THE
THREE PERILS OF MAN:
A BORDER ROMANCE.

THE
THREE PERILS OF MAN;
OR,
War, Women, and Witchcraft.
A BORDER ROMANCE.

By JAMES HOGG,
AUTHOR OF "WINTER-EVENING TALES," "BROWNIE OF
BODSBECK," "QUEEN'S WAKE," &c. &c.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

Beshrew me if I dare open it.

Fletcher.

LONDON:
LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN,
PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1822.

John Moir, Printer, Edinburgh, 1822.

THE
THREE PERILS OF MAN.

CHAPTER I.

He was a base and a cruel knight,
As ever my two eyes did see;
And all that he did, and all that he said,
It was by the might of glamourye.

But yet his gear was o' the goude
As it waved and wampished in the wind;
And the coal-black steed he rode upon,
It was fleeter than the bonny hind.

The distance from Melrose to the castle of Aikwood being only about nine English miles, our party came in view of it before sun-set. It was one of those dead calm winter evenings, not uncommon at that season, when the slightest noise is heard at a distance, and the echoes are all abroad.

As they drew near to the huge dark-looking pile, silence prevailed among them more and more. All was so still that even that beautiful valley seemed a waste. There was no hind whistling at the plough; no cattle nor sheep grazing on the holms of Aikwood; no bustle of servants, kinsmen, or their grooms, as at the castles of other knights. It seemed as if the breath of the enchanter, or his eye, had been infectious, and had withered all within its influence, whether of vegetable, animal, or human life. The castle itself scarcely seemed to be the abode of man; the massy gates were all locked; no porter was in attendance; and there was only one small piping smoke issuing from one of the turrets.

"Gude faith! callans," said Charlie, "that's a douth and an awsome looking bigging. I wish we were fairly in, and safely out again."

"Is that now to be my residence, Yardbire?" said the beautiful Delany. "Will you go away, and leave Elias and me in that frightsome and desolate looking mansion?"

"If the great Master gie us a civil answer," said Charlie, not well wotting what to say,—"and desire to have you for his handmaiden, or rather the mistress of his castle, to overlook the other maids, and the spinning and weaving concerns like, then we have orders to leave you. But, if he should be cross, and crabbit, and paughty wi' us, ye're in gude hands, and we'll no quat wi' you sae easily."

"Thou art in good hands indeed," said the friar: "But, alas! what is man! a flower of the field that the hand of the mower cutteth down and leaveth to decay: A shadow; a sound that passeth away and is not. But, maiden, thou art in better hands than ours; in hands that will not leave the innocent and guiltless to perish. There is an arm around thee that thou seest not: there is a guardian with a sword behind thee and before thee, of whom thou art not aware. Therefore have thou no fear, for no evil shall befal thee."

"Methinks I could live any where, and be void of fear, if but suffered to be in your presence," said Delany: "There is something in what you have told me that goes to my heart, and on it I think I can rely."

"Blessed be thou, my daughter!" said he; "yea, and blessed shalt thou be in thy generation"—

"Hear to that!" said the poet aside: "Still on one subject! It is all over with some body!"

—"But thou art perhaps going into a place of danger, and evil things may await thee. Here, take thou this, and keep it in thy bosom; and, by the blessing of the Holy Virgin, it shall shield thee from all malevolent spirits, all enchantments, and all dangers of the wicked one; the time may come when thou shalt more thoroughly understand the great things contained in this book."

As he said this, he put into her hand a small gilded copy of the Four Evangelists, which she kissed and put into her bosom. All the rest saw this, and took it for a book of the Black Art.

By this time they were drawing near to the gate at Aikwood, where all continued silent and still as formerly. Notwithstanding of this, Charlie's horse, Corby, began to cock his ears and snort in a terrible manner. Stout-hearted as Charlie war, his countenance began to alter; but he uttered not a word farther than coaxing Corby to proceed. The mule leading the way altogether regardless, the horses jogged on after him, example going farther than precept, whether with man or beast. All the horses were, however, become restive, though none of them was half so fierce as Corby. He continued to force down his head, as if smelling the ground; anon capering and snuffing the air, snorting aloud, and moving with an elasticity rather like a thing of spirit than of joints and bones. "Gude faith, Corby, my man," said Charlie, as he patted his mane, "a' isna right here! Wend on, ye camstairy thief: what the deil ails ye? But, gude sauf us! ane should take care wha they name here. They say, an speak o' the deil he'll appear."

The old proverb had scarcely left Charlie's lips, when, all at once, they beheld three pages in black livery standing ranged before the gate, although the moment before there was no living creature there. They seemed to have arisen out of the ground, and as they rose they bowed their heads in a sarcastic way to the embassy. The appearance of the pages, and the motion that they made were both accomplished in the same moment of time, and at the motion every one of the horses broke away, like so many scared wildfowl, some one way, and some another. Charlie tried to restrain Corby with the whole might of his capacious arm; but the impatient animal plunged and bounded into the air with such violence, that his rider was obliged to give him head, and away he sprung like a roe over field and river, straining every nerve to be out of sight of Aikwood, while Charlie's warrior cloak, that hung only by the shoulder clasp, flapped so far behind him that he appeared like a black cloud skimming the valley. Though none of the other horses made equal speed with Corby, every one ran as fast as it could, and all to the eastward, though far asunder.

The mule, on the contrary, never moved nor concerned himself about the matter. He indeed held forward his long ears, and took a serious look of the pages, as of some sort of beings he did not more than generally understand. Nevertheless he despised them, and looked about with apparent astonishment and derision at the madness and folly of his associates. The friar, finding himself left with his mule and the three pages thus unaccountably, began to address the latter; but they only imitated his motions, and made wry faces, without returning him any answer. The mule had by this time taken another serious look at them, and disliking them exceedingly, he sidled towards them with all his mettle, and tried to hit them with his heels. The urchins then raised such an eldritch laugh that they made the arches of the castle to ring, and, skipping about and about, provoked the mule to farther violence. He, on his part, was nothing loth to attack; he ran open-mouthed at one, kicked at another, and tried to crush another up against the gate, all to the great annoyance of the friar, who, with the utmost difficulty kept his seat for a good while, in spite of the mad evolutions of his provoked and provoking beast. But the game once begun was not suffered to subside. The giggling elves, with the swiftness of lightning, skipped about, and, in whatever direction the mule darted, one of them was always pricking him behind. The worthy friar waxed very wroth, and swore by the life of Pharaoh that he would execute vengeance on them. But the noise of mirth and mischief waxed louder and louder, until the austere inmates of the castle heard; and the great Master said to his only attendant, "Gourlay, what is the meaning of all this uproar?"

"It is only Prig, Prim, and Pricker," said he, "making sport with a mendicant friar and his ass."

"Are they killing him?" enquired his Master, with the greatest composure, and without lifting his eyes from a large book that lay before him.

"I wot not, sire," said Gourlay, with the same indifference.

"Ay, it is no matter," returned the Master; "It will keep them in employment a little while."

"Perhaps," said Gourlay,—and retired back to the casement with sullen step.

By this time the mule had become so outrageous, that he wheeled, kicked, and plunged, like one of the furies; and, at the last, in spite of all the friar could do, laid him fairly on his back, amid the frantic shrieks and gibberish of his tormentors. Gourlay beheld the incident from the crevice of the turret, and, not daring to discompose the great Master, he walked down to the gate to witness the sport at a shorter distance; though with a callous indifference about the matter, and without the least hope to enjoy it.

When he came nigh to the scene of action, he looked as if he expected the friar to have been dead, and was rather astonished when he saw him raise his head, and utter a solemn anathema against the pages, who fled back as if awed and overcome. The seneschal not comprehending this, turned his pale glazed cheek toward the friar, elevated his brow as if looking at the verge of the high hill beyond the river, and stood motionless, stealing a side glance, now and then, of the stranger.

The latter raised up his gruff face, inflamed with passion, and, seeing the tall ungainly figure of Gourlay standing like a statue, with a red turban on his head, and a grey frock or mantle, that in ample folds covered him from the neck to the sandals, took him at once for the mighty enchanter, and addressed him with as little respect as might be.

"If thou art the lord of this mansion, draw near unto me, that I may tell thee of the deeds of thy servants, which eat thy bread, and stand at thy gate. Lo, have they not lifted up the hand against my life, who am a stranger, and a servant of him against whom thou hast rebelled and lifted up the heel? Go to; thou art a churl, and a derision, and a bye-word among thy kindred and people, and not worthy to be called by their name. I came unto thy gate in peace, on a message of peace, and the words of peace were in my mouth; and why hast thou suffered these children of the wicked one to maltreat and abuse me? Why dost thou not open thy mouth?"

The pages chattered with a malicious laugh at a distance, and the seneschal came stalking near, in a sort of confused astonishment, to take a nearer view of this talking phenomenon. He came and looked over him without altering a muscle of his face; and the friar, irritated by pain and the contempt shewn toward his sufferings, went on. At any other time he would haply have been chilled by the pale frigid countenance, shagged beard, and glazed unearthly eye that were now bent over him; but in the present state of his feelings he disregarded them; and, though convinced that he spoke to the mighty enchanter himself, continued his harangue:—

"Come thou near unto me that I may curse thee. Thou child of all unrighteousness, art thou not already cursed among the children of men? Where are the wealth and the cheerfulness, where are the welcome, and the faces of joy and mirth, that are to be met with at the houses of thy kinsmen whose bread I eat? Where the full basket and the welcome store? the wine that giveth its colour in the glass? the sounds of mirth and gladness? the sounds of the song, the viol, and the harp? And where is thy tongue, that thou canst not speak?" cried the friar, elevating his voice to its highest and most impatient tones.

"Humph," said Gourlay.

"Humph!" returned the friar; "What dost thou mean by humph? Tell me, in one word, Art thou the lord of this castle?"

"No; but his seneschal," said Gourlay; "What hast thou to say?"

"Then lead me to thy master, that I may see him face to face, and tell him the words of him that sent me. I will not be afraid of these dogs of thine and thy master's. What is become of thy tongue that thou dost not speak? Tell me, I say, can I see thy master?"

"Perhaps," said Gourlay; and, seizing the friar by the shoulder with a rude but powerful grasp, he dragged him in at the gate.

"With-hold thine hand, and thy unmannerly grasp," said the friar,—"else I will smite thee with the sword."

The seneschal regarded this threat only with a grim unmeaning smile; and as he held the friar by the right arm so firmly that he even lost the power of it, it was impossible for him to draw his sword.

"Nay but hearken unto me," continued he; "surely it is better for thee to live than to die. Therefore bring in my beast that he may have provender; and let me also bring my goods and my changes of raiment along with me in peace, else how shall I set up my face before thy master?"

The seneschal then paused, and motioned with his hand to the pages to bring the panniers; they ran to obey, but as soon as any of them touched the huge wallet, he hastened back and fell to the ground.

"Vermin! cannot you bring the furniture?" cried Gourlay.

They shook their heads, and stood at a distance.

"Humph!" said he, "I do not comprehend this," and leading the friar back, still holding him fast by the arm, he suffered him to lift the panniers himself, which he did with good will, and then allowed himself to be led away by the uncourteous seneschal, who said to the pages as he departed, "See to the vile animal!"

Without more ado he led the friar in, and pushing him rudely into a small vaulted apartment, he locked first a ponderous iron door, and then a massy wooden one, full of nails, upon him; and, without regarding his complaints or anathemas, or deigning a word in reply to his queries, he left him to his own bitter reflections.

