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. III.

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.

CHAP. I.

And he said unto Satan; whence comest thou?
And he answered, and said, thou knowest it is true,
That I come from wandering on the earth,
And from going to and fro on it,
Like a masterless dog, with my bow-wow-wow.

At the very time they were disputing about the right of Tam to proceed with his tale, their ears were astounded by a loud hollo! at the gate. Every man's heart leaped for joy, and every one was instantly on his feet; but Charlie was first on the platform, and answered the hollo! with full stentorian voice. The same voice called again,

"A Bellandine."

"Where bye?" answered Charlie.

"By the moon," said the voice.

"And the seven stars!" rejoined Yardbire, clapping his hands, and shouting for joy, "The Warden for ever! My chief for ever! He is the man that cares for his own! Ah! he is the noble master."

Charlie well knew the voice that hailed him. It was that of his friend and companion in arms, Dan Chisholm, whom the Warden had indeed despatched all the way from Northumberland to Aikwood, to see what was become of his embassy, with six-and-twenty chosen troopers. Charlie Scott's arm was a bulwark of strength, and his breast a tower of fidelity, the value of which Sir Ringan knew how to estimate, while his acts of kindness and regard made a deep impression on Charlie's honest unsophisticated heart; and before he would say a word about the situation of either himself or his associates, he caused Dan to inform him of the Warden's fortune and success in their absence. Being satisfied concerning these, he called out,

"What ither uncos, Dan? What mair news are come out?"

"O, God shield you!" cried Dan, "Do nae ye ken that the world's amaist turned up-side-down sin ye left us? The trees hae turned their wrang ends upmost—the waters hae drowned the towns, and the hills hae been rent asunder and riddled up like heaps o' chaff. 'Tis thought that there has been a siege o' hell, and that the citadel has been won, for the deils are a' broken loose and rinning jabbering through the land. They hae been seen, and they hae been heard; and nae man kens what's to be the issue, or what's to fa' out neist."

"Blaw lown, Dan; ye dinna ken wha may hear ye," said Charlie. "We hae had hand in these matter oursels: But for the sake of a' that's dear to you and to us bring gavelocks and ern mells, pinching-bars, and howies, and break open every gate, bar, and door in this castle; for here are we a' imprisoned on the top of it, and famishing to dead wi' hunger and starvation."

"That I will do wi' a' expedition," answered Dan. "It is a shame for the master of the castle to imprison his kinsmen's friends, who came to him in peace and good fellowship. What strength of opposition holds he?"

"Nane, good Chisholm, but these gates. The great Master is himself a prisoner, and suffering with us."

"That dings a'!" said Dan; "I canna understand it! But its a' ane for that; ye maunna stay there. I shall gar his gates flee a' into as mony flinders as there are hairs on his grey beard."

"If you demolish one bar of these gates, young man," cried the Master fiercely, "you do it at your peril."

"So I do, and so I will," answered Dan: "Either bring down my friends and companions to me this instant, or—I have orders,—and here goes."

"Man of mystery and of misery, what dost thou mean?" said the friar. "Lo I have saved thy life; and if thou refusest to let us escape from the face of death, I will even throw thee from the top of thy tower, and thy blood shall be sprinkled on the wall."

The Master gave him a fierce look, but made no reply. As he strode the battlement, however, he muttered to himself with great violence, "Does the Christian dog dare to beard me thus? To what am I fallen? I am fallen low, but not to this. And not to know what I am! nor what power remains with me? Would that I were in the midst of my arcana and of the spirits once more! Young warrior, use your liberty. Break up and demolish. Set us all free, and see who is the profiter."

Dan scarcely needed such permission. He and twenty others had each a stone of at least half his own weight heaved on his shoulder, which, at a given signal, they all dashed on the gate at once. The bars bent, but nothing gave way; and it was not before the twentieth broadside, in the same irresistible style, that the cross bars became like a bow and the lock slipped. As for the large bolt, one of the men had climbed over the counterguard on the shoulders of the rest and drawn it. When they came to the gate of the castle, entrance seemed hopeless. It was stedfast and immoveable, the door being double. Dan bellowed for the porter, and asked those on the top what was become of him; but none made answer to his rash question. After waiting a while for it, with his face placed horizontally, he muttered to himself, "Aha! mum there! He has gane nae gude gate, I'll warrant him. It's a queer place this, an' as queer folk about it."

"What's queer about it, lad," said a strange voice through the key hole, whence it would not speak again.

They had nothing for it but to begin with such awkward mattocks as they had, namely, a score of huge stones; but, to their excessive joy, the doors gave both way at the first assault. This was owing to a most fortunate blunder of the friar, who, during the time he was in possession of the keys, had gone forth to provide for his mule, which he did in an ample manner, but, on returning, had either been unable or unwilling to turn the tremendous locks again into their sockets; and open flew the gates with a jarring sound. Of course, it was not long till our yeomen were thundering at the iron door on the small stair. It was a double door of strong iron bars, and the lock was inclosed between them, so that all attempts to open it appeared fruitless, one man only being able to get to it at once, (that is, one on each side,) and these had no footing. After tugging at it in vain for a space, Dan swore that, to open it, it would be necessary either to begin at the top of the tower and demolish downward, or at the bottom and demolish upward. This appeared a job so tedious to starving people, that it was agreed to feed them with meat and drink through the bars. Every man readily proffered the contents of his wallet; but the getting of these through the bars required ingenuity. They poured the meal through in tubes made of leather, and water and strong drink in the same way; but the flesh could only be got through in long small pieces; and Tam Craik having taken his station at the back of the door, in order to hand up the provisions to his companions, none of the butcher-meat (as it is now called) found its way farther. By the time they had got a supply of meal, water, and distilled liquor, some of Dan's party, by the direction of the Master, went to bring mattocks for raising the stair, and forcing a passage through below the door; others had gone to the brook for more water; so that none remained in the narrow stair save Dan Chisholm and another person.

