to some young ladies, who had previously expressed to my
friend Ferguson a wish to make my acquaintance. We spent a most
delightful day--

    "'Midst Roslin's bowers sae bright and bonny,
    And a' the sweets o' Hawthornden."

The ladies were young, bright, and beautiful, light of heart, and
delightfully pleasing in manners and conversation. I had not been
previously accustomed to such fascinating society; and I felt that kind
of intoxication which youth, innocence, and strong passion only can
feel. I was all day _off_ my feet, and gave way to every manner of fun,
frolic, and foolery, to show that, though I was an immense philosopher,
I was still a man in every pulse and vein. There was in this happy group
one divine countenance; an eye so blue, and so soft, and so
penetrating--lips that moved in meaning, and held every instant
communication of the most electric character, with a little playful,
almost wily dimple which gave the most varied fascination to a cheek of
sunshine and almost rosy hue. Her form

          "Was fresher than the morning rose
    When the dew wets its leaves--unstain'd and pure
    As is the lily or the mountain snow."

In a word, as you will easily perceive, I was captivated; and could do
nothing all the ensuing night but toss and think, and think and toss,
till nature at last steeped me anew, not in forgetfulness, but in all
the motley, medley joys and gambols of Roslin. I had now become a
student of divinity; but all study was with me at an end. No party of
young people--particularly where young ladies were concerned--could be
held without me; and I had the very great misfortune to be talked of by
them as monstrous clever. The young lady to whom I had so long paid
particular attention, and at whose house (that of the widow of a
respected clergyman of the Church of Scotland) I had long been a
habitual and a welcome guest, at last consented to receive me in future
in the light of a lover. We walked it, talked it, and laughed it from
morning to night, "as other lovers do," and scarcely thought of either
the past or the future, being so completely engrossed with the present.
Time flew by on angel wings, fleeting as bright, and the period of my
examination, previous to my receiving license, at last approached. I had
all the while a secret misgiving that I would not stand a trial, in the
Presbytery of Edinburgh in particular; but I had no other residence for
several years, and, consequently, no other way of becoming a licentiate.
As good fortune would have it, the mother of my betrothed, through her
interest with the Duke of Queensberry's factor, had every chance of
procuring me a presentation the moment I was qualified to accept of it;
and both she and her daughter would as soon have dreamed that I would
fail in opening my eyes, as in obtaining the indispensable requisite of
a license. What I had anticipated, however, actually took place: I was
found so deficient in the classics of Greece and Rome, that my license
was delayed, and I was remitted for twelve months to my studies. This
was a degree of disgrace and degradation which altogether unmanned me. I
could not face my beloved Mary, or her mother, or any of my own friends
and acquaintances, under such circumstances. Sleep fled my eyes, and my
mind became unhinged. Existence itself became a positive, insupportable
misery. I fled to the mountains; but they, through all their glens and
streams, had tongues that syllabled beloved names, which I wished, were
it possible, to forget. Wherever I went, the horrors of the past were
ever present. People seemed to me to stop and point the finger of scorn
at me from every street and doorway. At last, in a fit of despair, I
rashly resolved on self-destruction, and plunged headlong into Leith
harbour. I have the sound of the waters still in my ears, and that sound
will, I verily believe, remain till that of the last trumpet shall
mingle with it. When I awoke from seeming nonentity, I was surrounded by
many and unknown faces; and my passage back to life was more terrific
and painful by far than my exit. I had been for some time in a warm bed,
and undergoing the means of resuscitation. "Much kinder," thought I,
"had ye been to let me go." My name, parentage, &c., having been
ascertained, my father was written to, and I was kept in close custody
till his arrival. My father was a respectable farmer in Dumfries-shire,
and immediately hurried me away to my native glen. My mother met me with
tears; but they were those of sympathy and affection, and one word of
reproach she never uttered. I became gradually more and more calm: but
at times the thoughts of the paradise which I had lost, and the hell I
had earned, would throw me absolutely into convulsions. The calmness
which gathered over my soul was not that of resignation--it was the
settled gloom of despair. Religion was talked of and pressed upon me;
but as yet I had no settled views on that subject. I neither believed
nor disbelieved: I was willing, when the subject obtruded itself upon my
thoughts, to get rid of it the best way I could. At last my melancholy
gradually undermined a naturally good constitution, and it was manifest
to my medical adviser that I was verging towards that degree of
weakness and decay which, under various distinctive appellations, is
sure to terminate in death. A change of scene was urged, and I was
hurried away to Saturness Point, that I might inhale the sea breeze, and
be interested in new objects. This measure was at first partially
successful; but, happening to see a newspaper one day, in which the
settlement of my more steady companion in the very church which I had
once destined for myself was mentioned, and reading in the very same
page a notice of his marriage with my beloved Mary, I became immediately
frantic. For years my mind was so far unhinged that a person was
appointed to watch my motions, and guard me from self-destruction. "Oh,
that cursed medal!" was I heard again and again to exclaim; "it is to
this I have to trace my every wo." What I endured, during this dark and
fearful night, no power of fancy can image, no pen can describe.
_Horresco referens._