The apartment at first appeared to be dark, but on looking about he found that there were two grated loop-holes in it, and by the light from these he soon perceived that there was nothing in the place save the skeleton of a man of uncommon stature and dimensions. The bones were lying flat on the floor, every one in its place exactly as the man had died, and the flesh wasted away from them. No disarrangement had taken place, nor was the smallest joint wanting. This was a petrifying sight to the poor friar, who, crossing himself, and turning from the horrible spectacle, set his nose through the grating and looked out on the fields.

The first thing he beheld confounded him more than all he had ever seen in his life. The three devilish pages were tampering with his mule to bring him within the outer gate; but he, in his usual manner, proved as refractory as ever, and laid about him with all his might. On this, the boys in one moment whipped him up in their arms, and ere the friar could draw his breath, far less utter a Pater-Noster, they set him down in the middle of the court, straight before the friar's grating, and tied him to the shaft of a well with a strong rope. The friar said a Benedicite; and, ere he had done, the devilish and provoking imps began to torment the poor mule beyond all sufferance, whipping him round and round the post, and making him fling and jump till the blood and sweat were pouring together from his branded sides, and he was no more able to resent the injuries committed on him. The friar fumed, and threatened, and cursed them in the name of the blessed saints; but they only laughed him to scorn: And when the mule could no longer resent the lash, they brought red-hot spindles and pushed them between his hind-legs, which made him fling and rear till he fell down at the post, and lay groaning, unable any more to move.

The thing that provoked the friar worst of all was the sight of the tall seneschal standing looking on, and seeming, by his motions, to be directing the game. Never was such a flood of eastern eloquence heard at Aikwood, as was poured from the small crevice in the bottom of the eastern turret that evening. No one, however, regarded it, or, if they did, it was only to mock or mimic the sublime deprecator.

To all that he said, the seneschal grinned a smile of grim disdain, and motioned to the pages to redouble their sport, which they did, till, as said, the poor animal could furnish them with no more.

The friar now beheld a joyful sight through the twilight, the rest of his companions coming on foot towards the gate. They had gathered together at the mill, about a mile to the eastward of the castle, and made another attempt to approach it on horseback; but their efforts were vain; not a steed would come one step farther than just in view of it; so they agreed to put their horses up at the mill, leaving them in charge of the miller and his two sons, and to proceed on foot to the castle, to join their mysterious associate the friar, whose magical might some of them began to dread, and others to trust.

Gourlay beheld them approaching as well as did the friar, and again waited on the great Master with awe and trembling.

"I pray thee, mighty Master, to forgive me," said he, "but too true is it that the wretched pedagogue has said,—for here come a body of the warden's friends, with swords in their hands, and one beautiful human thing in their company."

"And what then?" said Michael, in a stern, hollow voice.

The seneschal trembled. "I—I—only want to know how they are to be received," said he.

"Received?" cried the Master, raising his voice to a pitch that made the old wretch shrink as it were within himself. "Received? As spies should, to be sure. Begone!"

Gourlay ran cowering toward the door.

"Stop.—Come back here. What forces are in the castle?"

"What forces? Hem! Great Master, you only know."

"Any things of flesh, I inquire?"

"No, not one; if you except the old witch Henbane. Oh! I beg your pardon, great and honoured master! I meant your worthy and respectable housekeeper."

Michael gave three gentle tramps with his heel, and in one moment the three pages in black livery, Prig, Prim, and Pricker, were at his knee.

"Work, Master, work. What work now?" said they all in one breath.

"Give your master there a toasting for his insolence," said Michael.

The pages giggled for joy; the seneschal kneeled and roared out for mercy, and, as a motive for granting it to him, said the strangers were at the gate. The pages had already laid their fangs on him; but the Master, on the arrival of the strangers being brought to his mind, ordered the imps to desist. This they did on the instant; but, without delay, rushed on Michael himself, as if they would tear him to pieces. He threatened, cursed, and dared them to touch him; but they seemed nothing daunted by all he said, but danced around him with demoniac gestures, crying still out with one voice:—

"Work, Master, work; work we need;
Work for the living, or for the dead:
Since we are called, work we will have,
For the master, or for the slave.
Work, Master, work. What work now?"

"Miserable wight that I am!" cried the mighty Master. "Then, d—d dwarfs, since it must be so, bring the slave back, and let him have three varieties, and no more."

Gourlay had made his escape with all expedition, but it was not long ere they overtook him, and brought him back, leading him in the most grotesque manner that can well be conceived. They then began to twirl him about, first with his face one way and then another; and, latest adventures making the strongest impressions on their wicked imaginations, by some devilish slight they transformed him into the shape of a mule, and practised on him all the wanton cruelties they had so lately done on the friar's, seeming to enjoy the sport all the while with redoubled zest. They next changed him into a dog; and, tying a cannister, containing some small stones to his tail, they pursued him round and round the room, and finally out into the yard, with long whips, every one breaking at him, and giving him a lash as he came by. This caused him always now and then to exert himself with such speed that the cannister was sometimes hitting him on the head with a loud rattling yerk, sometimes on the back, and all over the body, while the poor steward was running, yelping in the uttermost desperation. The friar beheld part of the sport from his grate, but little wist that it was the hated seneschal that was suffering, else he would have doubtless enjoyed the scene in no ordinary degree. The rest of the embassy also saw it from the outer gate, where they now stood rapping and calling without being regarded, the pages being too intent on their game to pay the least attention to such as they.

"Let alane the poor tike, like good lads," cried muckle Charlie, "and come and open the yett. What ill has the silly beast done to you?"

"They bring me in mind o' Jock Harper's terriers," said Gibbie, "that wad rather do ill for the sake o' doing it, than do ought that was good or right for a' the warld."

"I hate to see a colley-shangie," said the poet; "there is nothing sublime or romantic in it."

"They're nae canny couts thae three chaps," said Charlie; "Corby wadna look at them, and he kens things gayan weel. We maun just hae a wee patience till they be done wi' their chace. It's a queer kind o' place this."

The poor metamorphosed steward, finding no rest for the sole of his foot, betook him again to the staircase, and crept down at his master's feet, deeming the chastisement to have been over. But he was no sooner there than the pages were after him, and by the time they had whirled him three times about, he started up a hare, and the three pages, turning themselves into colley dogs set all upon him.

With the form of every quadruped into the shape of which he was turned, he seemed to acquire its nature and antipathies, and in none was it so striking as in the hare. When the collies began to snap at him, his terror is not to be imagined; he darted round and round the hall like lightning, breaking out and in to Michael's study, to the great disarrangement of his conjuring apparatus, books, and papers; while every time that a colley sprung with open mouth at him, he uttered a desperate scream.

This was the only one of their frolics that appeared to amuse the great Master, his partiality for the sports of the chase being proverbial to this day. When he saw the old seneschal laying back his long ears, and exerting his powers of speed in such manifest terror, and the malignant collies whinking after him, and waylaying him in every strait, making him often spring aloft, he could not help laughing outright, and baiting the dogs on him. The tears stood in the old hare's eyes when he heard this, nevertheless his fright made him agile; he bolted from the halls and alleys of the castle into the extensive yard; and there was such a hunt! Michael and the friar both ran to their respective windows to see the sport, and our party at the outer gate shouted and hallooed with great energy. Many a time did the dogs get a snap at the steward, and make him scream out, while all the onlookers laughed aloud. At length, thinking he would actually be worried, he cleared the wall, and made a bold effort to gain the wood. But these were a trio of dogs from which there was no possibility of escape. Ran he fast or ran he slow, there were they after him, snatching at his hips and panting sides, and yelping so keenly all the while that the seneschal had no doubt of being torn in pieces should they fairly seize him. They turned him, and made him trace many an acute angle on the hill, while our party were running after him, throwing always sticks or stones at the steward, as he hasted by them, and baiting the dogs on him. Finding, as formerly, no other resource, he returned with main speed to the castle, and crept down at the Master's feet, who, with one touch of his divining rod, changed him into his own native forbidding form.

He started up in great wrath; and, though panting so that he could scarcely speak, swore a horrible oath, that he would no longer be kept in bondage and maltreated in that manner; and that, since it was impossible for him to escape in any other way, he would cut his own throat, and run his chance of an after life.

"Poor dastardly braggart!" said Michael; "not for the soul that inhabits that old malicious frame, dare you do such a thing. I would seize on it, and make sport of it for ages. I have you wholly in my power, and, dead or alive, it is the same thing to me. Were you to do as you say, and take away your life by a ghastly wound, I could even make one of these fiendish spirits enter into your body, re-animate it, and cause you to go about with your gaping wound, unclosed and unpurified, as when death entered thereat. Think of what an existence that would be, and then go and put your miserable threat into execution."

"Hah! There it is!" said Gourlay: "Turn me as I will, I see nothing but wretchedness. Cursed be the day that I saw you, and ten times cursed the confession I made, that has thus subjected me to your tyranny! However, use me another day as you have used me on this, and you do it at your peril, if you were the devil himself. I have warned you."

Michael only smiled contemptuously at the threat; and again asked what living creatures were in the castle, as he wanted a retinue to receive the message of his kinsmen.

"I have told you already," said Gourlay, in the same passionate and irritated mood; "and I again repeat it, that there is no mortal thing in the castle, but the old witch, and perhaps two or three hundred rats."

"Take that in the first place then," said Michael, "for your impertinence,"—at the same time laying him flat on the floor by a tremendous blow, although he only moved his hand toward the steward; "and in the next place go call out these three hundred rats you talk of, marshal them up in the court, and receive the mighty warden's people with all manner of pomp and respect, and use them according to their demerits."

The steward roared out with pain; and gnashing his teeth with rage, he arose growling, and was hasting away, when the Master asked him if he was going to accomplish what he had bidden him do.

"Without doubt;" said he, "Is it not very likely that I shall be able?"

"Take that then," said the Master, "and put it above the lock-hole of the door; it shall serve you as a summons, and Prig, Prim, and Pricker shall marshal your array." With that he gave him a small piece of parchment written in red characters, which the steward snatched angrily out of his hand, and going down the stair did as the Master had ordered him.

The charm was effective, and its effects momentary. The bustling and the screaming of rats were heard in every corner of the castle, and forthwith a whole column of men marched out into the court in three files, led by the three pages, and headed by the incensed seneschal in his grey mantle and cap.

Our messengers looked mightily astonished when they beheld such a retinue, and Charlie observed that "it was a confounded shame for Mr Michael no to join the warden, and had sae mony idle men lying tholing starvation beside him." But then looking wildly around on both sides to his friends, he added, "God's grace be about us! wha kens but a' thae may be spirits or elves in the shapes o'men? I think they hae unco queer musty-like looks. An I had Corby here he wad soon tell me wi' a vengeance."

Old Gourlay, now at the head of his corps, demanded what the strangers wanted; and on being informed who they were, and that they came on a special commission to the Master, they were admitted, and walked up a lane between two ranks of armed men in full caparison.