By this time there was one who had been silently watching the progress of affairs at Aikwood castle, where he had long been accustomed to reckon on every thing as his own; but now there were some things passed under his potent eye, the true motives for which he could not comprehend, and these actions were still growing more and more equivocal; so he resolved on trusting his sworn vassals no more to their own guardianship, but to take an active management in guiding the events that so deeply concerned his honour and power. Who this august personage was the reader will scarcely guess. He may perhaps discover it in the detail.

It was wearing toward evening, the sun being either set or hid behind dark clouds; for, short as these tales may appear as here related by Isaac the curate, they had taken a day in telling by the wights themselves. The individuals who had been shut up were all light of heart and rejoicing. Delany had fainted in ecstacy, or partly, perhaps, by exhaustion, but was soon recovered by a cup of cold water. They had got plenty of stores laid in for a night and more; so that they were freed from the dread of perishing by starvation, or saving their lives by a resource of all others the most repulsive to humanity. Such was the state of affairs, when the most appalling noise was heard somewhere about the castle,—a noise which neither could be described nor the cause of it discovered. The people below ran out to the court or to the tops of the outer walls, and those above to the battlements—but they saw nothing save the troopers' horses scowering off in all directions, every one of them snorting aloud, and cocking their heads and their tails. Tam Craik and Dan Chisholm were still standing with their noses close to the iron door, and conversing through it. Another trooper stood close at Dan's back; and, when the rushing sound arose, the one said to the other,

"What the devil is that?"

"Take care wha ye speak about here, friend, or wi' reverence be it spoken," said Tam. Then turning round, he called out, "Yardbire, what hurly-burly is that?"

"I cannot tell," answered Charlie; "only I think the devil be entered into the horses."

Tam, who did not hear distinctly from the top, answered Dan thus: "He says its only the devil entered into the horses." Dan was just about to reply, when the trooper tapped him on the shoulder, and said in a whisper, "Hush, squire! Good Lord! look what is behind us." He looked about, and saw a terrific being standing on the landing-place, beckoning him to come down. From an irresistible impulse, he lost no time in obeying; and, pushing the trooper down before him, he descended the steps. When he came to the bottom he got a full view of the figure, that stood upright between two pilasters, with its face straight to the aperture that lighted the place. One may judge of our yeomen's feelings when they gazed on a being which they always described as follows:

It appeared about double the human size, both in might and proportion, its whole body being of the colour of bronze, as well as the crown upon its head. The skin appeared shrivelled, as if seared with fire, but over that there was a polish that glittered and shone. Its eyes had no pupil nor circle of white; they appeared like burning lamps deep in their sockets; and when it gazed, they rolled round with a circular motion. There was a hairy mantle hung down and covered its feet that they could not be seen; but Dan saw its right hand, as it pointed to them to retire, every finger of which terminated in a long crooked talon that seemed of the colour of molten gold. It once opened its mouth, not as if to speak but to breathe, and as it stooped forward at the time, both of them saw it within. It had neither teeth, tongue, nor throat, its whole inside being hollow, and of the colour of burning glass.

It pointed with its right hand across its bosom for them to be gone, and, as they passed by with hurried strides, it drew a stroke with its paw which threatened to send them heels over head down the stair; but it withheld the blow in a moment, as if moved to some higher revenge; and all the way down the great winding stair, it followed and showered on them such a torrent of burning sulphur that they were almost overwhelmed, all the while vomiting it from its burning bosom, with a noise that resembled the hissing of a thousand great serpents. Besides this, on every landing-place there were a pair of monsters placed as guards, immense snakes, bears, tigers, and lions, all with eyes like burning candles. For all these, our two yeomen still kept their feet, which was a wonder, and escaped fairly into the court of the castle.

When they arrived there, every one of their companions had taken leg-bail, and were running as if for death or life; and after what our two champions had seen, there was no occasion to bid them run after the others. Those above heard only the rushing noise, which still increased as long as there was one of those below within the gate, but they saw nothing further,—and wondered not a little when they saw first the horses run away, and then the men after them. When Charlie saw that they were gone, and his brother-in-arms Dan leaving the outer-gate the last, he called after him to go by the mill, and see that Corbie got plenty of water.

What our prisoners had witnessed was, like every thing else about that castle, quite incomprehensible. Even the great Master himself was manifestly at a loss; when he first heard the sound, and saw the beginning of the confusion, his eyes beamed with exultation. He gave three stamps with his foot, and called aloud, as to some invisible being, in an unknown tongue; but on receiving no answer his countenance fell, and he looked on in gloomy mood.

The flyers vanished after their horses on the hill to the eastward of the castle. Once a few of them rallied and faced about; but on the next one coming up they betook them again to their heels; and thus was our hapless embassy left in the same state as before, save that they were rather in higher spirits, their situation being now known, and instant death averted. After they had refreshed themselves, most of them fell into a slumber; but at length, as the evening advanced, the poet claimed his privilege of telling a story. Some of them proposed that the conversation should be general instead, seeing the great stake for which they contended was now, in all likelihood, superseded. The poet, however, was of a different opinion, on the ground that the highest stake, in his estimation, still remained. "What though my life may not be forfeited," said he, "to feed the hungry and carnivorous maw of this outrageous baconist; although my warm and oozing blood may not be sucked up like the stagnant marsh by bittern vile, or by the tawney snipe; yea, though my joints should not be skatched and collared by the steel, or sinews gnawed up by officious grinder: What's that to me? a gem of higher worth, of richer acceptation, still remains. Beauty unsullied! pure simplicity! with high endowments, in affliction nursed, and cramped by bondage! Oh my very heart yearns to call such a pearl of lustre mine! A kindred soul! A bosom friend! A oh—oh—oach."