As God would have it, the person who was thus associated with me night
and day was religiously disposed, and took occasion, when opportunity
served, to lead my mind to serious subjects--to talk of eternity,
immortality, heaven, and hell. Often did I kick against the pricks, and
strive to resume my former indifference; but it would not do. The very
_possibility_ of such awful truths was terrific. I awoke all at once, as
it were, to a sense of my imminent danger. I found that I was sleeping
on a parapet, from which to fall was certain death. I fled with all
possible speed to the only city of refuge--to the redemption that is in
Christ Jesus. I grasped the truths of the gospel with the energy of a
dying creature. I hugged the very Bible to my bosom, and read it night
and day. Our conversations were protracted, and, to me, ultimately
delightful. I found that there was mercy even to the _chief_ of sinners,
and I regarded myself as personally referred to in the gracious
intimation. With the perception and cultivation of gospel truth, my
health gradually rallied, and my mind assumed a more balanced attitude.
It was about this time that my father died, and the superintendence of a
pretty extensive sheep-farm naturally devolved upon me. This avocation,
uncongenial as it was to my college pursuits and feelings, still
occupied my attention, and withdrew me from reflections of no very
pleasing nature. In cultivating, or rather in renewing, my acquaintance
with the soil, and with its productions, vegetable as well as animal, I
felt that I was placed as it were in the outer vestibule of God's
temple. Into the holy of holies, through the blessed mediation, I had
already been introduced, and it gave me pleasure to behold the outer, as
well as to contemplate the inner, courts of so stupendous an erection.
"The Shepherd of Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps. My sheep hear my
voice. He shall separate the sheep from the goats. The streams that run
amongst the hills. Mount Carmel, Mount Zion, Mount Horeb." These and
similar expressions, in which the Jewish Scriptures, in particular,
abound, came home to my newly-renovated, and, I trust, regenerated,
perceptions, with a vividness and a force formerly unknown. I seemed to
myself to be a dweller on the mountains of Jacob, and amongst the tents
of Israel, as my flocks scattered themselves on the hill-side, or
pursued the green pasturage by the streams of waters. There was a
harmony and correspondence betwixt the seen and the unseen, the present
and the past, the temporal and the spiritual life, of which I every day
became more and more aware.

About this time we received intimation of the death of my father's
brother, who had gone, early in life, to Kingston in Jamaica, and had,
by prosperous adventures as a merchant, realised a considerable sum of
money. After various delays and much peculation, the residue of his
fortune, together with his will, was transmitted home, and I found
myself, as my father's heir-male, entitled to upwards of L10,000. My
mother had already greatly declined, indeed she never fully rallied
after my father's death; and on the very day on which the papers
respecting the inheritance arrived, I had to perform the last sad duties
to one of the best of parents. Alas! that ever my unhappy conduct should
have occasioned pain and anxiety in a bosom where pure affection and
undefiled religion habitually resided! I had the consolation, however,
to receive my mother's blessing in her parting breath, and to hear her
construe my misconduct and misfortunes into merciful dispensations of a
wise Providence, who is ever bringing good out of seeming evil.

    "And better thence again, and better still,
    In infinite progression."

The lease of the farm having expired in a year after this, I did not
think of continuing on a spot which suggested so many recollections
connected with the departed; so I at once removed to furnished lodgings
in Edinburgh, and gradually renewed my acquaintance with a few of my
still surviving friends. Amongst these was the mother of my Mary, who
informed me that her daughter was now a widow and without family, and
was expected in a month or two to return to her old fireside from the
Manse of ----. I do not know how it was, but I trembled all over at this
information, and an image, which had for so long a time been almost
obliterated from my memory, now rose before me in all its original
loveliness. The two months appeared to me two twelvemonths, till I again
saw, and renewed my acquaintance, with the only woman whom my soul had
ever loved. Mutual explanations took place; she had married my friend
Ferguson, under the impression that, if not dead, I was confined in a
lunatic asylum; and had only consented, after all, at the earnest
request of her mother. It was but yesterday that we had a most
delightful drive to Roslin, where I renewed my addresses, and have been
accepted. I have taken a neat cottage near Hawthornden, where I mean to
spend with Mary the remainder of my days, if not in the fervour of young
love, at least in the more enduring, perhaps, and more rational
endearments of mutual affection, friendship, and esteem. The medal,
which was the foundation of all my sufferings, I have at this moment
suspended before me, in my study, that I may be ever reminded of that
false step which, but for the interposition of Providence, might have
ruined both soul and body for ever. If it shall be in God's providence
that I am blessed with any pledges of affection by my dear Mary, I shall
endeavour to save them from the danger which I so narrowly escaped; yet,
so strangely commingled are the good and bad things of life--so very
delicately are the fine threads that go to form the web of our moral
system connected and interlaced--that it requires a hand finer than mere
man's to remove some of the dingy lines, so as to restore to the whole
that beauty it possessed when spread in the garden of Eden. If we take
from the noble steed the emulation that may hurry him over the
precipice, we will see him distanced at the next St Leger. Must we,
then, secure the good, and run the risk of the attendant evil? The
answer does not seem difficult. Let emulation be by all means
encouraged; but let all teachers and parents impress upon the minds of
the fortunate competitors the true value of the prize won. And whilst
efforts are made in one direction, let it ever be remembered that a
_useful_ education comprehends _breadth_ as well as _length_; and that
the departments which have been neglected may prove, in future life,
those of the most essential value in promoting success and securing
happiness.