The Master beheld them from his casement, and was mightily diverted by the whimsical appearance of the various individuals that formed the group, two of whom he conceived to be the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen. Whoever reads this will at once guess who these two lovely beings were; but if he does, he will at once guess wrong. It would seem that a wizard sees every thing in this fair and beautiful creation through an inverted medium, and that all the common and fine feelings of nature are in him changed and distorted. The beauty of the two young captives appeared, in Michael's eyes, hateful, and even affected him with loathing; but two more lovely and engaging creatures than Jordan and the Deil's Tam he had never seen on earth. The hooked nose, wrinkled face, and mouth from ear to ear of the laird, he thought exquisite; but Tam's long coulter nose, turned up in front, his small grey eyes, and shapeless physiognomy, were beyond all expression engaging. So, from the time that the Master got the first look of them, he determined, contrary to his usual custom, to see and converse with his guests.

They were soon conducted to the door of the vault, in which their friend the friar was immured; and, as soon as the door opened, he exclaimed, with a loud voice, "I charge you, O my brethren, and my companions, that ye come not into this place, nor set a foot within its boundaries; for the place is a place of death, and the bones of the dead men are in it."

There is no deciding what these words might have produced, had they been pronounced in time; but as soon as Charlie and the laird, who were foremost, heard the friar's voice, they rushed towards him without thought or fear of the consequences, and, ere he had done, the hindmost were pushed in by the relentless arm of the seneschal, and the iron door closed behind them. Perceiving how matters stood, the friar straight lifted up his hands, and continued to declaim in a still more fervent stile.

"Hout! Gude Lord, friar man, haud your tongue," said Charlie interrupting him: "What signifies making sic a frase as a' this? or what good will it do? I hae run mysel into mony a priminary in my life, but I never fand that mony words did muckle good. I trowed that ye had mair art about ye than to be feared for a stane an' lime wa,' an' twa or three airn staincheons. Pith can do muckle, but art can do mair."

Charlie meant the black art; but the friar taking him up in another meaning, shook him by the hand and blessed him.

It may not have occurred to the reader and it is not likely it should, that this same friar was an English monk, the most celebrated man of that age, then exiled from his country, and obliged to skulk in disguise, for fear of being apprehended and burnt as a wizard and necromancer. He was the greatest philosopher and chemist of the age, the real inventor of gun-powder, and many other wonderful discoveries, and, withal, a pious and good man,—although one whose character was tinctured with peculiarities so striking, that some took him for a man crazed in his mind, but far more for a powerful necromancer. His name is familiar to every man in the least acquainted with the literature or the science of that age; but while he remained in Scotland being always denominated the gospel friar, we have judged it best to call him by that name. If the reader has not discovered this, it is time he should know it; and whether the friar was a necromancer or not, will appear in the sequel.

When the party got leisure to converse together, their first words were expressive of the astonishment they laboured under at sight of the warlike force kept up by the Master. Charlie only testified his regret that there was not a right and mutual understanding between him and the warden; but the maid Delany was the first to remark that she did not think they were right men, because their faces were all alike, and their eyes were not like the eyes of any human being she had ever before looked on. In this every one present acquiesced, and great was their wonder how or whence that mighty armed force had sprung; but they agreed that there was no contending with such numbers, of whatsoever nature they might be, and that there was nothing for it but submitting to the Master's will.

The day light was by this time quite extinguished, but the moon was up; and it being a hard frost, with a slight covering of snow, or rime, it was nearly as light as some winter days. Their damp, mouldy vault with the grisly skeleton lying at the one side of it, shewed horridly dismal in the wan and shadowy light, and threw a chillness over their hearts. They hoped and looked long for dinner, and then for supper, but neither of them came; nor did they hear or see any living thing all that night, save the friar's mule, that had again got to his feet, and stood at the post groaning and trembling of cold. This was a grievous sight to the friar, for his heart was moved for the sufferings of his poor beast; and in the bitterness of his spirit he vented some anathemas against the unconscionable seneschal, saying,—"Verily if ever that son of Belial fall into my hands, I will be unto him as Adramelech and as Sharezer, and do unto him as they did to the father that begat them."

Every time that Charlie looked out at the mule, he testified a sort of inward satisfaction that his own trusty steed was not brought into the same scrape, and sundry times said, "Gude faith, Corby kend better sense than coming into sic a place as this is. He's as weel off down wi' the auld miller; He'll get some pluffins o' seeds or dust, poor fallow. An they gie him but water, I'm no feared for him, for there's plenty o' meat yonder,—but he'll never do if they let him want water."

About two o'clock in the morning the seneschal entered with a light, but had the precaution to lock the wooden door before he opened the iron one. The prisoners had sat down on the floor, and were leaning on one another; and, dismal as their lodging was, some of them had fallen sound asleep. Delany was leaning on the friar's breast, and the poet had laid himself down behind her, and covered her with his mantle. The rest were huddled together, so that they appeared to be lying above one another; but all, or most of them, set up their heads at the entrance of the steward.

Tam was the first to address him. "What's come o' our supper, goodman, that you are coming toom-handed? Do you no think it is time your guests had something to eat, or hae ye naething either to eat or drink in this great gousty castle? I dinna care what ye may think, or what you may say; but in my opinion you and your master baith are naething but twa ill-bred unmannerly niggards."

The seneschal grinned disdain, and clenched his teeth in wrath. He was about to reply, but all their tongues were loosed on him at once, some complaining of one thing some of another, and the friar more particularly of the treatment of his beast. All, however, ended with a request for meat.

"No," said Gourlay; "we have no meat for spies and forayers. A halter is the only guerdon we bestow on such dogs. I want this fair maiden, and for the rest of you"—He finished the sentence with a sneer and a point with his finger to the bones; and seizing the maid by the shoulder, he dragged her toward the door.

"Softly sir, and if you please," said the poet, speaking in pure iambics, and seizing the bars of the iron door before the steward and his prize. "We have indeed this maiden brought, from distant camp and knight renowned, unto the master of this house; and to none else we give her up: No, not to thee, nor arm of flesh."

As the poet said these words, he bristled up, and faced the steward at the door, to keep him back; but the carl gave him such a blow on the temples that he staggered and fell. The friar then interposed, and though he was a strong and powerful man, the irascible steward plied his blows so fast and so hard about his bare pate, that he was also overthrown. The maiden screamed; and the old incendiary was within a hairbreadth of having her outside of the iron door, when she would have been wholly out of the power of her friends and protectors. But at that critical instant Charlie Scott seized the steward by the arm, never doubting but that he would twist him like a willow; but he was mistaken. The churl seized him by the throat with his left hand, with such prodigious force that Charlie deemed him to have the strength of six common men, and lending him a blow on the face, he made his mouth and nose to gush blood. Charlie returned the salute with interest, yet the steward stood his ground, and a most desperate struggle ensued, in which victory appeared doubtful. Gibby perceiving his friend and champion's jeopardy, drew out his sword, and was going deliberately to stick the old ragamuffin behind, had not Charlie called out furiously to him to forbear.

"Keep back your whittle, you cowardly dog," cried he, "else I'll cut you into a thousand pieces. I never yet took odds against a man, nor shall I now, unless I am fighting wi' the devil. In that case I may measure my backbreadth on the floor. But be he the devil, be he dicken, I shall gie him ae squeeze."

Charlie with that closed with his dangerous opponent, and gave him such a squeeze that he made his back and ribs to crash. The steward twisted his face into the most hideous contortions, and exerted his whole force to extricate himself, but Charlie brought him to the ground, falling upon him with all his ponderous weight. It was among the bones of the gigantic skeleton that the two combatants fell; and Charlie, deeming that he had given his foe enough for once, and a little startled to find himself among the rattling bones, began to unloose his grasp, and said in a hurried way, "Billy, I'll learn you how to strike fo'k on the gab and the brigg o' the nose sae rashly!" and was getting up as fast as he could, when the steward gave him such a blow with the thigh-bone of the dead man, that he had very nigh brought him down again. If Charlie's bonnet had not had a bar or two of steel, that blow would have shattered his skull. As it was it stunned him a little, and made the water start into his eyes; and he had just recollection and strength sufficient to secure his adversary's arms, by holding them down, so that he might not repeat the blow. Yet, with all this Charlie's temper was not to be ruffled. He cared not how often or how much he fought, but he never fought in wrath.

"Gude faith, my man," said he, "but ye're no nice o' your chapping sticks! and foul fa' me gin ye dinna lay them gayan freely on. But I dinna blame ye. A wight man never wants a weapon; only come that gate again an ye dare."

The steward growled and cursed, trying all that he could to throw Charlie from above him, and master him by sheer strength. He had no idea of being overpowered by a single arm, nor was he wont to fear half a dozen, but he had never met with the like of Charlie Scott before. He might as well have tried to remove the hill of Aikwood; so he was obliged to succumb, which he did with a very bad grace; nor would he either abate one inch in his demand of having the damsel unconditionally, or grant one request that they desired of him.

"Why, then, there's nae help for it, honest man," said Charlie; "I hae ye firm and fast, and what ye winna gie us we maun e'en tak at our ain hand. Honest friar, come you here, and tak' a' the keys o' the castle aff this camstary hallanshaker, and we'll e'en help oursels to sic as we can get. I sal tak care that he sanna move a spauld against you, and as for his tongue we maun just let it wag."

The rage of the seneschal, when he saw himself robbed of the keys of the castle, is not to be described: he cursed and raged in such a manner, that, even after the friar had both doors fairly open, Charlie durst not move from off him, or let him go, for fear of some deadly scaith.

"I dinna ken what I'm to do wi' this deil's buckie," said he; "he's like the tod's whelps, that grow aye the langer the waur."

"I wad gie him a settler," said Tam.

"He brings me in mind o' a barrel o' beer, fuming and fuffing. He'll no settle till he be pierced," said Gibbie.

The friar then took up his bulky baggage, and walked out with that and the light, meaning to bring his mule's halter wherewith to bind the seneschal; but Charlie, making his escape from him, locked him in,—and thus were our messengers left in the full and free possession of the castle of Aikwood.

CHAPTER II.

The lady looked o'er the castle wa',
She looked both pale and wan;
For the door was locked, and the lord within,
He was no Christian man.

When the steward saw that he was fairly mastered, and that neither strength nor words could avail him ought, he remained where he was in sullen silence. He had got no orders from the Master to bring him the maid, but it had come into his head to go and take her to himself, and he had nearly effected his purpose. What might have been the consequence of his success, it is painful even to calculate; but he was thus prevented, though not without blood and wounds.

The guests now traversed all the lower apartments of the castle, there being neither bolt nor bar to interrupt them; but for all the retinue that they had seen at their arrival, there was neither the appearance of man nor beast remaining. The large hall did not seem to have been occupied for a long period. The shelves were empty, and there were neither dishes nor fragments of meat of any description; and every thing within as well as without the castle had the appearance of desolation.

At length they came to a door, from the bottom of which they perceived some light issuing, of which they were glad, as they were afraid the steward's lamp would fail them and leave them in darkness. Deeming themselves on ticklish ground, they consulted in a whisper before venturing in. Charlie Scott was quite a fearless man among his fellow creatures, but all kinds of supernatural agency pressed heavily on his conscience. Therefore, in the present instance, he dissuaded his comrades from entering, with all his eloquence.

"Gude faith, callans, keep back off that place. It is may-be the warlock's room; and gin he should be in the mids o' some o' his cantrips at this eiry time o' the morning, gude sauf us! it is a question what might be the upshot. Na, na, friar; I tell ye, bide back, it is best to let sleeping dogs lye, for fear they get up and bite you."