Charlie hasted to clap his hand on the poet's mouth, as he burst out a-crying, "Hout, hout, Colly!" said he, "I am quite o' your opinion; but truly this is carrying the joke ower far. I wish ye maunna hae been hauddin rather freely to your head o' thae strong liquors; for the singing crew are a' drowthy deils, ilk ane o' them. Whisht, whisht, and ye sal tell your tale, or sing your sang, which you like; and then you are free to take a collop, or gie a collop, wi' the best o' them."

"I flatter myself that's rather a good thing? Eh?" said the poet.

"What thing?" said the other.

"The song that we overheard just now. Do you know who made that song? Eh?"

"Not I."

"But you have heard our maidens chaunt it,—have you not? God bless them! Sweet, dear, sweet, sweet creatures! Why, Sir, that song happens to be mine; and I think I may say, without vanity, it is as good a thing of the kind as you ever heard? Eh?"

"Faith, I believe it is," said Charlie—not knowing well what to say, for he had heard no song whatever; and then turning to the rest, while the poet was enlarging on the excellency of his song, he said, in an under voice, "Gude faith, the poet's either gaen clean daft, or else he's drunk. What shall I say to him?"

The poet tapped him on the shoulder, seeing he was not paying attention.

"It is not for this, I say, that I judge the piece worthy of attention; nor yet what it shows of ability, hability, docility, or any of the terms that end in ility; nor for its allegory, category, or any of the terms that end in ory. Neither is it for its versification, imagination, nor any of the thousand abominable terms that end in ation. No, sir, the properties of all my songs, I am thankful to Saint Martin, end in icity and uity. You know the song, Yardbire?"

"O yes. Quite weel."

What do you think of the eleventh verse? Let me see. No, it is the thirteenth verse." "Good Friday! are there so many?" "Hem—m—m. The tenth is, the Ox-eye, I am sure of that. The eleventh is the Mill-stone. The twelfth, the Cloudberry and the Shepherd Boy. The thirteenth, is the Gander and Water-Wagtail. It is the fourteenth. What do you think of the fourteenth? Ay, it is the Gowans and the Laverock that you will like best. You remember that, I am sure?"

"O yes; to be sure I do,"—(Aside,) "Good Lord, the poet's horn mad! Heard ever any body the like o' this?"

"How is this it runs? Ay,

When the bluart bears a pearl,
And the daisy turns a pea,
And the bonny lucken gowan
Has fauldit up his ee,
Then the laverock frae the blue lift,
Doops down and thinks nae shame
To woo his bonny lassie,
When the kye come hame.

"The song is good, and the music of the song also is delectable," said the friar; "but the voice of the singer is like a sweet psaltery that hath lost a string, and hath its belly rent by the staff of the beater. Lo, I would even delight to hear the song from beginning to end." "Sing it, poet, and let it stand for the tale," cried two of them at once. "That I will not," answered he; "I will tell my tale in my own style, and my own manner, as the rest have done: nevertheless, if my throat were not so dry, I would sing the song." "It is plain what he wants," said Charlie. "'Tis the gate wi' a' the minstrels,—wet the whistle, or want the spring."

Charlie handed him another cup of strong drink, desiring him to take it off and sing. He did the first freely, and attempted the second with equal alacrity; but his voice and memory both failed him by the way, to the great amusement of the whole party,—even the captive boy screamed with laughter, and the great Master was twice constrained to smile. But we must describe this scene as Isaac himself gives it.

The poet was sitting on a bench, with Charlie on the one hand, and Delany on the other; and, fixing his eyes on the ceiling, and clasping his hands, which he heaved up at every turn of the tune, he went on thus:

THE SWEETEST THING THE BEST THING.

A SONG.

VERSE FIRST.

Come tell me a' you shepherds
That love the tarry woo',
And tell me a' you jolly boys
That whistle at the plow,
What is the greatest bliss
That the tongue of man can name,
'Tis "To woo a bonny lassie
When the kye come hame."
When the kye come hame,
When the kye come hame,
'Tween the gloaming and the mirk,
When the kye come hame.

That's the burden, or the quoir, as father Cormack calls it;—the o'erword, like.

VERSE SECOND.

'Tis not beneath the burgonet,
Nor yet beneath the crown,
'Tis not on couch of velvet,
Nor yet in bed of down;
'Tis beneath the spreading birch
In the dell without the name,
Wi' a bonny bonny lassie,
When the kye come hame.
When the kye come hame, &c.

VERSE THIRD.

There the blackbird bigs his nest
For the mate he lo'es to see,
And on the topmost bough,
Oh a happy bird is he!
There he pours his melting ditty,
And love 'tis a' the theme;
And he'll woo his bonny lassie
When the kye come hame.
When the kye come hame, &c.

VERSE FOURTH.

When the little wee bit heart
Rises high in the breast,
And the little wee bit starn
Rises red in the east,
O there's a joy sae dear,
That the heart can hardly frame,
Wi' a bonny bonny lassie,
When the kye come hame.
When the kye come hame, &c.

VERSE FIFTH.

Then the eye shines sae bright,
The hale soul to beguile,
There's love in every whisper,
And joy in every smile.
O wha wad chuse a crown
Wi' its perils and its fame,
And miss a bonny lassie
When the kye come hame.
When the kye come hame, &c.

Here the poet warred a long time with recollection, always repeating, "I made the thing, and it is impossible I can forget it—I can't comprehend——" At length he sung the following verse, which he said was the fifteenth.

VERSE THE FIFTEENTH.

See yonder pawky shepherd,
That lingers on the hill,
His ewes are in the fauld
And his lambs are lying still;
Yet he downa gang to bed,
For his heart is in a flame,
To meet his bonnie lassie,
When the kye come hame.
When the kye come hame, &c.

VERSE SIXTEENTH AND LAST.

Away wi' fame and fortune,
What comfort can they gie?
And a' the arts that prey
On man's life and libertye;
Gie me the highest joy
That the heart of man can frame,
My bonny, bonny lassie,
When the kye come hame.
When the kye come hame,
When the kye come hame;
'Tween the gloaming and the mirk,
When the kye come hame.