THE MEETING AT ST BOSWELL'S.


It is now some years since I happened to visit the pretty little village
of St Boswell's, in Roxburghshire, in company with a friend, who had
some stock to dispose of at the great annual fair then holding there.
Most of my readers are aware that the Duke of Buccleugh is lord of the
manor of St Boswell's, and that a dinner is always provided, at his
grace's expense, in a barn on the fair ground, for all gentlemen who
have tickets of admission from the baron bailie. While my friend was
busied with the disposal of his stock, I, being an idler, wandered up
and down the green, and was much pleased with the appearance of the
fair, which was more English, if I may be allowed to use the term, than
anything of the kind I had ever witnessed in Scotland. The numbers, neat
arrangement, and really handsome appearance of the "street" of
booths--the gay and well-dressed parties of gentlefolks--the cheerful,
joyous faces of the lower orders--the handsome equipages--the green at a
distance, swarming with cattle of various kinds--with a bright and
genial sun shining over all--formed altogether a pleasing and animated
scene. Pleased as I was, however, I caught myself several times
involuntarily yawning, and turning my eyes towards the barn; and I was
not at all sorry when the welcome sound of the drum announced that "the
roast beef" was ready. I was soon seated beside my friend, who, like
myself, was most ready and anxious to do justice to the duke's liberal
provision. I have a great talent for eating, but none for description,
so I will not attempt to enumerate or describe the variety of good
things which _dis_appeared before us; suffice it, we were all much more
contented with ourselves and each other when all was over, than before
our operations commenced. Commend me to a man who has just made a good
dinner--if he be not a philanthropist then, he never will be. Happening
to glance my eye towards the other end of the table, I observed that I
was the object of close and intense attention to one of the company--a
stranger of prepossessing aspect, who was seated at some distance at the
opposite side. He gazed at me with an earnestness almost amounting to
rudeness; and whenever I glanced in that direction, I perceived that his
eye was constantly riveted upon my countenance. At first, I was
considerably annoyed by the persevering scrutiny of his gaze; but, after
a time, I was conscious of a vague impression on my mind that I had seen
his face before; but when or where, I in vain endeavoured to recall. I
was in the unpleasant situation of one who hears a long-forgotten
melody, which stirs up within his mind overpowering and indefinable
emotions, though, at the moment, the associations connected with it are
forgotten. A confused train of visions of the past, of pleasure and of
pain, crowded through my brain, with a dreamy consciousness that the
stranger was, in some way or another, connected with them. I could not,
for the life of me, shake off the impression his features had made upon
my mind; and I wandered up and down, through all the bustle of the fair,
as abstracted as if I were in a desert--treading upon the toes of the
present, and raking up the ashes of the past, to puzzle out some
connection between them and the stranger; but in vain. The indignant
looks and half-suppressed curses of those I jostled or trod upon alike
failed in rousing me from my reverie, till a violent push from the elbow
of one of my victims sent me staggering against a gentleman who was
standing close to one of the booths. It was the stranger.

How wonderful and unaccountable are the workings of the human mind, and
what trifling incidents may present us with a clue to the labyrinth of
thought we have been in vain endeavouring to unravel!

In making my apologies to the stranger, my eye chanced to glance upwards
to the _sign_ above the entrance to the booth; it was "The Old Ship." A
flash of sudden recollection lighted up the dark places of my
memory--the friend of my early days stood before me.

"Sandford!--in the name of all that's strange, is that you?"

"My name is Sandford Grant," said he, "and I know and feel that you are
an old friend. I have been thinking of nothing else since I saw you in
the barn; but my memory plays me false--I cannot recollect when or where
we have met before."

"Look up at that board--perhaps it will assist your recollection, as it
did mine."

"The Old Ship!" exclaimed he, with a look of wonder and inquiry. "The
Old Ship!" he repeated, slowly and distinctly, and then he gazed long
and earnestly in my face, till at length the look of indecision and
doubt gave place to a sudden glow of delighted recognition. "Douglas!"
exclaimed he, with a long and cordial shake of the hand.

"The same, my dear fellow. It is ten long years since we met, and time
has left his marks upon us both; no wonder we did not recognise each
other at first; particularly as it was in such a very different scene we
last met, or rather parted."

We spent the evening together, as two long-separated friends should do,
in talking over the events of our early years, and relating our mutual
adventures since we parted. As I did not know Sandford myself at first,
it is hardly to be expected that the reader can know either of us
without a formal introduction; which is the more necessary, as we are
both to figure in the tale I am about to relate.

Those of my readers who have passed through Longtown in Cumberland may
have remarked, on the left-hand side of the main street, as they entered
the town from the bridge, a neat red-brick house, with an iron-railed
enclosure in front, and a large gateway to the right, leading into the
courtyard. In that house Sandford Grant and I first became acquainted
with each other; it was then an academy. The house still remains, but
master and pupils are "scattered to the four winds of heaven." For three
years we were class-fellows and friends; for we were just of the same
age, and a Scottish feeling of clannish regard made us cling to each
other more perhaps than we otherwise would have done. He was a handsome,
spirited boy, or rather child, and was always ready, at a word, to fight
my battles as well as his own. He was a great favourite on account of
his frank, liberal disposition; but the most unlucky little dog that
ever lived. If ever there was any mischief going on, he was sure to be
concerned in it, and as sure of being discovered and punished; if there
was only one puddle in the road on a Sunday, he, somehow or other,
contrived to go out of his way to tumble into it, dirty his white
stockings, and be recommended by the mistress to her husband's tender
mercies. In fact, he was constantly getting into scrapes; so much so
that "Sandford's luck" became quite a proverb among us.