But the friar's creed differed from that of Charlie, and he went dauntlessly forward, putting him aside with his hand, and saying at the same time, that he would "surely go in unto him as with a front of brass or of iron;" that sooner or later the time and the season of their meeting must come, and why should he be dismayed?

The friar then opened the door with caution, and entered, followed by all his associates, Charlie Scott bringing up the rear, and whispering to those next him in a tremulous voice,—"Od that body's mad! He'll lead us into some ill-faur'd snapper. Dinna be ower rash, callans. Just look afore ye."

Instead of the great enchanter, however, they found only an old woman, so busily engaged with something on the fire, that she scarcely deigned to regard them as they entered. She had a wooden tube, like the barrel of a gun, with which she blew up her fire; and she kept blowing at it till the flame came above the lip of her caldron, and let her see into it; for she had no lamp, nor any other light save that which came from the fire.

When she had made it blaze thus high, she spoke to herself, and without taking her mouth from the tube; saying some words to the following purport:—

"Sotter, sotter, my wee pan,
To the spirit gin ye can;
When the scum turns blue,
And the blood bells through,
There's something aneath that will change the man."

When Charlie saw her unchristian-like face, and heard her mumbling these horrid words through her long hollow tube, he turned his back and fled, taking shelter in a void entrance, to which he was led by some light that fell into it from the rays of the moon. Full hardly was he then bested, for he still deemed that he heard the witch's rites at a distance; and the faint ray of the moon through a narrow aperture made the rest of the space appear so shadowy and dim, that Charlie saw he was in a dangerous situation, and actually began to fancy he beheld a face in the dark staring at him, and still coming nearer. It was no time to stand there; so he fled with all his might. But in his dismay he lost every kind of aim, or consideration whither he was going, and at once stumbled on the undermost step of a stone stair. Thinking the apparition he had seen was by that time hard upon him, and no other way that he knew of open for flight, he rose and pursued his course straight up stairs, in a state of perturbation hardly to be accounted for. The first landing place that he came to he ran himself against a door, and not finding farther entrance he faced about, and, leaning over the balluster, he set up such a yell as never was before breathed from lungs. It is true he neither heard nor saw aught of the apparition; but Charlie was a sensible man, and he was certain it might be there for any thing that he knew; so he set up the same kind of cry that he was wont to do when he lost his neighbours in a mist, or in a night foray, only about ten times or so louder.

"Hilloa! Tam Craik! friar! hilloa! d—n ye a'; what for winna ye come wi' a light?"

Charlie was now at such a distance from his comrades, who were still in the witch's small apartment, and the echoes of the huge void castle so confused the sounds, that they took the cries of their captain for the rushing of a whirlwind roaring through the crannies of the castle, and paid no regard to them. No state could be more deplorable than that in which muckle Charlie Scott was now placed. To have returned down the stair would have been meeting the devil face to face; or, as Charlie much better expressed it, "to hae dabbed nebs wi' the deil."

He had therefore no other resource than to bellow out for assistance; and seeing none approach, he said aloud in great agony of spirit, "Lord, gin I were but on Corby's back again! ay, though it were in the wildest glen o' a' the Cheviots, and the Eskdale souple o'er my shoulder," (that was the cant name of Charlie's tremendous sword;) "I might then work my way: But sic a place as this I saw never! Od, an there be lugs within the wa's o' the house I shall either gar them hear or crack them. Hilloa!"

Not satisfied with giving yelloch after yelloch, as he termed his loud cries, he flew to every door on the landing place, laid on it with his fists, and kicked it with his foot, calling at each of them in the same key as before, "Is there ony body here?" He at last prevailed: one door was opened, and he was admitted inside. But, alas for our gallant yeoman! he only by this transition got out of one exceedingly bad scrape into a worse.

These casual separations of dramatis personæ are exceedingly unfortunate for the story-teller who aims at conciseness and brevity; because it is impracticable to bring them all on at the same time. A story is like a waggoner and his horses travelling out the king's highway, his machine loaden with various bales of rich merchandise. He goes smoothly and regularly on, till he comes to the bottom of a steep ascent, where he is obliged to leave a great proportion of his loading, and first carry one part of it to the top of the hill, then another, and then another, which retards him grievously on his way. So is it with the writer of a true history such as this; and the separation of parties is as a hill on his onward path.

It is otherwise with dramatic representations, and in these the authors have a great advantage. Let their characters separate as they will, or be engaged as they will, they can at any time, with the greatest ease, be brought together on the stage. The one enters from the one side, and the other from the other, and we do not much concern ourselves how or whence they come, taking it for granted that they are there, and that is enough. It is rather delightful to see a hero, in whom one had begun to take some interest, and whom he supposed to be far distant, exposed to dangers abroad and perfidy at home, all at once stalk majestically in from the side scene, and take his place before our eyes. It gives the heart a great deal of relief to see and know that he is there in person to stand up for his own injured rights. But in our own case there is no such expedient. Like the waggoner, we must return from the top of the hill, and bring up those of our characters that are left behind. At present we must return from the top of the great stair-case in Aikwood castle, into the housekeeper's cell on the ground floor.

Charlie had made his escape almost unobserved; those next to him weening that he had only drawn a little back to keep a due distance between the witch and him, so that they pressed forward to the scene without regarding him.

The crone continued her orgies, blowing her fire one while, and again stirring the liquid in the caldron; then making it run from the end of a stick, that she might note its state of gelidity. The friar addressed her in his usual stile of sonorous eastern eloquence; but she only regarded him by a slight stare, and a motion with her hand, as if she wished him and his group to disappear. She had taken them for spirits that she had conjured up, and perhaps thought they were come before the time; for in mumbling to herself, they at one time heard her saying, "So you are all there, are you? Well, I shall find you work. Sotter, sotter my wee pan."

This scene went on for a considerable time without any variety, the witch attending solely to her caldron and her fire; the friar standing before the flame, and Tam and Gibbie, with their long kipper noses, peeping over his shoulder. The other three were behind these; the poet with his arm round Delany's waist, and the beautiful face of the boy Elias, the very picture of amazement personified, appeared below the friar's right arm. Scarcely could such another group be formed for the painter's eye. Here sat the witch, haggard and wild, close at the one cheek of the fire, watching over her caldron and infernal morsel with the utmost eagerness. There stood the gruff friar, with the keys of the castle in his right hand, and the dim lamp in his left, raised above his head; so that, from the two groups of light, the marked features of amazement could be distinctly traced; which, with the faint and yellowish hue of their complexions, made the whole highly picturesque.

The witch continued her occupation; till, at length holding up her stick to note the consistence of her jelly, that appeared like boiling blood and water mixed, there was something in its appearance that confounded her. She dropt both her tube and her stirring stick among the ashes, and turned about staring wildly at our group. She appeared as if examining their features one by one in search of some one whose presence she missed; and perceiving the boy's face below the friar's arm, she fixed her eyes on that, cowering down at the same time like a cat that is about to spring on its prey. Then, rising half up, she moved toward him in a stooping posture, turning always her face first to the one side and then to the other, until her nose came almost in contact with the boy's, on which he slipped his face out of her sight behind the friar's back. Observing next the two droll faces over the friar's two shoulders, she appeared delighted with the view; and letting her jaws fall down, she smiled at it, but it was rather a gape than a smile. She then tottered again towards the fire, rocking her body and wagging her head as before, repeating the while this unmeaning phrase:

"Niddy, noddy, niddy, noddy.
Three heads on ae body."

Haply she deemed all the three faces she had seen belonged to the friar, and was happy at witnessing such a monstrous appearance.

Sitting down on her hams as before, she seized on her two implements, and began to blow and stir for about the space of a minute, testifying great impatience to see how her spell proceeded. But the moment that she held up a part of her morsel on the stick, and let it drip off, she perceived that all was wrong, and that her guests were the reverse of those she expected. As soon as she looked at the liquor, she uttered a horrible scream, while every joint of her body shook with fury; and, lifting a wooden ladle that lay by her side with devilish nimbleness, she splashed the boiling liquid on the faces and bodies of our amazed compeers.

"Deil be in the auld jaud's fingers!" cried Tam: "Gin she hasna jaupit out baith my een!"

"I have indeed given my cheek to the firebrand!" said the friar; "and the skin of my forehead hath departed from me!"

"She brings me a-mind o' my mither," said Gibbie—but he got not time to proceed; for after she had exhausted the contents of her caldron on the intruders, she attacked them with burning coals and pieces of wood. These she dashed among them with such desperate force, that part of them sought refuge in retreat. Not so our redoubted friar. He gave the lamp out of his hand to the laird, bidding him take care of it, and turning his back toward her, and running backward for fear of farther injury to his face and eyes, he seized the witch by the frock, and putting his arm round both hers to restrain them, he held her fast to his side. In doing so, he uncovered the cross that hung at his girdle. When she saw this, and that her body was pressed against it, she uttered the most horrified howlings, and appeared to be falling into convulsions. Nevertheless, the friar kept his hold. He let her scream on, and, dragging her toward the door, said unto her, "Thou wicked one! as thy works have been, so shall be thy reward; and as thou hast sown, so also shalt thou reap. Come with me, and I will put thee into a place where thou shalt cease from troubling."

Without more ado, he bore her away to the vault where lay her surly and unyielding associate, beside his mass of dry human bones; and forcing her in, he locked them up together, saying, as he turned the massy bolt, "Lo, the gates of iron and of brass close upon thee! the bolts of steel are drawn around thy dwelling! There shalt thou remain, and there shall thy flesh be consumed, unless thou repentest thee of the evil that thou hast done."

There was a shrewd smile on the friar's face as he said this, as of one who either did not mean to put his threat in execution, or marvelled how it was that he should thus be lording it in the castle of Aikwood, and imprisoning whom he would.

Never till that instant did any of the party miss their friend and champion, Charlie Scott; but when they turned from the door of the prison to consult what was to be done next, behold he was wanting This caused them great dismay, but the friar most of all.

"Wo is me!" cried he: "How is the mighty departed, and the pillar of our strength moved out of its place! As well may they take my head from my body, and say unto me live, as bid us go on and prosper without that mighty man."

The poor waggoner must again return from the top of the hill, and bring up the most important and weighty part of his cargo; no less a load than muckle Charlie Scott, laird of Yardbire, and the far famed warlock and necromancer, Master Michael Scott.

The mighty uproar that Charlie made at the head of the stair, when he believed the devil to be on the steps, aroused the great necromancer from his nocturnal experiments, all of which were of an infernal kind. At such hours as these his capacious mind was abstracted from all worldly concerns, such as other mortals busy themselves about. If any thing sublunary engaged his studies and calculations, it was how to make the living die and the dead to live,—how to remove mountains out of their places, to turn the sea into dry land, and the fields into a billowy and briny ocean,—or in any way counteract nature in her goings on. In some of these great enterprises was he doubtlessly engaged that morning, when the voice of Charlie Scott astounded his ears.

Often had hosts of demons mustered at his call in the castle of Aikwood, and the yelling sounds of the infernals were no strangers to his ears; but never had he heard such a potent voice before as that sent forth by Charlie, when he conceived himself cooped up between the devil and a bolted door. Conceived did I say? No: Charlie saw distinctly, by this time, an indefinable being coming slowly up to him. Saint Peter! as he did thresh the warlock's door. "Is there any body here? Hilloa! Open the door I say." Thump, thump, thump!