"I made the thing," added the poet; "but God knows how I have forgot it. Since I came to the top of this cursed tower, the wind has blown it out of my head." With these words he fell into a profound sleep, which they suffered him to enjoy, before he began his competition. In the meantime, Isaac relates an extraordinary story of a certain consultation that took place in the castle in that very interim, but does not say on what authority he had it, none of the parties yet named having apparently heard it.

The castle of Aikwood, says he, being left as before, an ample and perilous void, some old and frequent inmates took undisputed possession. The leader and convoker of this gang was no other than the Master Fiend who ordered our yeomen out of the castle, and chased them forth, with so little ceremony. In the great Master's study was his gigantic and commanding frame placed at the end of the board, while the three pages, Prig, Prim, and Pricker, were waiting his beck.

"Come nigh me, my friends," said he; "and read me what is to be done with this king of mighty conjurors now?"

"What thou willest, our Lord and Master," was the reply: "Give the command with the power, and thy pleasure shall be done."

"How canst thou answer for thy negligence in suffering this cowled and canting vagabond to gain admittance here with his saws and parables, his crosiers and his writings?"

"We meant to devour him, but our power extended not to it. Thou hast seen the bones of one whom we suspected."

"You are indolent and wayward slaves. Either separate our greatest vassal on earth from this captious professor, or you shall be punished with many stripes. Our sway is dishonoured if such a man as he is suffered to take shelter under a crosier, and there hold our power at bay,—our control at defiance."—"Return to him that power which since his dejection has been withdrawn, and you are sure of him still. Riches and honours he despises: feasting and wine-bibing he abhors: but for power to do what no other man can perform, he would sell twenty souls, were they in his power of disposal."

"He is a great man, and well suited for our free independent government. By his principle of insubordination to established authorities, I yet hope to bring all mankind to my own mind and my own country. Read me my riddle, you three slaves. What is the most hateful thing in nature?"

"A saint."

"More ready than right, and more right than ingenious. Show cause."

"Because he is the greatest coward, and all that he does springs from the detestable passion of terror."

"Right. Which being is the most noble?"

"The opposer of all established authorities ordained by the tyrant of the universe."

"Right! Right! These are the men for me, and of these this Master was a great ensample. Therefore, Separate! Separate! Separate! My elemental power is solemnly engaged; but on the morning of the third day, it shall be given to you to work again at your Master's will. Till that time it will be as well to prevent all ingress and egress here; and at that time I will come again. Speed you well, nimble noddies; shape well and shard well, and the day is your own. While I transform my shape, sing me the song that I love. Whenever I hear it, my furtherance is the better. The imps complied, and the redoubted fiend laughed till the walls of the castle shook, while those on the top took it for the great bittern of the Hartwood, called there the Bogbumper.

HYMN TO THE DEVIL.

Speed thee, speed thee!
Liberty lead thee!
Many this night shall hearken and heed thee.
Far abroad,
Demigod!
What shall appal thee?
Javel, or Devil, or how shall we call thee?
Thine the night voices of joy and of weeping,
The whisper awake, and the vision when sleeping:
The bloated kings of the earth shall brood
On princedoms and provinces bought with blood,
Shall slubber, and snore, and to-morrow's breath
Shall order the muster and march of death:
The trumpets shall sound, and the gonfalons flee,
And thousands of souls step home to thee.
Speed thee, speed thee, &c.

The warrior shall dream of battle begun,
Of field-day and foray, and foeman undone;
Of provinces sacked, and warrior store,
Of hurry and havoc, and hampers of ore;
Of captive maidens for joys abundant,
And ransom vast when these grow redundant.
Hurray! for the foray. Fiends ride forth a souling,
For the dogs of havock are yelping and yowling.
Speed thee, speed thee, &c.

Make the bedesman's dream
With treasure to teem;
To-day and to-morrow
He has but one aim,
And 'tis still the same, and 'tis still the same.
But well thou knowest the sot's demerit,
His richness of flesh, and his poorness of spirit;
And well thy images thou canst frame,
On canvas of pride, with pencil of flame:
A broad demesne is a view of glory,
For praying a soul from purgatory:
And, O let the dame be fervent and fair,
Amorous, and righteous, and husband beware!
For there's a confession so often repeated,
The eyes are enlightened, the life-blood is heated.
Hish!—Hush!—soft foot and silence,
The sons of the abbot are lords of the Highlands.
Thou canst make lubbard and lighthead agree,
Wallow a while, and come home to thee.
Speed thee, speed thee, &c.

Where goest thou next, by hamlet or shore,
When kings, when warriors, and priests are o'er?
These for thee have the most to do,
And these are the men must be looked unto.
On courtier deign not to look down,
Who swells at a smile, and faints at a frown.
With noble maid stay not to parle,
But give her one glance of the golden arle.
Then, oh, there's a creature thou needs must see,
Upright, and saintly, and stern is she!
'Tis the old maid, with visage demure,
With cat on her lap, and dogs on the floor.
Master, she'll prove a match for thee,
With her psalter, and crosier, and Ave Mari.
Move her with things above and below,
Tickle her and teaze her from lip to toe;
Should all prove vain, and nothing can move;
If dead to ambition, and cold to love,
One passion still success will crown,
A glorious energy all thine own!
'Tis envy; a die that never can fail
With children, matron, or maiden stale.
Shew them in dreams from night to day
A happy mother, and offspring gay;
Show them the maiden in youthful prime,
Followed and wooed, improving her time;
And their hearts will sicken with envy and spleen,
A leperous jaundice of yellow and green:
And though frightened for hell to a boundless degree,
They'll singe their dry perriwigs yet with thee.
Speed thee, speed thee, &c.