It was with sad hearts and tears on both sides that we parted, when
circumstances obliged me to accompany my family to the south. We were
then about eleven years of age; and having lately read the tale of Damon
and Pythias, we felt assured that we would willingly follow their
example, and were ready, if necessary, to immolate ourselves on the
altar of friendship. Fortunately for us, there was no such necessity.
The spring of tears in youth lies too near the surface--it is soon
exhausted. We solaced our sorrows for the present, by promising that, as
we could no longer see each other, we would exchange long letters, at
least once a-week. At first our correspondence added considerably to His
Majesty's revenue; but our epistolary ardour soon cooled, till, at no
very long interval, our correspondence fell into a gradual decline, and
at last died away altogether. But the Fates had decreed that Sandford
and I were not to part so easily. We met some years afterwards at the
Military College at Addiscombe, where we added to the number of the
East India Company's _hard bargains_. There we were inseparable; for,
with all the warmth of early recollections around us, our renewed
acquaintance soon ripened into sincere and devoted friendship.

After the usual term of probation at Addiscombe, Sandford obtained an
appointment in the engineers, and I a cadetship of infantry, and we
sailed from England together. On our arrival at Calcutta, we separated:
he remaining at the presidency, and I being ordered up the country, to
join my regiment at Cawnpore.

I pass over the details of my life in India; suffice it that, after ten
years roasting under an eastern sun, I was pretty well done at last, and
my liver began to give me sundry gentle hints that it was time for me to
be moving, unless I wished to remain altogether where I was;
accordingly, I applied for and obtained furlough to visit Europe for the
benefit of my health. Though Sandford and I had been so long separated,
we had always kept up a regular intercourse by letter, and we had
arranged that, if practicable, we would take our furlough together; and,
accordingly, we managed matters so that we took our passage in the same
ship for England. Fortune had favoured us both in promotion; we had each
attained the rank of captain in our respective corps. In congratulating
Sandford on his good fortune, I remarked, in allusion to our
school-days, that it was better than "Sandford's luck."

"You would not say so, my dear fellow," said he, "if you knew all. I am
as unlucky a dog as ever; and you may have reason yet, before we part,
to wish we had not met again."

"Nonsense," said I; "let us enjoy the present, at all events, whatever
the future may have in store for us. Come, order your palanquin, and let
us be off; the boat was to be waiting for us at Champaul Ghaut at ten
o'clock, and it only wants a few minutes of the hour."

Our ship, the Dolphin, was a beautiful little chartered free-trader, of
about 600 tons, remarkably fast for a merchantman--a regular clipper, as
her captain called her--and manned by an active and effective crew. She
mounted twelve small carronades on her upper deck, and a neat brass
swivel which traversed on the head of the capstan. On the 28th August,
18--, we sailed from Sangor with several other merchantmen, under convoy
of H.M.S. Albatross. Our voyage was very tedious, unmarked by any
variety except that of wind and weather; and our captain, who was a
smart, active little man, an excellent disciplinarian, and much beloved
by his crew, was dreadfully annoyed by the detention occasioned by the
dull sailers of the fleet. At last he resolved, if possible, to effect
his escape, and make the best of his way home. After we left St Helena,
an opportunity, unfortunately for us, soon presented itself. One squally
evening, the frigate made a signal for the convoy to carry easy sail,
and to watch the commodore's motions during the night. Soon after dark,
the wind freshened up to a strong breeze, with passing squalls and heavy
rain at times. With her topgallantsails set over single-reefed topsails,
the little Dolphin bounded over the waves in such style as to do credit
to the name she bore; and, by keeping a little of the course she had
before been steering, and carrying a press of sail through the night,
made such good use of her _fins_, that at daybreak not a ship of the
fleet was to be seen. We were all at first delighted with our freedom,
and with the prospect of reaching our destination so much sooner than we
otherwise would have done; but, upon after reflection, we began to doubt
the prudence of trusting to our own legs and arms, when we would have
been so much safer under the wing of the Albatross. Captain Driver
himself, however, was in high glee; he said he knew that few even of the
crack privateers were matches for his little Dolphin. However, he
neglected no means of adding to, and improving, the efficiency of his
vessel: the men were exercised regularly at the guns, the passengers and
servants drilled in the use of the muskets, and every precaution was
adopted which skill and experience could suggest, to make our means of
defence as available as possible.

In this way our time passed away stirringly and pleasantly enough, till
we lost the south-east trade, and then we were tormented for nearly
three weeks with calms and burning heat during the day, and heavy
unceasing rains during the night. To add to our discomforts, a great
mortality had taken place among our live stock, and we were for days
floating about among a whole fleet of dead ducks and fowls, with the
pleasant prospect before us of salt junk and hard Curtis[1] for the rest
of the voyage.

[Footnote 1: A famous biscuit-baker.]

"My old luck," said Sandford.