The bolt inside was drawn, and, owing to the strong pressure without, the door flew wide open at once. Charlie perceiving the light, and fearless of ought but the figure behind him, rushed into the room, and made toward the fire. The door was instantly shut behind him with a loud and furious clash; and Charlie then turning around, got the first look of the inmate. He was a boardly muscular man, somewhat emaciated in his appearance, with a strong bushy beard that flowed to his girdle, of a hue that had once been jet black, but was now slightly tinted with grey. His eyes were uncommonly bright and piercing, but they had some resemblance to the eyes of a serpent. He wore on his head a turban of crimson velvet, ornamented with mystic figures in gold, and on the front of it was a star of many dazzling colours. The rest of his body was wrapped in a mantle or gown, striped with all the hues of the rainbow, and many more.

Charlie's eye had lately been lighted up with terror, but as it fell on the majestic figure of Master Michael Scott, its wild gleam softened into respect, and he saluted him with his quick, abrupt, border bow, which rather resembled the motion made by a raven beckoning from his rock as he wakes the surrounding echoes, than the slow and graceful courtesy then so well understood among the great. Michael still kept his erect posture at the back of the door, fixing on our yeoman an indignant and angry glance. That look conjured up a little more of Charlie's breeding; he doffed his steel bonnet with the one hand, stroked down the hair of his forehead with the other, and gave the master another bow, or rather a nod.

"Gude e'en t'ye, Sir; I fancy you're the lord o' this castle?" said Charlie.

"You fancy so, do you?" said the Master with a sneer; and giving three tramps with his heel on the floor, in one moment the three pages, Prig, Prim, and Pricker, stood beside him.

"Work, Master, work,—what work now?"

"Take that burly thief and housebreaker, bind him, and put him to the test."

"Stop short there, my good masters, till I speak t'ye, said Charlie, "I'm neither a housebreaker nor a thief, but a leel man, our warden's kinsman, and your ain, Master Michael Scott. I came here on fair and honourable service, and I have been guidit waur than a tike; and I'll just tell you plainly, for I'm rather an e'en-down chap, that if ane o' thae brats dare but to touch me, I'll tak my hand aff his haffet in sic a way that he sanna grene to lay foul finger on a gentleman again."

The three pages fell a giggling at this speech, and one of them brushed forward and seized Charlie with a force of which he had no conception. But he was one that never suffered any personal attack with impunity. He drew a stroke with his clenched fist, and aimed such a blow at the page's head, that, if he had had a head like other pages, would have smashed it to pieces. Charlie hit no head at all. He struck a thing of nought. But the force of his arm was such, that, about two yards farther on, he hit an apparatus of curious construction, which he called "a machine for setting the wind on fire," and which he made to fly all in flinders against the wall. The Master's eye kindled with rage; but the three urchins, who delighted in nothing but mischief, laughed still the louder, and pressed all forward on Charlie. He had been a little astounded at missing the page's head; but, being somewhat flustered, he had not leisure to reflect, and his conceptions were naturally none of the most acute; so, for the present, he took it for a miss. But seeing they purposed to lay violent hands on him, he sprung back into the middle of the room, in order to command weapon space; and drawing out the Eskdale souple, he stood on the defensive in a most determined posture.

The pertinacious elves wheeled also backward, taking a circle round behind the Master, and advanced on him all abreast. Good Lord, with what might Charlie struck at them! He came on them with a hew that he meant should cut them all three through the middle at once. But he, a second time, struck on vacancy. The sword whistled through the void, taking Charlie round with it, and demolishing almost every thing that was in the room. The pages screamed with delight, but Michael foamed with fury. Charlie paid no regard either to him or the devastation he had made among his utensils; but, springing round the board to the other side of the room, said, in a loud perturbed voice: "Tell me just this ae thing, Michael,—are thae three creatures deils? Because an they be deils, I hae nae mair chance wi' them than a cat. But as for yoursel, goodman, I ken ye are flesh and blood, and o' my ain kith and kin," (and with that he seized Michael by the throat,) "therefore, either gar thae hellicats gang about their business, or, by Him that made us, I'll thraw your neck about."

Whether it was the might of the enchanter himself, or that of his bond spirits, Charlie wist not; but in one moment after that his feet were tripped from beneath him, and he was laid on his back on the floor. There he was held by a might against which his great strength could not prevail, bound with cords, and stretched on the board. The Master and his familiars then conversed in Latin, a language of which Charlie knew but little, having never been at court; but he heard they were conversing about his baptism. Charlie had not got much time in his life to think about these sacred rites, yet he had always held them in proper respect and veneration; and at that time he blessed the hour he had been presented in holy church, having strong hopes that on that account the powers of hell would not prevail against him. The elves loosed his buff-belt, and unclasped his steel-doublet, laying his manly bosom quite bare. The Master gave them directions in Latin, and each of them went and brought a long knife with two edges, sharp as a razor, and having a point like a lance.

"I didna trow that there had been ought sae misleared in nature as this," said Charlie. "It's no that I'm ony feared for death. I hae looked him ower often i' the face to blench at his ca': but I wad just hae liket to hae fa'en i' the field wi' my sword i' my hand, and no to be cut up like a Christmas pye, and carved a' into collops by a wheen damned deils."

One of them prepared to cut open his breast, and another his belly; but a moment's dispute taking place between them in some unknown tongue, about the mode, as Charlie believed, he crossed himself as well as he could with his bound hands, and pronounced a sacred name into himself. That instant he perceived the pages fall a-trembling, and stand back; their faces blenched with dread, and the weapons fell from their hands. The Master was wroth, and ordered them to proceed, as Charlie weened by his motions; but, instead of that, they retired trembling into a corner. He snatched a knife from one of them, as if determined to do the deed himself. Charlie then deemed himself gone; for he had a sort of confused idea, that, by certain laws of nature, and the use of holy rites, wicked spirits were restrained, else mankind would be destroyed: "But what law of nature, or what holy word or sign," thought he, "can restrain the arm of a wicked man? It is my duty to try, however," thought he again; and with that he whispered a prayer to the Son of the Virgin, that He would save a warrior from a death like this.

Charlie's prayer was heard, short as it was; for at that very moment, while yet the syllables hung on his lips, entered the gruff figure of the friar, with the keys of the castle over his arm, and followed by his associates.

"What seek you here, you dogs?" cried the Master, turning about with the great knife in his hand: "Am I thus to have my privacy disturbed, and my abode ravaged by a pack of carrion hounds from the hills? Brave pages mine, bind them all, and cut me them into a thousand pieces."

Scarcely was the order given ere they had the poet on the floor, and bound with strong cords. The rest prepared to escape; but the great enchanter placed his back to the door, brandished his great knife, and dared them to approach him. The mettledness of these pages cannot be conceived, far less described; they seemed but to will a thing and it was done. Ere ever one of the intruders had time to rally his thoughts, or almost to think at all, three of them and the boy were all lying bound in fetters. But when the imps came to seize on the friar, they could not. They skipped about and about him, but they had not power even to touch his frock. The virgin stood behind him trembling; and on their feeling their want of power over the friar, they turned to lay hold on her. But the moment they touched her robe, they retired back in dismay.

Michael looked as if he dreaded there was something about these two that boded him no good; but he wist not what it was, for he had never seen the prowess of his bond spirits counteracted before; therefore he awaited the event for a space, when he perceived them vanquished.

The friar had time to rally his thoughts, and remembered that the maid had the blessed gospel concealed in her bosom; and judging that these were perhaps fiends with whom they had to do, who durst not stand against the word of truth, he drew his cross from below his frock,—that cross which had been consecrated at the shrine of Saint Peter, bathed in holy water, and blessed with many blessings from the mouths of ancient martyrs—had done wonderous miracles in the hands of saints of former days,—and lifting that reverendly up on high, he pronounced the words from holy writ against which no demon or false spirit's power could prevail. In one moment all the three imps fled yelling from the apartment. The countenance of the enchanter fell, and he quaked where he stood; but the eye of the friar was kindled up with exultation and joy.

"There worketh the hand of my master!" exclaimed he: "There have I trusted, and I am not, like thee, ashamed of my trust. I have a strong-hold of hope, and it is founded on a rock, but thy habitation trembleth beneath thee; and dost thou know, or hast thou considered, what is underneath?"

The friar then went up and loosed the bonds of his friend Charlie, and of all the rest, one by one, exulting in his creed, and pouring forth such sentences of sublime adoration as are not suited for an idle tale.

The Master at length took courage and rebuked him, saying, "It is vain for thee, foolish dupe of a foolish creed, to multiply such great swelling words of vanity. What though thy might hath, for once, prevailed above my might, and thy spell proved more powerful than mine? I will engage, nevertheless, that in nine times out of ten, mine, on fair trial, shall prevail over thine. And at all events I can at this time call in the arm of flesh to my assistance, and do with you whatever seemeth to me good."

"Ay, gude faith, and that's very true, Master Michael Scott," said Charlie: "and that we saw wi' our ain een. It is great nonsense to quarrel with the lord of a castle aneath his ain roof, although, I confess, I was the first to do it mysel'. But there's an auld saying, wha wad sit i' Rome and strive wi' the pope? or misca' a Macdonald in the raws o' Lochaber? We came wi' nae sic intent, but in fair friendship, and on courteous errand. And now when we are a' rather on equal footing again, let me beg o' you, great and powerful Master, to be a reasonable man for aince. Answer the warden's request, and let us gae; for really, great Sir, our master canna well want us; and mair nor that, I'm feared yon chaps at the mill dinna gie Corby ony water."

Though the Master did not understand the latter part of this speech, yet the honest simplicity of Charlie somewhat interested him. His stern and sullen brow cleared to something like a smile; and on looking at the singular and original group before him, he half resolved within himself to have some intercourse with humanity once more. "If it were but for a day, or even an hour," thought he, "would it not form some variety in a life thus dedicated to searching after hidden mysteries—a life of turmoil and distraction, in which there is no allay?"

Such were some of the thoughts that glanced on the dark mind of the necromancer, as he turned his eye on the broad weather-beaten face of honest Yardbire, "And what may your master's request be, yeoman?" said he.

Charlie had great hopes that he would now bring matters to a bearing at once; and, coming a step nearer to the Master, he laid the one fore-finger across the other, and answered him thus:—"Why, gude faith, Sir, it is neither mair nor less than just this:—Ye ken the last time ye war at the castle of Mountcomyn, ye gae our master, your kinsman, the warden, some little insight anent things that were to come about:—of some bits o' glebes, and hopes, and glens, ye ken, that war to fa' to his house. Now, Sir Knight, or Master, as I should say, he's a man that, aboon a' ithers that ever war born, looks to the honour and the advantage o' his house. He's as loyal as the day's light, as generous as a corn mill, and as brave as a blast o' snaw or a floody river. Od, you will turn either the ane or the ither sooner than you will turn him wi' his muirland callans at his back.—Ay, I hae seen him.—But it's needless to tell what he'll do for his ain. So you see, Sir Master, that was the preceese thing he sent us for."

"To send troops to his assistance, I perceive?" said the Master.

"Why, Sir Master, to say the truth, we hadna that in charge; though it wad be far mair mack like, and far mair feasible, and far mair honourable into the bargain, to send yon great clan o' ratten-nosed chaps to help our master, than to hae them lying idle, eating you out o' house and hauld here. Ye wad aye be getting part o' the spulzie. Half a dozen o' kye at a time now and then disna do amiss. Sae, if you will come to terms, I will engage for ane to see you get fair share, to the hoof and the horn, the barn an' the beef boat, the barrel and the bed blanket. But, ye ken, Sir, in matters like this, we maun do ae thing afore another, like business men; and ye maun be sae good, and sae kind, and sae obliging, as to answer our first request first."