Where goest thou next? Where wilt thou hie thee?
Still there is rubbish enough to try thee.
Whisper the matron of lordly fame,
There's a greater than she in splendor and name;
And her bosom shall swell with the grievous load,
And torrents of slander shall volley abroad,
Imbued with venom and bitter despair:
O sweet are the sounds to the Prince of the Air!
Reach the proud yeoman a bang with a spear,
And the tippling burgess a yerk on the ear;
Put fees in the eye of the poisoning leech,
And give the dull peasant a kick on the breech:
As for the flush maiden, the rosy elf,
You may pass her by, she will dream of herself.
But that all may be gain, and nothing loss,
Keep eye on the men with the cowl and the cross;
Then shall the world go swimming before thee,
In a full tide of liberty, licence, and glory!
Speed thee, speed thee, &c.

Hail, patriot spirit! thy labours be blest!
For of all great reformers thyself wert the first;
Thou wert the first, with discernment strong,
To perceive that all rights divine were wrong;
And long hast thou spent thy sovereign breath,
In heaven above and in earth beneath,
And roared it from thy burning throne,
The glory of independence alone;
Proclaiming to all, with fervor and irony,
That kingly dominion's all humbug and tyranny;
And whoso listeth may be free,
For freedom, full freedom's the word with thee!
That life has its pleasures—the rest is a sham,
And all that comes after a flim and a flam!
Speed thee! Speed thee!
Liberty lead thee!
Many this night shall hearken and heed thee.
Hie abroad,
Demigod!
Who shall defame thee?
King of the Elements! how shall we name thee?

As the imps concluded their song, our prisoners on the top of the castle perceived a large rough watch-dog jogging out at the gate of the castle, and following in the direction of the fugitives. When the brute saw that he was perceived he turned round, set up his snout toward the battlements, and uttered a loud bow-wow-wow, which, when the great Master heard, he started to his feet, and, with wild staring looks, and his hair standing on end, took shelter behind the friar."

"Behold thou, and see with thine eyes, that it is only a watch-dog come from the camp of our captain," said the friar. "Lo, thy very nature is changed since first I saw thee."

"Then, would to the gods that I had never seen thee, or that I had seen thee sooner," said the Master; and strode away to discourage any farther reply. The dog followed the fugitives, and bent his course toward the mill.

That being the next inhabited house to the eastward, Dan Chisholm and his yeomen landed all there; and in full assembly he related, to their terror and astonishment, how he had seen the devil himself and several of his monstrous agents, who had chased him from the castle, spuing fire and brimstone on him like a cataract. The rest said, that though they had not seen the devil, they had seen and heard enough to put any rational being out of his senses, and as much as to teach them never to go there again. Dan swore that they were not to be taught any such thing; for, said he, "Our captain's friends, and our own brethren in arms, are most unwarrantably, and I must also say unaccountably, confined there,—and we will either free them or perish in the attempt. I can find plenty of holy men that, with book and candle, can withstand the devil, and shall make him flee from his stronghold like fire from the flint. If I had the gospel friar on the one side of him, and Father Brand, or Capuchin Cairnabie, on the other, I shall gar him skip." While Dan was in the middle of this speech, in comes the great rough watch-dog; who, after fawning on some of the warriors as on old acquaintances, took his station in a dark corner of the miller's thronged hall, and began a licking his feet, but at the same time taking good heed to all that passed. It was finally agreed that Dan and a companion should ride straight to Melrose, and represent their case to the holy abbot there, who was devoted to the interests of their captain, and who, it was not doubted, would devise means of expelling the old demon from his guardship, and letting free their friends, who were all baptised men and good Christians. As they formed these sapient devices, many hard things were said of the devil; and our warriors seemed rather inclined to make a laughing-stock of him, till the miller's maid interrupted them with the following question:

"Wha o' you trooper chaps does this maskis dog belang to?"

"To nane o' us," was answered by several at the same time.

"I wish ye wad tent him, then," said she, "for, this wee while bygane, his een hae been glentin like twa blue burnin candles: I wish he be nae a mad ane."

"Sneck doors, and out swords," cried the miller: "We'll hae him proven."

The doors were shut, and the yeomen surrounded the dog with their drawn weapons. The poor beast lay as harmless-like as a lamb, with his head upon his fore feet so as to hide them, turning up his eyes from below his shaggy brows in a beseeching manner, and wagging his tail till it played thump, thump, on the floor. But this did not hinder the miller from reconnoitring, though it gave him rather a favourable opinion of his shaggy guest. "Poor fellow," said the miller, "wha's dog may ye be?" The dog forgot himself; he lifted up his head in a kind acknowledging manner to the miller, who, looking narrowly at him, cried out: "A marvel! a marvel! saw ever ony mortal man the like o' this? Here's a tyke wi' cloven cloots like a gait, fairney cloots and a' thegither. The Holy Virgin be wi' us! I believe we hae gotten the——"

Here the miller was interrupted, without getting the sentence concluded. The dog sprung to his feet, appearing twice as big as when he entered. "Bow-wow-wow!" roared he in the miller's face with the voice of an enraged lion; "Bow-wow-wow!" And as he bayed from side to side on the warrior circle, they all retreated backward till the wall stopped them. Well might they,—for they perceived, by his open mouth, the same appearance that Dan had before witnessed, namely, a stomach and chest of burning flame. "Bow-wow-wow!" reiterated he: "Youph, youph, youph." All fled back aghast; but the attack was of short duration. The miller had a huge fire of seeds, above a burning log of wood, which he had heaped on for the comfort of his guests. When the dog reached that, he broke into it, appearing to bury himself in the coil of fiery dust. It flashed upwards in millions of burning atoms, and in the midst of them up flew the dog out at the top of the lum, with a tremendous "Bow-wow-wow!"