We had at last contrived to crawl as far as four degrees north, when,
one afternoon, to our great joy, we observed signs of change in the
weather. Light grey clouds were beginning to appear to the northward;
and we watched with great interest those "ships of heaven" slowly and
gradually moving upwards. Light _cats'-paws_ began to ruffle the waters,
and every here and there we saw in the distance shoals of fish sporting
amid the roughness which the light and partial airs produced upon the
surface. But we were still lying becalmed; the awnings were all spread,
but the heat was oppressive; and the little Dolphin was rolling heavily
in the long sea, dipping her bright sides deep into the water. A long
dark line was now visible on the horizon to the eastward, which
gradually spread, and neared us.

"Thank goodness! there is a breeze at last!" said Captain Driver; and in
half-an-hour's time the Dolphin was once more dancing along, like a
living creature, over the waves. During the night, the wind drew
gradually round to the northward; and before morning we had a fine
steady north-east trade, which carried us as far as twenty-nine degrees
north. From this time nothing particular occurred, till we arrived
nearly in the parallel of the English Channel--the Lizard bearing about
north-east-by-east of us, fifteen hundred miles distant. Here, after a
succession of south-easterly breezes, we had another taste of
"Sandford's luck," in the shape of a calm of two days' duration. On the
morning of the third day, we were surprised by seeing, at some six or
seven miles' distance to the south-west, a long, low, rakish-looking
brig, with her royals furled and courses hauled up, and a pennant flying
at the mast-head. Immediately on noticing us, she hoisted an English
ensign, and fired a gun. Our boatswain, an old man-of-war's-man,
immediately exclaimed that he recognised her as H.M. brig Hawk; and upon
her firing a second gun, the quarter-boat was lowered and manned, and
the second mate despatched in her. Sandford, who was fond of novelty,
asked and obtained leave to join the party. Soon after the boat shoved
off from the Dolphin, a light breeze from the southward filled the
stranger's sails, and she drew a little nearer. We were all anxious for
news from England, and watched our boat with great anxiety, as she went
alongside of the brig; but what was our surprise to observe that the
crew were all called up, and two of the stranger's men were sent into
the boat! The brig was all this time slowly and gradually approaching
us, while we were lying helplessly becalmed, watching the breeze as it
rippled over the still, smooth water, about half-way between the
vessels. The stranger was now within two miles of us, when the light
air, which had so long been favouring her, began to roughen the sea
close under our stern. A bright flash and a thick cloud of smoke now
burst from the stranger's bow, and the loud, sharp report of a gun
broke, with startling import, on our ears, while, at the same moment,
the English ensign was hauled down, and the white flag of France
floated proudly in its stead, and a red cornet fluttered at the main.

"Here's a pretty business!" said Captain Driver. "We will give them a
run for it, however."

In an instant, all was bustle and activity an board the little Dolphin:
every stitch of canvas was spread to catch the coming breeze; two of the
guns were _trained_ aft, and pointed out of the cabin windows; not a
voice was heard on board, but that of the captain; the men moved
actively and noiselessly about, watching their commander's eye, and in
prompt obedience to his orders. The little Dolphin herself seemed
conscious that danger was near, so silently did she slip through the
water, as her lofty sails swelled out with the light but steady breeze.
There was such a hush among us on board, after all the sails had been
set, that the only sound heard was the hissing noise made by the ship as
she cut rapidly through the smooth water, and the small bubbles floated
away astern. Presently a tiny wave raised its white crest here and
there, and broke with a gentle murmur; there was glad music in the
sound--for it was a sign that the breeze was freshening. In the course
of an hour, though the water was still smooth, the Dolphin was beginning
to _speak_ audibly, and the white foam-bells danced merrily past her.

In the meantime, the stranger had not been idle. She had at first made
use of her sweeps; but, as the breeze freshened, she laid them in. Her
lofty spars were crowded with canvas, and she seemed to be rather
gaining upon us. We could see that her decks were crowded with men; and
every now and then she sent a shot after us.

"Talk away, my boys," said the gallant little captain. "I have no time
to return the compliment. If I can only keep clear of you till dark, I
will weather you yet." The poor little Dolphin glided away beautifully,
and proved that she well merited her good character; for, after some
hours' chase, the privateer had gained but little upon us; but still
there appeared no chance of our escaping in the long run. About noon,
the enemy was within range, and no sooner made the discovery, than she
began blazing away with her bow-guns, in hopes of disabling us; but
fortune, for once in her life, favoured the weaker party. The
privateer's shot riddled our sails; but our spars and hull were as yet
unharmed, when a well-aimed shot from one of our stern-chasers went
through her fore-topgallantsail, and struck the mast just above the cap.
Three cheers burst from our gallant crew, as they saw her small masts
first bend, then fall forward together before the foretopsail, dragging
with them the main-royal and skysail masts. The sailing of the two
vessels was so nearly equal, that we now had a decided advantage over
the enemy, which Captain Driver did all in his power to make the most
of. Two of the foremost guns were _trained_ aft, and the men were all
ordered to lie down on the deck close to the taffrail, to bring the ship
more by the stern. There were active hands, however, on board the
privateer. In a wonderfully short time, the wreck was cleared away, and
new spars had replaced the crippled ones. She came crawling quickly up
again; and it was evident to all on board the Dolphin, that, unless some
unforeseen accident saved us, a few hours would seal our fate.