"As far as I can recollect," said Michael, "I never heard any request made."

"Why, gude faith, Sir, ye ken, I believe I forgot that part o't," said Charlie: "But ye see, that's neither here nor there; for the thing requires some explanation. Do you ken a' this mad story about the siege o' Roxburgh?"

"I trouble myself about no worldly things," said the Master, "nor do I wish to hear about them. Is there no one present who can tell me this great business at one breath?"

Charlie stepped back. "There's nae garring him hae patience,—and good troth my tongue I fear has outrun my logic," said he: "Friar, speak you."

"Great and magnificent Master of Arts," said the friar, stepping forward, "whom I have longed to see above all men! Lo, thou seest, and thou hearest, that this man, although he be a man of might, and a warrior from his youth, is yet uncouth of speech, and altogether diffuse; therefore listen thou diligently unto the voice of thy servant. Behold we are come to thee from the man that ruleth over the borders of the land, and leadeth forth his troops to battle. He sendeth unto thee greeting, and beseecheth to know of thee what shall befal unto his people, and to his house, in the latter days. It is thy counsel alone that he asketh, for thou art renowned for wisdom and foresight to the farthest corners of the earth. The two nations are engaged in great and bloody contest, and high are the stakes for which they play. The man who sent us intreateth of thee to disclose unto thy servants who shall finally prevail, and whether it behoveth him to join himself to the captain of his people. He hath, moreover, sent unto thee, by our hand, these two beautiful captives, the one to be thine handmaiden, and the other to be thy servant and run at thy bidding; and whatsoever thou requirest of our captain, that will he do, even to the half of all that he hath."

There was but one thing on earth by which the wizard could be flattered, and that was a deference to his profound art. He therefore listened with patience to the friar, and answered, that the request his kinsman had made would take many days to consider of: "For," said he, "I have those to deal with that are more capricious than the changing seasons, and more perverse than opposing tides and winds; therefore remain with me a few days, that I may prove you."

"Od bless ye! Sir Master, the thing is impossible!" said Charlie: "I coudna bide frae my captain and chief, and him in jeopardy; neither could I endure to think that my poor beast should want water sae lang. A man's life often depends on his beast."

"Thou givest us no meat," said the friar, "nor wine nor strong drink givest thou unto us. How, therefore, can we remain in thine house? Nevertheless would I love to abide a short time with thee, to witness thy great might, before which the masters of divinations in other lands have trembled. Verily, I would also show unto thee what thy servant can do."

"If I were to cope with such as thee, it would only be to show thee thy littleness!" said Michael. "But thy creed is an abomination to me, and I abhor it. In the meantime call up my steward, and I will order him to provide you with meat and drink."

The poet now, for the first time, spoke up in the Master's hearing; and, indignant at the steward's design on Delany, he delivered himself with great vehemence.

"Nay, say not so, great Master. The devil hath possession of that man, sure as the stars burn on the morning's brow. He give us meat or drink! Sooner he will draw forth the crimson current from our veins, and lay us with the dead: Sooner he will rob beauty of her treasure, and deface the image of his Maker. Let us go forth to hill, or dale, or wood, strive with the crow for carrion, or contend with owlets for a mouse; but to be bearded by that same surly beast, the heart of man not brooks it. As for me, I lift my voice, my absolute protest, against the degradation and effect."

"He is indeed a son of Belial," said the friar; "but I have put him in ward, that he trouble us not. Lo, here be the keys of thy castle, which I intend to keep as our surety. Therefore show me the place where thy good things are disposed, and I myself will be steward for a time; for indeed that man of thine is such a son of Belial that a man cannot speak to him."

The Master's brow lowered with dissatisfaction. His subordinate spirits in whom he trusted had no power over the friar, and other man had he none within the castle, save Gourlay, who was almost as much fiend as man. He therefore intreated the friar to set his steward at liberty, and restore to him the keys, else no meat or drink could be had; and, at the same time, he gave them all warrandice that they should be kindly used.

"My seneschal," said he, "is as stubborn and froward as any demon of the pit, nor will he do one kind or fair action save by compulsion. But he dares not disobey me. If he should presume to dispute my orders in the slightest instance, one word from you shall be sufficient, and I will shew you how he shall be requited."

It was forthwith agreed that the Master should accompany them down to the dungeon, in order to restrain the fury and violence of his servant. Matters were therefore arranged, and the two prisoners set at liberty. The steward was sullen and intractable, lying still on the dungeon floor, disregardful of the words spoken to him by the friar; but when he heard the Master's threatening accents he sprung to his feet and came forth, looking at Charlie in such a manner as plainly said, "I shall be revenged on you."

The Master then took him to task, demanding by whose orders he had shut up his kinsman's friends in the vault. But he only snarled and gnashed his teeth in reply.

"And then to suffer yourself to be mured up there!" said the Master.

"Ay," said Gourlay; "some have won a tilt on the king of the field who never saw the day to win it on another."

"For the viper blood that venoms thy heart do thou ought amiss to these gentlemen," said the Master, "or to this obnoxious thing that is their ward! Wherefore, let me ask, were they compelled to shut you up there?"

The steward only grunted in reply; but the poet came again boldly forward, having been exasperated beyond measure at the steward for his attempt on Delany; and he said,—"Sir knight, in that I'll truly counsel you. At dead hour of night, when all was still, save the snell piping of the frosty wind; even we were all at peace, and quiet lay as did the dead man's bones, but that, between, the friar at equal intervals sent forth his nasal roar, so vehement that the mice, yea, and the starveling rats, ceased from their prowling, listened the dire sound from fleshy trumpet of our mother church, then sought, with stretched forth tail, and nimble foot, the depth profound! There quaking did they lie, like fiends driven from the height to the abyss,—lank make, chilled heart, and grievous length of tail. At that ill hour, in comes this boding owl, this ill-starred man of sin, and straight demands that peerless maiden for your honour's couch. Him we refused—the maiden shrieked for help—he dragged her forth, and on this laurelled head, crowned by the muses with celestial bays, inflicted ruthless wound. The bedesman also fell; but he our friend, the Hector of the hills, wrought his o'erthrow, and circum-mured him. Thus my say is ended."

The Master, as the poet spoke, seemed several times so much amused that they expected he would have burst into laughter. But one look of his eye spoke sentences. When he heard that Gourlay had demanded the maid for him, he gave him such a glance as made the wretch almost cower to the earth; and when the poet ended he turned his eyes on Charlie, measuring him from head to foot, and seeming as if he doubted the fact that he or any man could master his redoubted seneschal. However, the Master had seen so much of the group, that he determined, contrary to his custom, to have some amusement with them. He therefore ordered his seneschal forthwith to provide all good things for their entertainment.

The stubborn wight made no movement betokening obedience. He stood upright with his dull white face a little elevated, and his eyes turned up below his brows, while those who were next him heard him saying to himself, in accents that creaked in his throat, "Hell must be moved for this repast!" The Master heard not this sentence, but noting his steward's indecision, he stamped with his foot, and pointing with his finger, the latter led the way into an antichamber of the same cold and naked appearance with the rest of the apartments of the castle, where, leaving them with a light, the two went away into the great Master's dormitory, "To cast their cantrips, and bring up the deil."

"He keeps an unco cauld house this carl," said Tam, when they were left by themselves: "I fancy he'll ken brawly he'll hae ane bien eneugh at the hinder-end, and downa bide to see fire in this!"

"He brings me a-mind o' daft Jock Amos i' the Goosegreen," said Gibbie,—"wha never durst lie down on a bed because his mother died on ane. Whenever he saw a bed wi' white sheets on it he fell a-trembling, and ran to the gate."

CHAP. III.

Goe fetche mee lofe of your wheitan breide
And ane other coppe of wyne;
For drynke I quhile myne doublet ryve,
For drynke I moste repine.
I fele not corauge in myne herte,
Nor mychte into myne honde,
If there is nott wytchcrafte forth abrode,
There neuir was crafte in londe.

The morning had by this time dawned on the gray hills of the forest, and that with an aspect gloomy and foreboding. The white snowy clouds had crept down into the bosoms of the hills; and above these clouds were here and there to be seen the top of a mountain crested with its dark cairn, so that the heavens and the earth seemed to be mingled together.

"Gude sauf us!" cried Charlie, as he peeped out at his small crannied window, "but this is a grim, gousty-looking morning! I wish the prince o' the air be nae fa'en a brewing some o' his hellish storms and hairikens on us. If there be spirits moving about on thae hills to-day, they can be nae good anes, ye may see by their look out. Sant Mary be with us! see their drumly heads appear to be raised to double their ordinary height."

"Be not thou afraid, my son, of the prince of the power of the air, for there is one that is greater than he," said the friar; "and though the fiends may for a while muster their fogs, and foment the air with storms, yet will he send forth his angels and scatter them; yea, he will send them forth riding on the whirlwind, and the clouds of heaven shall be their chariots, and the powers of darkness shall fly in dismay before them."

The friar stepped forward to the window, and gazed for a minute in breathless astonishment; then turning away, he added in a solemn tone, "Verily, my children, I am afraid to look at the face of the sky, or to behold the hues that are abroad on the firmament this day, though my strength be the munition of rocks."

The steward now appeared with his rod of office in his hand, and, with all due ceremony, marshalled his guests up the great stair, and finally up a small winding stair, to an apartment at the very top of the upmost tower, above all the turrets and paved battlements. This room was in a blaze of light with flaming torches all around; and (joyful sight to our precious embassy!) the table was covered with rich viands in great abundance. The friar, having got short of breath in his ascent, lagged considerably behind, while the foremost rushing in, every one began to help himself with the greatest avidity; so that, when the friar at length came puffing into the apartment, all the rest had begun without grace. The seat at the foot of the table was still unoccupied; and before that there stood a beautiful smoking sirloin of beef, with a gentle brown crust around it, and half swimming in gravy. Never was there a more delicious sight presented to a hungry man.

The worthy friar, seeing all the rest engaged, would not risk a trespass on good manners by interrupting them, although it was an established custom with him to bless every meal before tasting it. In conformity with this venerable custom among Christians, he lifted up his spread hands, closed his eyes, and leaning forward above the beef so closely that he actually breathed upon it, and felt the flavour of health and joy ascending by his nostrils, in that fervent and respectful attitude he blessed the beef in the name of Jesus. Never had blessing a more dolorous effect. When the friar opened his eyes, the beef was gone. There was nothing left on the great wooden plate before him but a small insignificant thing resembling the joint of a frog's leg, or that of a rat; and perhaps two or three drops of gravy.

The friar's associates were all busily engaged. The steward was moving about behind them, and at that time happened to be passing by near where the friar sat; of course, this latter worthy had no doubt whatever but that the malicious old rascal had stolen the roast slyly from under his nose the moment that his eyes were closed, whereas the steward was as much astounded as he. It was a fine picture. The friar had placed himself hastily to begin; but, missing his beef, and seeing nothing of it on the board, he was moved with great anger and indignation. There he sat, biting his lip, and having his deep dark eye fixed on the seneschal; and there stood the tall seneschal, with his mouth wide open, his face half raised toward the cornice of the chamber, and his dull heavy eye fixed on the friar's plate. He was in utter dismay; for he dreaded that, on such a blessing being pronounced openly, the whole of his provisions would in like manner vanish away; and he was a blithe man when, instead of blessing, the friar, on opening his mouth, was rather inclined to curse.