All was silence for a few seconds, while our yeomen stood in a circle, with their weapons drawn, and their backs at the wall, gaping with affright, and staring on one another. "By Saint Thomas, we are haunted!" cried Dan, breaking silence; "That is the same chap I forgathered wi' afore in the staircase of the castle, I ken him by his lowin lungs, though he has changed his shape." He was interrupted by a loud laugh on the top of the house, and a voice that said, in a jeering tone, "Ha, ha, ha! Andrew Chisholm is that you? I have found out a' your plans,—and ride you to Melrose, or ride you to Dryburgh, I'll be there afore you to lend you a lift. Ay, and I'll keep Aikwood castle in spite o' you and a' your master's men."

Dan could not contain his indignation on hearing this brag. He ran forward to the brace, put his neck under it, and turning his nose up the lum (or rustic chimney) answered, "Deil o' that ye're fit to do, auld tyke. Ye're but a liar at best and the father o' liars. Gang and toast heathen bacon in your ain het hame. What seek ye here amang leel men?"

"Weel answered, and like yoursel, Dan!" said one of the yeomen, and slapped him on the shoulder, which rousing his spirit still farther, he added, "Confound you Robin's Geordie o' Feindhope-haugh, what for didna ye strike when the foul thief set up his gousty gab at your nose wi' his impudent bow-wow-wow; I see nae right ony o' God's creatures hae to be hurlbarrowed out o' their standing wi' him."

As he finished the remark, there was something came to the door, and gave two or three rude impatient scratches, exactly in the same manner that a strong dog does that wants to be in. This instantly changed the cheer of our sturdy group, that with one involuntary movement closed round the hearth, as the point the most distant from the door.

"That's him again," said the miller's lass.

"The Lord forbid," said the miller: "I wonder what multure he wants frae me. Though I live on the lands of a Master of Arts, I had nae inkling that I was thirl to hell. Brave lads, can nane of you rhame a mass, a credo, or a paternoster? He is but a coward at best; I hae kend a monk, wi' his crosier and his cowl, chace him like a rabbit."

"I fear we'll prove but lame hands at that," said Dan, "and think we had better sally out on him sword in hand, and see what he can either say or do for himself. But, Chryste, I needna say that, considering that I ken sae weel what his lining's made of."

"I hae a cross and chain in the house," said the miller, "that was consecrated at the shrine of St Bothan; whoever will be our leader shall bear that before him, and we'll bang the auld thief away frae our bigging."

The scratching was renewed with redoubled fury. Our yeomen crowded closer around the fire, till all at once their ears were saluted by a furious "bow-wow-wow" down the lum, which, in spite of their utmost resolution, scattered them like a covey of heath-fowl over which the hawk is hovering, when every one endeavours to shift for itself, and hide in its own heather bush.

Their faces were by this time flushed with shame as well as fear, that they should be thus cuffed about by "the auld thief," as they styled him. Resolved, therefore, to make one great and strenuous effort, the miller brought out his consecrated cross, some tied sticks, and others horn spoons across, till all were armed with the same irresistible symbol, and then they marshalled up before the fire, uncovered their heads, and with the ensigns reared before them, waited for a moment the word of command to march out to the grand attack. The arch fiend, not choosing to wait the issue, raised such a horse laugh on the top of the lum that their ears were deafened with the noise; and clapping his paws that sounded like the strokes of battering ram's horns, he laughed till the upper and nether millstones chattered against each other, and away he bounded through the clouds of the night, apparently in an agony of laughter.

"Aha! there he goes!" said Dan: "There's nae guidance to be had o' him, and as little mense in meddling wi' him."

"Ay, let him e'en gang," said the miller; "he's the warst mouse o' the mill. Ane had better tine the blind bitch's litter than hae the mill singed wi' brimstone. I lurd rather deal wi' the thankless maltster, that neither gi'es coup, neivefu', nor lippie, than wi' him. I have no part of the breviary but a glorious preamble; kneel till I repeat it."

The troopers kneeled round the miller, who, lifting up his hands, said, with great fervour, "O semper timidum scelus! Obstupui, steteruntque comæ et vox faucibus hæsit. O Deus; nusquam tuta fides! Amen." "Amen!" repeated all the group, and arose greatly strengthened and encouraged by the miller's preamble.

They spent that night around the miller's hearth, and had a cog of good brose to their supper. The next morning Dan and two associates rode off for Melrose, to lay their case before the friendly abbot, and to beg assistance; which, notwithstanding the devil's brag, they were not afraid of obtaining. But the important events that followed must be related in course, while we return to those friends in their elevated confinement, to whom that night the poet related the following tale.

CHAPTER II.

Lord Duf. Did you not wake them, Cornaro?

Cor. Alas! my lord, I could not.
Their slumber was so deep, it seemed to me
A sleep eternal. Not a sleep of death,
But of extatic silence. Such a beam
Of joy and happiness I ne'er beheld
Shed from the human face.

The Prioress, a Tragedy.

The Poet's Tale.

Fain would I tell my friends and fellow-sufferers of my translation hence. Of all the joys and ecstacies of that celestial clime, ycleped the land of faery; were it not that one is here whose sex forbids it, and whose gentle nature from such a tale would shrink, as doth the flower before the nipping gale. You all have heard of that celestial form, the white lady? And of that wan and beatific presence there lives in my remembrance some faint image of saintly beauty. But list to me, my friends, and do not smile, far less break forth with loud uncourteous neigh, like war horse in the charge,—vile waste of breath! convulsive, unrestrained. But hear the truth: It was not she who bore me from this land,—not she, the white lady, as all divined. No, it was a form of flesh, and that flesh too of most rare quality. Fair, witching, plump, rosy and amorous; and of unmarred proportions. Sooth, she who lured me from my rustic home no other was than wandering minstreless, queen to the mightiest harper ever born. Sole empress of a tuneful wayward choir, thoughtless and giddy. But their music stole my very soul away. What could I do but follow it, to listen and to sing. In that bright train I sought the Scottish court, the nobles' hall, and every motely scene of loud festivity throughout the land. There have I heard and seen such scenes of love, of dalliance, and of mirth, of deep intrigue and violent cruelty, as eye of minstrel hath not witnessed. Yes, I have seen things not to be expressed, at least not here. Therefore I'll change the rule this night pursued, of saying what myself have seen and done. The fairy land in which I sojourned was fair Caledon; and there I had my living minstrel joys in high abundance. But I grieve to say, a fatal brawl placed all of us within the line to which the sword of vengeance extends its dreadful sway. Our group dispersed. The soul of melody was then no more! The sounds of harmony divine were hushed; all scattered on the winds of other lands, and other climes, to charm with wailing numbers. Southward I came, amid the border clans to trust my life, men lawless as myself. They once had saved me when a helpless orphan. Whom could I better trust? And I have found their generosity alone out-done by their own courage. For my adventures, let this sketch suffice. And though not of the fairyland, I will relate a tale, as pure, as wonderful and full of mystery, as if in other worlds I'd learned it. I had it from a simple peasant's mouth, an old grey hind upon the Sidley hills, who vouched its truth. With faltering tongue, and palpitating heart, for love, for life, and all the soul holds dear, I say my tale. O be my soul rapt to the estimate at which I hold the prize, and the divine and holy narrative.