It was now late in the evening; the sun had set, and dark, louring
clouds were hanging over the horizon to the westward. The water was
still tolerably smooth, and the wind was a little on our starboard
quarter; the privateer was coming up rather to leeward, gaining rapidly
upon us, and peppering away as fast as she could with her bow-chasers.
Some of her shot _told_ upon our hull, smashing the cabin bulk-heads,
but hurting no one; and, fortunately, our spars were as yet untouched.
But she was not so lucky--for we could see, by their getting
preventer-backstays upon her fore-topmast, that the mast was crippled.
Captain Driver perceived that there was no chance of escaping much
longer by fast sailing, and he determined to try what stratagem could do
for us. He called his men round him, and explained to them what his
intentions were; telling them that everything depended upon their energy
and activity, and promising them, in the name of his owners, a handsome
reward if they succeeded in saving the ship. Immediately after the next
shot fired by the privateer, the man at the helm, by Captain Driver's
orders, began to yaw the ship about--the stunsails were hauled in--the
royal sheets let go--the sails clued up, but not furled--the
topgallantsails lowered, and the colours hauled down. Every movement
must have appeared to the enemy indicative of terror and indecision; and
we could distinctly hear the cheers with which they hailed the lowering
of our ensign. In the midst of our apparent confusion, the yards of the
Dolphin were quietly drawn forward to starboard, and the men and
passengers stationed at the topgallant and royal halyards, and royal
sheets. The privateer, which some of our men now recognised as the
notorious Hercule of Brest, came bowling upon our larboard quarter,
taking in and furling all her small sails, and hauling up her courses.
When she was so close to us that we might almost have thrown a biscuit
on board, the French captain jumped upon the bulwark with his trumpet in
his hand, as if to hail us.

"Now, my lad," said Driver to the man at the helm, "remember what I told
you. When I call out to you to put the helm hard a-starboard, put it
hard a-port."

The privateer captain was just putting the trumpet to his lips, when
Captain Driver bawled out, "Put the helm hard a-starboard!"

As he expected, this order was instantly echoed on board the privateer,
who thought we intended to try and run aboard of him. As I said before,
the wind was a little on our starboard quarter; and the Frenchman, by
paying quickly _off_, threw his sails aback; while the little Dolphin,
_her_ helm having been put to port instead of starboard, flew _up_ to
the wind, and, her yards being all ready braced up, darted away like an
arrow to windward--this being her favourite sailing point; at the same
moment, the topgallant sails were sheeted home and set, and the royals
hoisted.

It was some little time before the privateer recovered from the surprise
and confusion occasioned by this unexpected manoeuvre; and, by the
time her yards were trimmed and sails set, the Dolphin had again a good
start of her. We had now reason to bless the fortunate shot that had
crippled her fore-topmast; for she was afraid to carry such a press of
sail as she otherwise would have done. However, disabled as she was, she
was still a match for us, and kept throwing her shot after us, in token
of her friendly feeling.

"Hurrah, my little beauty!" said Captain Driver, apostrophising his
ship; "another hour, and we are safe."

The privateer was gaining upon us slowly but surely, when the night,
which, fortunately for us, was dark and gloomy, set in. Captain Driver
kept a light burning in the stern cabin, and gave strict orders that
every other light in the ship should be put out. He then had a large
water-butt sawed in half, and fitted into it a light bamboo staff, to
the end of which a lantern was affixed. The tub was well ballasted; and,
when all was ready, it was lowered down nearly to the water's edge
astern, the lantern lighted, and the lamp in the captain's cabin
extinguished. Just as the lanyards were let go, and the tub, with its
decoy light, fell into the water, we fired both our stern-chasers, to
deceive the enemy, and immediately bore up, and stood away, under a
press of sail, to the westward. The night was pitch dark; the wind
drawing round to the southward and westward, and with every appearance
of further change.

Our ruse succeeded completely. We were only aware of the privateer's
position by the bright flashes of her guns, as she fired them in chase,
as she thought; and by the twinkling light of the floating lantern,
which was, at last, suddenly extinguished, after a brisk fire from the
Frenchman. We ran, for a couple of hours, to the westward; and then, the
wind gradually heading us, we kept away again for the Channel, and,
before morning, we had a fine staggering westerly breeze to help us
along.

At daylight, nothing was to be seen from the mast-head; and we
cheerfully pursued our voyage, rejoicing in our fortunate escape. We had
now time to think of and to lament the hard fate of our shipmates, who
had been so cleverly entrapped.

"Sandford's luck, again," said I. "Poor fellow, how strange it is that
such a fatality always seems to attend him!"

"You forget," said Captain Driver, "that the men who are with him are in
the same unlucky predicament, and of course are equally unfortunate. But
it _is_ curious to observe how some men are favoured and others
persecuted by fortune. When I was a youngster, I sailed with a captain
(a smart, active, intelligent man he was) who told me that ever since he
had commanded a ship, each alternate voyage had always been an unlucky
one. 'And this,' said he, 'is my unlucky one.' And sure enough it was
so; for, from the commencement to the close of it, it was one constant
series of misfortunes. However, I have no doubt our poor lads will be
well enough off on board the privateer--the French are fine fellows,
after all; but I do not envy them the quarters that await them on
shore."