"Cursed be thy malice, for it is great," cried he: "Thou Nabal! thou Rabshakeh! thou Shimei, the son of Bichri! thou Er! thou Onan! thou vile Judas, the son of Simon! Magormissabub be thy name; and may it be blotted out after thee, and become a bye-word, and a proverb, and a hissing among people and children. Restore that which thou hast unjustly taken away, before I thrust my sword into thee, and take away thy life. Give unto me the precious morsel thou hast taken away, or, lo! thou art in the jaws of destruction, and the pit openeth her mouth wide upon thee."

The steward answered neither good nor bad; for he was afraid of the vengeance of his master, and the evil spirits that wrought at his bidding, and delighted in nothing so much as in tormenting him, else had he not taken the friar's curses without repaying them sevenfold. He therefore shut his mouth, and closed his eyes, putting on a countenance of the utmost derision. But the friar's heart had been set upon the beef, his soul had rejoiced over it, and he could not with patience give way to the idea of losing it; therefore, instead of joining the rest, who were devouring their various fare with great eagerness, he continued his anathemas on the steward.

"Blethering gouk!" cried Charlie: "Can nae ye tak part o' what's gaun, and haud your jaw? What signify a' thae strings o' gospel phrases at sic a time as this? Will they fill a hungry stamock, or mak the worthy seneschal either better or waur than he is? Come pledge me in a cup o' wine to the health of our great landlord, Master Michael Scott."

They handed the stoup down to the friar, who filled for himself, and took the pledge, though still with a gloomy and a discontented brow. He then left his seat, and went up one side of the board, close to Gibbie Jordan, where he began a-helping himself to a slice, from a mangled shoulder of venison apparently. But it relished not,—for still the lost beef was uppermost in his mind, and his eye glanced hot displeasure at the steward.

"Surely he is of all men the most accursed," added he: "He drinketh up malice as the ox drinketh up water; and as his name is so is he. Whereunto he hath conveyed the morsel that I loved, is a matter too high for me to comprehend. I see it not in any corner of the habitation, nor doth the smell of it reach my nostrils. But I will visit it upon his head; and mine eyes shall see my desire on him."

The dishes of meat were, however, of good quality, and well mixed with fat and lean; yet none of them knew exactly what they were, neither would the sullen steward deign to give them the least information on that head. There was even one large shapeless piece, of a savour and consistence so peculiar that no one of them could tell whether it was flesh or fish. Still they continued their perseverance, devouring one dish after another, and drinking off one stoup of wine after another, without any abatement of appetite on the one side or any exhiliration of spirits on the other, the steward always bringing in a supply with the most perfect equanimity. At length our yeomen began to look at one another. Their hands had waxed weary with cutting, and their jaws would scarcely any more perform their office.

"What is the meaning of this, my brethren," said the friar: "Surely it is better for us to desist, lest our table prove a snare unto us. Lo, my hands are weary, and my cheek-bones are pained even to their utmost extremities. Verily, it is all vanity, for my body is only filled as with the east wind."

"Na, na; ply away. It's good sport. I dinna see how we can be better employed," said the deil's Tam.

"I think, my brethren, that we should from eating straight refrain," said the poet; "for eating is but weariness, and drinking is but pain. There is no strength into our bread, nor spirit in our wine: some warlock wight has ta'en the might out of this food of mine."

The steward had all this time never spoken word good or bad; but had served them with the utmost obsequiousness; and when they had at length ceased from feeding, he went and gave the Master an account of the repast, which proved a source of great divertisement to him.

"I have not," said he, "for these many years, had any desire to trifle with the beings to whose species I once belonged; but this group surpasses all of their kind. I will, therefore, lay aside my profound studies, and be with them as one of themselves. If it were but to torment them, I will indulge in this idle and vain humour. I have almost forgot how human passions work."

"I pray of thee, Master," said Gourlay, "that thou wilt suffer me to slay yon grim and snarling dog in the grey frock. I loathe, hate, and abhor him. He is, moreover, a bit of a necromancer himself; and has the insolence to suppose that he can rival you in power."

"It is there I long to try him," said the Master. "In power I brook no rival in this or any other land, as thou thyself, and thy wretched companion in bondage, can witness. There is only one thing in this weak man in shape of a friar that I fear, and that thing shall be nameless. Perhaps I may commission thee to take him away. In the mean time, remove the remainder of their wretched viands, and bring me in a vessel full of the strong wine of Palestine, mixed up with the essence of many spirits. It is a beverage fit for gods. In it will I pledge these deranged mortals; and thou shalt see some sport for once, if aught on earth can divert thee."

"Certes I shall be diverted, great Master of arts. I hope you will favour them with a touch of the varieties, by way of example?"

"By and by, Gourlay,—all in good time. In the mean while, let us deal with them as men and as gentlemen; and, before I metamorphose them into quadrupeds, let us see what kind of beings they will make of themselves."

The Master accordingly entered the room, where his guests still sat round the board. All of them rose, and made obeisance; but, without returning the courtesy, he took his seat at the end of the table next to the door, and was just about to address them, when he was interrupted by Charlie Scott. There were two great individuals always uppermost in Charlie's mind,—these were his master the warden, and his horse Corby; and finding himself again in the Master's presence, and thinking he rather looked better pleased than he was wont, he judged it prudent not to let the opportunity slip: so, after scratching his head violently with both hands, he thus preferred his solicitation:

"Gude faith, Master Scott, I'm glad I hae seen you again; and, nae disparagement either to you or your house, Sir Knight, but the truth is, we canna bide here. For, in the first place, you see, our skins will gang to the bauks in a jiffey; and, in the next place, our captain, the warden, canna want us. It is far mair than our lives are worth for us to stay here; for, troth, Sir Master, the lives o' others depend on it. Now, I wadna like that we were trowed to be corbie messengers. And that brings me a-mind, Sir Knight, how muckle need I hae to be at the mill down by there. I hae a friend at it that I fear is in nae good plight."

"Content you, gallant squire, for a space," said the Master; "I do intend to answer the request of my noble kinsman with all expedition; but such things cannot be done in a moment. I must read the face of the heavens, and listen to the voices from the deep below. I have likewise a master to consult; he has another; and both are as perverse as hell itself. Be content, therefore, and enjoy yourselves for the remainder of this day. Give me all your names that I may register them, and give me them truly."

Every one gave his name and designation, save that the poet gave the name of the lovely Delany with an encomium on her beauty and virtue. But Michael cared for none of those things. What appeared beautiful in the eyes of other men, to his were loathsomeness and deformity. Far different was the case when the friar announced his own name.

Michael started to his feet, and, with spread hands, and every feature of his countenance dilated with joy, he exclaimed, "What? Primate of Douay in France, and author of the Book of Arts?"

"The same, great Sir," said the friar: "I confide it to you: But haply thou dost not know, in this thy retired habitation, that men thirst for my blood; that I am a persecuted man, and have suffered imprisonments, bonds, wounds, yea, and tortures; that I have been hunted from nation to nation, and from land to land, until I found shelter and protection among these wild and reckless Borderers, a people that neither fear God nor regard man. With them have I taken up my abode. I am become a father to them, and they are as children unto me. I love them. But, if they should be induced to give me up, wo would be unto me!"

"What d' ye say, man?" said Charlie, grasping his hand. "D' ye think a Scot amang us wad gie you up? If there be sic a man in the Border array, he ought to be d—ned. But I trow I ken a bit o' the warden's mind there; and I can tell you, a' the pens and a' the rapiers in England wadna gar him gie up the gospel friar. Na, na; if ever he's gien up, he maun gie up himsel, and mak his ain conditions too."

"Great and notable Primate, you are welcome to this castle," said the Master; "whether by the title of monk, prior, primate, or friar, I say you are welcome here. I have ridden a thousand miles to meet with you. But that is long agone. I had heard of your great skill in the sublime arts, that surpass the comprehension of ordinary men, and I determined to stake my life on the trial of skill between us. I was disappointed in meeting with you, for you were not to be found, dead or alive. The days of my ambition are fled. My power has been acknowledged so long, none daring to contend with me, that indifference hath ensued; after that came disgust, and with it misery. Thou art the man of all the earth whose fame I have envied; and, if thou darest, I will contend with thee, for freedom or for life, which thou wilt. If thou art overcome, thou shalt be my bondsman and slave, and if thou conquerest I will submit to be thine."

"Lo, I will contend with thee even for name and being," said the friar. "Of the strong-holds of sin and Satan am I not afraid. I have put the ministers of thy vengeance to flight already, and I will chase, yea, I will overcome and pursue them away; as chaff is driven before the wind, will I scatter them. Dare not to contend with me; for, if I judge aright, my Master holdeth thine in chains, and if I interfere thou canst do nothing. I judge it therefore best to contend as brothers contend. To admire what is truly great, and deride that which is insignificant. Mine are the arts of peace, truth, and righteousness, and I hoped thine were the same."

"Why, art thou not a monk, a follower of the wretched maniac, Benedict of Padua? that driveller in hidden mysteries?" said the Master. "I do not rightly comprehend thee, or by what power thou didst thwart my servants. Tell me in one word,—Art thou not in combination with the potent elemental spirits that rule and controul the earth, the air, the fire, and the waters? If not, thy arts are superficial and worthless."

"Thou shalt see, and thou shalt judge," said the friar: "I am not ashamed of that I can do." And with that he went and brought up his huge portmanteau, in which he always carried many a small and curious apparatus; but these he kept carefully concealed, having suffered so much from the superstitions of bigotted and illiterate men, in the course of his profound researches. He was the greatest chemist that had ever appeared on the stage of existence; yet that curious and refined art was he obliged carefully to conceal, having been persecuted as a necromancer over every kingdom of southern Europe.

When he went away Charlie Scott was terribly in the fidgets. He expected instantly to witness the raising of the devil, and other infernal spirits, against whom he cherished the most inveterate dislike. His eyes began to set in his head, and the roof of his mouth became so dry that he could not pronounce words distinctly.

"Gude faith, Sir Master," said he, "I dinna appruve of a man setting up his birse, and braving a gentleman in his ain house. And, wi' your permission, I hae something o' great importance to do at the mill; sae I'll e'en step down that length, and I shall come up again' the morning by day-light."

"Please to remain with your friends, good yeoman," said the Master: "You shall witness something worth your while. What can you possibly have to do at the mill?"

"Muckle, muckle to do at the mill, Sir Knight; I'll just refer it to yoursel,—can either man or beast leeve wanting drink?"

"I beg your pardon," said the Master: "I had almost forgot my principal errand. Gourlay, fill me a glass of the wine of Palestine."

The steward did as he was ordered; and the Master, taking the cup, drank to the health of his kinsman, the warden, and all his friends. Every one of his guests did the same, save the maiden and boy; and every eye was cleared, and every heart warmed, for the liquor was as strong as brandy.

"Weel, Sir Knight," said Charlie, "that is what ane wad ca' rather stiff sturdy drink; I hae nae tasted ought as weel worth the drinking: And if ye will just gar auld Crossgrains come ower us again, I think I could even prevail on mysel' to face the deil, and let Corby tak his chance."