Once on a time, in that sweet northern land called Otholine, the heathen Hongar landed, and o'er-ran city and dale. The rampart and the flood in vain withstood his might. Even to the base of the unconquered Grampians did he wend with fire and sword; and all who would not kneel, and sacrifice to his strange northern gods, he tortured to the death. Some few renounced the cross, for sordid life, and dread of unheard torments. Men were roasted; matrons impaled; and pure virginity was given up to the rude soldiery to be abused, or humbled as they termed it. Then were they decked with flowers and ornaments, led forth in pairs unto the horrid shrine, and sacrificed to Odin.

At that time there lived three beauteous sisters of the line of mighty kings. They were so passing fair, that all who saw them wondered, and all who wondered loved. Hongar and Hubba, these two heathen brothers, and princes of the Danes, heard of their fame, their beauty, and their excellencies of nature, and sent to seize them in their father's tower, that in the heights of Stormonth stood secure. The castle was surprised, the virgins seized, and carried to the camp. There to their dreadful trial were they brought, and bid to curse the sacred name they feared and worshipped; to renounce the holy cross, and worship Odin, or give up their bodies to shame, to ignominy, and to death on Odin's hideous altar. Marley and Morna both kneeled and intreated, begged a little time to ponder on the dread alternative. But the young sprightly Lena, fairest she of Albyn's virgins, browed the invader's threat with dauntless eye: That eye whose liquid smile in love's sweet converse had been formed to beam.

"Thou savage heathen!" cried she, "dost thou think to intimidate the royal maids of Caledon to thy most barbarous faith? Tyrant, thou art deceived. I dare thine ire. Thou may'st torment me; for I'm in thine hands, and thy heart ne'er knew pity. Thou may'st tear this tender fragile form with pincing irons. But my soul's purity thou never shall subdue by threat, by engine, or by flame. Thee and thy god I scorn—I curse you both. I lean upon the rock that will not yield; and put my trust in one whose mighty arm can crush thee mid thy idol to an atom. I know he'll save me. He will save us all, if we but trust him without sinful dread. Here, underneath his bleeding cross, I kneel, and cast myself and my poor sisters here, upon his mercy. Here I make a vow to stand for him, and for his sacred truth, and for no other. Now, thou ruthless savage, here I defy thee. Do thy worst to us, and thou shalt see if Jesus or if Odin shall prevail, and who can best preserve their worshippers.

The heathen brothers smiled; and Hongar said, "How wildly sweet the little Christian looks! I make my choice to humble and prepare her for the base slaves of Odin's warlike halls. Go warriors, lock them up in donjon deep, until the hour of midnight, when the rites of Odin shall begin. Then will we send and bring them to the test; and all shall see whose God is most in might, and who must yield.

In prison dark the virgins were immured, with sevenfold gates and sevenfold bars shut in. Soon as they were alone, the sisters twain, Marley and Morna, in fond tears embraced their youngest sister, lauded her high soul, and vowed with her to stand, with her to die, unsullied in the faith they had been taught.

Then did they kneel on the cold dungeon floor, and one by one offered their fervent prayers at mercy's footstool. But chiefly were their vows made to the Holy Virgin; for they hoped that she would save their pure virginity from sin's pollution. Never did prayers ascend up to heaven with greater fervency. And as the hour of midnight on them drew, they kneeled; and, side by side, with lifted hands, and eyes turned toward heaven, sang aloud this holy simple hymn to their Redeemer.

HYMN TO THE REDEEMER.

Son of the Virgin, hear us! hear us!
Son of the living God, be near us!
Thou who art man in form and feature,
Yet God of glory, and God of nature.
Thou who led'st the star of the East,
Yet helpless lay at a Virgin's breast;
Slept in the manger, and cried on the knee,
Yet rulest o'er Time and Eternity.
Pity thy creatures here kneeling in dust;
Pity the beings in Thee that trust!
Thou who fed'st the hungry with bread,
And raised'st from the grave the mouldering dead;
Who walked'st on the waves of the rolling main,
Who cried'st to thy Father, and cried'st in vain;
Yet wept for the woes and the sins of man,
And prayed'st for them when thy life-blood ran;
With thy last breath who cried'st FORGIVE!
When bleeding and dying, that man might live!
Over death and the grave hast the victory won,
And now art enthroned by the stars and the sun.
For thy name's glory, hear us, and come,
And show thy power over idols dumb.
O leave the abodes of glory and bliss,
The realms of heavenly happiness;
Come swifter than the gale of even
On thy lightning's wing, the chariot of heaven;
By the gates of light and the glowing sphere,
O come on thy errand of mercy here!
But Lord of glory we know not thee,
We know not what we say;
We cannot from thy presence be,
Nor from thine eye away:
For though on the right hand of God,
Thou art here in this dark and drear abode:
Beyond the moon and the starry way
Thou holdest thy Almighty sway,
Where spirits in floods of light are swimming,
And angels round thy throne are hymning;
Yet present with all who call on thee
In this world of wo and adversity.
Then, O, thou Son of the Virgin, hear us!
God of love and of life be near us!
Our hour of trial is at hand,
And without thy aid how shall we stand?
Our stains wash out, our sins forgive;
And before thee may our spirits live.
For thee and thy truth be our bosoms steeled:
O be our help, our stay, our shield:
Show thy dread power for mercy's sake,
For thy name, and thy glory, and all is at stake;
Bow down thy heavens, and rend them asunder,
And come in the cloud, in the flame, or the thunder.