The breeze continued steady; and in about ten days' time we had run down
a great part of our distance from the Lizard, which we expected to
_make_ in two days more. One morning the man at the mast-head reported a
large ship to the southward, and Captain Driver _made her out_ to be a
man-of-war. We immediately crowded all sail, with the horrors of a
French prison before us; but she had already noticed us, and come
bowling after us, firing a gun to bring us to, and hoisting English
colours. After a long and anxious survey of the stranger, Captain Driver
was satisfied that she was an English frigate, and accordingly hoisted
his colours and hove to. From the lieutenant who boarded us, we learned
that the frigate was H.M.S. ----, bound to Spithead. When we related to
him our adventure with the privateer, he told us that it was no wonder
we were deceived; for that the Hercule was often mistaken for the Hawk,
and that the real Hawk was cruising about the _chops_ of the Channel, in
hopes of falling in with her. We followed in the wake of the frigate up
Channel, and, on the 1st May, to our great joy, we cast anchor once more
on the shores of Old England. I remained two years at home, and then
returned to the East, without having heard any news of poor Sandford's
fate.

"And now, my dear Sandford," said I, "tell me all your adventures since
we parted company so unexpectedly."

"You may imagine our surprise," replied he, "when we found how quietly
we poor gulls had thrust our heads into the eagle's nest. The second
mate of the Dolphin and I had hardly set foot on the deck of the
stranger, when we saw at a glance our mistake; and, if we had any doubts
on the subject, they were soon set at rest by the captain, who said to
us, shrugging his shoulders, with a smile--

"'Messieurs, you are my prisonnars; dere is no use for de resiste; call
your men out of de boat.'

"We saw too plainly that resistance was vain, and we submitted to our
hard fate as patiently as we could. The boat's crew were sent down into
the hold, and sentries placed over them, and we were disarmed, but
allowed the range of the deck and cabin, giving our parole that we
would hold no intercourse with our own men or the crew. When we saw the
privateer's sails swell with the breeze and when with her long sweeps
she began to crawl along 'like a centipede,' while the little Dolphin
lay stationary and becalmed, we feared that we should soon have more
companions in captivity. Great was our delight when the gallant little
vessel glided away like a fairy before us, and we began to have some
hopes of your escape, knowing as we did what a character the Dolphin had
for sailing.

"'Well done, my beauty!' shouted the mate.

"'Ah, mon ami,' said the Frenchman, 'do not rejoice too queek; before
night, your leetel beaute, as you call hare, shall be mine.'

"I cannot describe his mortification at the skilful manoeuvre by which
you baffled him just as he thought he was sure of you, and contrived to
steal away again to windward of him; but, after a time, when his angry
feeling had passed away, he could not help exclaiming--

"'Parbleu! he is one clevare man, that capitane! He most be var weak
after lose one boat's crew, and yet how he manage his sheep skeelfully!
'Tis almost peety not let him rone away; bote I mos catch heem--he
cannot escape long.' When the night set in so dark and gloomy, he
said--'Well, begar, I do begin think that capitane of yours is not so
vary clevare man after all. How he most be fool to carry that
light!--without that lumiere I should lose sight of heem quite entirely,
the night is so, what you call, so tar--no--peetch dark.'

"'I suppose,' said I, 'in the confusion he has forgot it.'

"'Not a bit of it,' said Gordon, the mate, to me, aside; 'Captain Driver
is not such a fool as he thinks. He has some reason for what he is
doing, depend upon it.'

"After a time, the light, which had kept a pretty equal distance ahead
of us, became apparently stationary, and we came up to it with great
rapidity.

"'Ah,' said the Frenchman, 'he is tire at last. We have catch heem.'

"We all thought that some of our chance shots had taken effect, and that
the Dolphin, unable to escape, had hove to, to surrender. As we came
near the light, the small sails were taken in and furled, the courses
hauled up, and the boat was cleared away for lowering to board the
prize.

"'Begar, dis is ver extraordinare!' said the Frenchman to me--'dere is
de light, but I do not see de sheep. Sheep ahoy!' No answer. 'Sheep
ahoy! Answere, or I weel fire.' Still no answer. 'Tirez donc!' A
broadside was fired, and the light disappeared.

"Not a cry or sound of any kind was heard after the noise of the firing
had ceased. The poor little Dolphin, we thought, must have sunk at once;
but yet it was very strange that so large a vessel (she was large
compared to the Frenchman) could have been invisible and inaudible when
so near us. The boats were lowered immediately, and furnished with
lanterns, that their crews might see to save all they could. After a
short time, they returned, bringing back, as the sole remains of the
poor Dolphin, a few broken staves, and a bamboo, with a lantern lashed
to the end of it. The French captain's blank stare of astonishment was
at first quite amusing; but at last the truth flashed upon him, and,
with a loud laugh, he exclaimed--

"'Parbleu! that capitane is one dam clevare fellow! He throw out one tub
to catch a whale; he deserves to escape. _Neanmoins_, he is not safe
yet.'