The request was instantly complied with. Each of them got another cup; and the friar having tarried a while to put his affairs in order, when he came back the tongues of all his companions were going at once, and he was apprehensive that they were bewitched. He, however, took the pledge in one full cup, and was greatly revived by it; but refused taking another at that time.

The room in which they sat was lighted by four windows: those to the east and west were small circular ones, having a pane of bright glass in each: those to the north and south were merely long slits in the wall, without any glass; and the first thing the friar did, before producing the specimens of his art, was to close up all these windows, so as to exclude the light of day, and the glass of the western one he either contrived to remove, substituting another in its place, or else he put another piece of magnifying glass over it.

When he began a-closing up the last, Charlie entered a vehement protest against it, on the ground that no body would see what he did, or what he raised, and any one might be seized by the neck ere ever he was aware, by some o' his infernal deils.

"I hate a' surprises," added he; "It's best keeping the crown o' the fell, and seeing weel about ane. Room to fight and room to flee, an ye like, Maister Gospel-friar. Wha do you think's gaun to play at hide-and-seek wi' the deil in sic a place as this?"

The Master, in a sneering manner, requested that the great enchanter might have his own way: and Charlie, whose tongue was a little loosed by the wine of Palestine, was at last restrained, though not without a good deal of grumbling and fidgetting. The room was darkened; the friar went into a small alcove, and, by the help of a magic lanthorn, a thing never before seen in Scotland, he raised up a tremendous and horrid figure on the wall. It was of gigantic size; its eyes, lips, and paws moved; and its body was thrown into various contortions.

All were in breathless silence on the appearance of this extraordinary shade; but among the darkling group there was distinctly heard one whose breathing was frequently cut short, as if something had been choking him, or seizing him by the throat.

After the apparition had gone through its various evolutions, all apparently at the further end of the apartment, it fixed its eyes, clenched its teeth, and, stretching forth its claws, it appeared to make a spring forward at the party.

"Aih! L—d be here!" cried Charlie in a trumpet voice, and threw himself flat down behind the rest. Hearing that some of them laughed at the fright he had got, he ventured to speak and expostulate a little; but no curiosity could induce him to raise his face from the floor, or open his eyes again while the friar's exhibition continued. "Lair him, lair him, friar!" cried he,—"or, od, I's be about your lugs some day for this. Lair him, lair him, in the name of St Michael! and if that winna do, try him wi' Peter—he'll send him ower the battlements like a shot. O good friar, whatever ye do, lair him!"

The friar went on with his phantasmagoria. The figure, after giving a shiver or two, was parted into three, all of the same form and size, but all making different motions, and different contortions of feature. The three were afterwards parted into six, which, among other grotesque feats, danced a reel, and, on running thro' it, every one threw itself heels-over-head. The group of onlookers laughed outright at this, notwithstanding their astonishment, and called to Charlie to look. But he would not move his face from the earth, and only asked, in a half-suffocated voice, "Is he no laired yet? Od I shall be about wi' that cursed body for his tricks."

When the friar had concluded this feat, he put out his small lanthorn, took the machinery out of it, concealing it beneath his ample frock, and again opened all the windows.

Charlie got up, and running to one of the loop-holes, "Gude be thankit, I'll get a cooke o' the air o' heaven again!" said he, "for I hae been breathing fire and brimstone this while byegane. Foul befa' me gin ever I saw the like o' yon; I was sair dumfoundered,—but wha could stand afore the face of a fiery giant?"

The friar's associates looked at the lanthorn, examining it with curious eyes, but perceived nothing about it which could in any way account for the apparition they had seen. Master Michael Scott did not deign to ask a sight of it, but paced over the floor in sullen and thoughtful mood. The seneschal stood fixed to the spot on which he had witnessed the phenomenon, with his heavy unmoving eyes turned towards his master. He seemed dubious whether he was vanquished or not. The Master at length spoke, addressing the friar:—

"I hope, right worshipful Primate, this is not the extent of your knowledge and power in the sublime art of divination? The whole is only a delusion,—a shadow,—a phantom, calculated to astonish women or children. I acknowledge it to be ingenious; still it is nothing. You multiplied your shadows, turning three into six; now, if I turn three men into six living, breathing, substantial beings, will you acknowledge yourself outdone?"

"Certes, I will," said the friar.

"Away, then, with deception," said the Master: "What I do, I do in the open eye of day.—Stand forth three of you."

"Master Michael Scott, I'll tell you what it is," said Charlie, "I solemnly protest against being parted into twa."

"You shall neither suffer nor feel the least inconvenience by the change, brave yeoman," said the Master; "therefore be not afraid, but stand forth."

Charlie hung his head to one side in a deep reverie, till at length his countenance lightened up by degrees, his features opening into a broad smile.

"I'll tell you what it is, Sir Knight," said he, "if you will assure me that baith o' us shall be as stout and as wight chaps as I am mysel e'en now, gude faith, I dinna care though ye mak me into twa, for my master the warden's sake. If you could double an army that gate, it wad be a great matter. I doubt sair I'll cast out wi' my tither half about something that I ken o', and that's Corby; but I'll run the risk. Nane o' your cutfing and cleaving, however, Sir Knight. Nane o' your imps wi' their lang-kail gully knives again."

Charlie stepped up the floor, and took his stand with his back at the wall, to await doggedly this multiplication of himself. Tam soon joined him: but there was a hard contest between Gibbie and the poet, both of whom were rather personal cowards, and both alike averse to such experiments. The former was at length obliged to yield, for Carol clung so close to the maid, that nothing could induce him to part from her; and, ever since the friar gave him the grievous overthrow, he had lost all confidence in his personal prowess.

Michael stamped thrice with his heel, and spoke some words in an unknown tongue, in a low muttering tone; but some of them heard the sounds of Prig, Prim, and Pricker. There was a momentary confusion in the apartment. A darkening haze flashed over it, and blinded the eyes of men for a short space; the floor gave a shake, as if it had sunk down a little,—and there stood two of each of the three friends, so completely alike that no one knew who was who.

No scene could be more truly ludicrous than the one which now ensued; each man turned to his prototype, and the looks of confusion and astonishment in both being the same, the beholders were seized with irrepressible laughter.

Charlie felt his legs, thighs, and ribs, if they remained the same as before. The other boardly personage in the same shape followed his example, and added, "Gude faith, the like o' this I saw never!"

"You may weel say't," said the other; "But let me see if you can draw that lang sword as weel an' as cleverly as I can do."

"Gude Lord, hear til him!" said the first: "He's speaking as he were the true Charlie Scott himsel! Speak ye, friend: Were you me before this! That, is, did you ride with the warden over the border?"

"I am sure if you were there, I never saw you before," said the second speaker; "But I dinna ken what I am saying; for the truth is I dinna comprehend this."

With that they again gazed at each other, and looked over their shoulders, as if they would not have cared to have fled from one another's presence.

With every pair the scene was much the same. Tam was so much astonished that he turned to his second self, cowered down, leaning his hands upon his knees, and made a staunch point at him. The other took precisely the same posture, so that their long noses almost met. The maid, the poet, and the boy screamed with laughter. Both of the Tams laughed too, so that they very much resembled an ideot looking at himself in a glass.

"Friend, I canna say but ye're very like me," said Gibbie to his partner; "But, though nane o' us be great beauties, ye look rather the warst o' the twae."

"It brings me a-mind o' a story I hae heard my mother tell," said the other, "of a lady and her twa Blackamores"—

"What the deil man!" exclaimed the first; "Did your mother tell that story too?"

"Ay; wha else but she tauld it? I say my mother, auld Effy Blakely of the Peatstacknowe."

"Eh?—She your mother? It is gayan queer if we be baith ane after a'! for I never had a billy."

The two Gibbies then both began to tell stories, which each claimed as originally his, so that the perplexity still increased. Nor was it better when the parties began to mix and address each other. All spoke of themselves as the right and proper persons, and of the others as beings in their likenesses, and the most complete uncertainty prevailed. But, just as the novelty and interest of the drama began to subside, Michael, by a wave of his hand annihilated the three additional personages, and all remained as it was before the grand exhibition commenced, save that our group had got a new topic of conversation and merriment.

"Primate of Douay, so celebrated for thy mighty enchantments, how thinkest thou of this?" said the Master.

"That thou hast done what no man could have done beside," said the friar; "and that thy power even surpasseth that of the magicians of Egypt, and of those of the countries in the lands of the east. But in one thing my power is even as thy power. Dost thou know that I could have prevented thy charm, and put a period to thy enchantment at my will and pleasure?"

"It is not the power of prevention that we are trying," said the Master. "Suffer my servants to do their work, as I shall suffer thine, and we shall then see who are most punctually obeyed, and who shall perform the greatest works. Only, if I prevail in all things, you will surely have the generosity to acknowledge that my master is greater than thine?"

"Wo be unto me if such a confession proceed out of my lips!" said the friar: "Who can be greater than he who builded the stories of heaven, and laid the foundations of this earth below; who lighted up the sun, sending him abroad in brightness and in glory, and placed the moon and the stars in the firmament on high? Who is greater than he who hath made the mountains to stand, the seas to roll, and the winds to blow? who hath not only made the souls of men, but all the spirits of the upper and nether world—"

"Peace, thou maniac!" cried the Master, interrupting the friar, in a voice that made him leap from the floor: "Comest thou here to babble treason against the master whom I serve, and the mighty spirits with whom I am in league? Do what thou canst do, and cease from speaking evil of dignities. What knowest thou of the principalities and powers that inhabit and rule over the various regions of the universe? No more than the mole that grovelleth beneath the sward.—What further canst thou do in proof of thy profound art?"

"Behold with thine eyes, O thou who accountest thyself the greatest among the children of men!" said the friar, with a waggish air; "that I will but speak the word, and the mountains shall be rent asunder, and the tops of the everlasting hills stand in opposition. Knowest thou the proper name, figure, and dimensions of that peaked mountain over against the castle, to the west?"

"Well may I know it," said the Master, "for I have looked out on it these fifty years, and many a hundred times have I followed the chase around it. It is named Cope-Law, and the mountain is my own."

"Mountain of Cope-Law, hear my voice," cried the friar in the same waggish tone, in which there was an affectation of sublime command: "Thou hast borne the footsteps of thy great master and his black horse Beelzebub, yet hast thou neither been scorched nor rent. Yea though he hath cursed thee in the bitterness of ire, yet hath thy grey head never been shaken.—But, behold, a greater than thy master is here. Mountain of Cope-Law, hear my voice:—Be thou rent asunder and divided into three, that thy owner may look on thee and be astonied. If it please thee, mighty magician, look out on thy mountain of Cope-Law now."

Many a thousand times had the Master looked out at that circular window; every bush and grey stone on the hill were familiar to him; and, all unsuspicious of the simple deceit that had been practised on him, he went and looked forth from the window, when, in the place where one round peaked mountain was wont to be, he actually saw three, all of the same dimensions; and, as he weened, each of them more steep, tall, and romantic than the original one had been. He looked, and looked again—the optical delusion was complete. He paced the floor in sullen mood; muttered some sentences to himself in an under tone, and once more looked forth on the singular phenomenon. The mountains remained the same. They could not be seen from any other window, and no one thought of descending to the great balcony; so that in the eyes of all the friar remained triumphant.