"He then hauled close to the wind, and stood to the eastward, thinking
that you would make for the Channel as fast as possible. If it had not
been for the name of the thing, we would have enjoyed the cruise very
much; for the French captain and his officers were polite and
gentlemanly, and treated us as messmates and friends. _Their_
destination was Brest, and ours, eventually, a French prison, till we
should be ransomed or exchanged--a pleasant way for me to enjoy my three
years' furlough!

"One afternoon, just after dinner, as we were dodging to the eastward,
with the wind at north, a sail appeared ahead, but too far off to
distinguish what she could be. All sail was immediately made in chase,
and we rapidly neared the object of our pursuit. She was a lumbering,
heavy-looking brig, under topgallantsails, painted with a broad, dirty
white streak, turning up at each end with a _sheer_ like a bow. We
hoisted French colours, and fired a gun to leeward; she showed an
English ensign, and immediately began to make more sail, which she did
in a regular collier-like fashion, and went floundering and plunging
along like a cart-horse over a ploughed field; and the more sail she
made, the slower she seemed to go. We were all mightily amused with her
clumsy attempts to escape, and wondered at her folly in exasperating her
enemy by such unavailing efforts. Gun after gun was fired to bring her
to; but still she floundered on, kicking up her stern as if in derision,
as her heavy bow plunged deep into the water. At last the captain of the
privateer got into a towering passion, and swore he would sink her when
he got alongside. While the brig, or at least her crew, were straining
every nerve to escape, one of her maintopgallant sheets _went_; and the
awkward and slovenly manner in which the sail was handled excited the
laughter of all on board our small craft. The brig at this time, as if
aware that escape was hopeless, took in her royals, and lowered her
topgallantsails, but without altering her course, or striking her
colours. It was dusk when we came within speaking distance; and, running
up close under her quarter, our captain seized the speaking-trumpet, and
ordered the brig to strike her colours immediately, or he would sink
her. What was his surprise, when, in answer to his hail, three deafening
cheers resounded from the brig! Her deck was in an instant swarming
with men; and, while our crew were gaping with astonishment, _the
painted canvas screen_ disappeared from her side as if by magic, and a
broadside was poured into our hull, which made us reel again, and
wounded and killed several of the crew. In justice to the Frenchman, I
must say, that, as soon as the first surprise was over, he (the captain,
I mean) was as cool and collected as possible. His orders were given
rapidly and energetically; and actively and ably were they executed. He
instantly stood away to the southward and eastward, and trusted to his
heels to escape from an enemy whom he saw at a glance he was unable to
cope with. In a few minutes, from the truck to the water's edge, the
Hercule was one cloud of canvas; and merrily did she dance away over the
waves. The English man-of-war crowded all sail after us; very
differently was she _handled_, now she was no longer acting merchantman.
She seemed to have cast aside her sluggishness with her disguise, and,
to our great surprise, seemed rather to gain than lose ground. She kept
on our weather (larboard) quarter; and her bow-chasers were in constant
play, and remarkably well served--hardly a shot but told upon our
rigging or hull.

"The Hercule was considered the fastest privateer out of France; but,
before the wind, the brig was evidently gaining upon us. Not one of our
shot had, as yet, done her any material injury, though her head sails
were riddled through and through. This game could not last long;--the
privateer determined upon trying another move. He was obliged to keep
his pumps constantly going, for he had received several shots between
wind and water. Suddenly whipping in all his stunsails, he ran his yards
forward, and hauled to the eastward. This manoeuvre was rapidly and
skilfully executed; and, as we shot across the bows of the English brig,
we poured a raking broadside into her, which, we afterwards learned, did
not do so much damage as we expected, as our guns were pointed too high.
Three cheers rang from the English brig; as quick as thought, they _ran_
in their stunsails, and, following our movements, hauled to the wind.

"As the privateer had anticipated, the moment the brig rounded to, her
foretopsail and topgallantsail, already in tatters, blew clean out of
the bolt-ropes. This was a glorious sight for the privateer, but a sad
one for us poor prisoners; we thought that all chance of escape was at
an end, and that it was impossible for the brig to shift her sails
quickly enough to save her distance. But 'impossible' is a landsman's
word--there is none such on board a British man-of-war; her fore-rigging
was swarming with men in a moment, and in ten minutes more they were
_bringing_ a new topsail _to_ the yard, and the topgallantyard was on
its way to the mast-head again. In the meantime her bow guns had not
been silent; a pretty smart conversation was carried on between them and
our stern-chasers, and _their_ answers were most unpleasantly _true_ and
galling. Her guns must have had picked marksmen stationed at them, for
hardly a shot was thrown away.

"We were, however, leaving the brig rapidly, when a lucky shot from her
came through one of our quarter-ports, and knocked down the two men at
the helm. The privateer instantly flew up in the wind, and her
head-sails took aback; and though the helmsmen were instantly replaced,
and the vessel boxed off again skilfully and rapidly, yet the few
minutes that elapsed before she paid off and gathered way again, were
sufficient to make a great alteration in our relative positions.

"The English brig was now within half-a-mile on our weather quarter,
gaining steadily and slowly, and throwing her single shot into us with
the most unerring precision. At last an eighteen-pound shot struck our
weather maintopsail yardarm; and the spar snapped in two close outside
the slings. All chance of escape was now over; but the Frenchman, a
gallant fellow, was determined not to strike till the last; and all the
guns that could be brought to bear upon the brig were double-shotted,
and rattle

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