The trumpets now were sounding, while the host arose from wine and wassail, to prepare the baleful sacrifice of Christian souls. The virgins heard, and trembled as they kneeled; and beauteous Lena raised her slender hands, and prayed, with many tears, that the Almighty would stretch out his right hand and close their eyes in everlasting sleep, to save them from self-slaughter, or the fate they dreaded more.

While yet the words were but in utterance, and ere the vow was vowed, they heard the gates unbarred one after one, and saw the lights glance through the lurid gloom. Each youthful heart turned, as it were, to stone; for well they weened the Danish soldiers came to bring them forth to shame and death. They kept their humble posture, with hands and eyes upraised, for they expected no pity or compassion save from heaven.

The inmost door upon its hinges turned, like thunder out of tune; and, lo! there entered,—no heathen soldier,—but a radiant form covered with light as with a flowing robe. In his right hand he bore a golden rod, and in his left a lamp that shone as bright as the noon-day sun. A thousand thousand gems, from off his raiment, cast their dazzling lustre. Diamonds and rubies formed alternate stars, while all between was rayed and spangled o'er with ever-varying brightness. Round his head he wore a wreath of emeralds; these were set with never-fading green. They deemed he was the great high priest of Odin come to lead them to the sacrifice. But yet his look, so mild and so benign, raised half a hope within their breasts of pity and regard. They were about to plead; but ere a sound breathed from their lips, the stranger beckoned them to silence. Then, in mild and courteous strain, in their own tongue, he thus accosted them:

"To ONE already have your vows been framed; and would you bow to another? You have pleaded to heaven's high King; and would you plead to man? Rise up, and follow me." The virgins rose; they had not power to stay,—and followed him, alas! they knew not whither. They had no voice to question or complain. Door after door they passed; gate after gate; and still their guide touching them with his golden rod, they closed in jangling fury. Onward still they moved, and met the heathen bands, led by their chiefs, Hongar and Hubba. They were drunk with wine; and loudly did they halloo when they saw their prey escaped, and walking on the street all beauteous and serene: Closing around the fugitives, and jabbering uncouth terms and words obscene, the chiefs opened their arms to seize the helpless three. Just then their guide turned round unmoved, and waving his bright rod, the heathens staggered, uttered mumbling sounds, and, trying vainly to support themselves, reeling they sunk enfeebled to the earth, where all as still and motionless they lay as piles of lifeless corpses. How the virgins wondered at what they saw! and fearless now they followed their bright leader. Next they met the priests of Odin, in their wild attire, marching in grand procession to the scene of mighty sacrifice. Aloft they bore their hideous giant idol; by his sides his loathsome consort and his monster son, Freya and Thor, while all their followers sung this choral hymn in loud and warlike strains:

HYMN TO ODIN.

I.

He comes! he comes!
Great Odin comes!
Who can rise or stand before him?
The god of the bloody field,
The sword, and the ruddy shield;
The god of the Danes, let all adore him.

II.

Wake the glad measure to
The goddess of pleasure too,
Who fills every hero with joy and with love!
And hail to dread Thor,
Great son of great sire,
The quaffer of gore,
And the dweller in fire:
The god of the sun, and the lightnings above.

III.

Prepare! prepare!
The feast prepare,
Since mighty Thor our guest shall be:
Three times three,
And three times three,
This day shall bleed for repast to thee!

IV.

Strike the light,
Make the flame burn bright,
Since Freya is here who gives delight!
Three times three,
And nine times nine,
This day shall bleed on altar of thine.

V.

Shout and sing,
Till the mountains ring!
The father of men, and of gods the king!
See him advance
With sword and lance;
Billows of life-blood, heroes, bring!

VI.

God of Alhallah's dome!
God of the warrior's home!
Who can withstand thee in earth or heaven?
Bring to his altar then,
Of Christian dames and men,
Nine times nine, and seven times seven.

VII.

Bend to your place of birth,
Children of sordid earth;
The god of battles your homage disdains.
Who dare oppose him?
Christian or Moslem?
Who is like Odin, the god of the Danes?

The maids and their angelic guide went on following the cross; and as they went, they sung in sweet and humble aspirations the song of the Lamb. They met the gorgeous files. Fair met with fair. The hideous idols sat an hundred cubits high; whereas the cross a maiden's hand upbore. But when they met, the proud and mighty peal, swelling from Odin's worshippers, was hushed as with a sob. The hills rang with the sound; and the o'erburdened air bore the last knell up to the skies. It quavered through the spheres, and died in distance, to be heard no more, while nought but the sweet notes the virgins sung rose on the paths of night. The motely mass of heathens stood amazed, and as they stood they listened and they quaked. The words were these at which they paused, and which the virgins sung:

* * * * * *

Silence the blasphemers thee that defy,
Strike down the mighty, Son of the Most High;
Rise in thy power, that the heathen may see,
What dust are their gods and their glory to thee;
Raise thy right hand, and in pieces them shiver,
That to the true God may the praise be for ever.

At every line the bearers and their gods trembled the more, and as the last notes closed, the mighty Odin toppled from his throne, and crashed amid his powerless worshippers. His wooden spouse and son fell with the sire of Gods and men, and in a thousand pieces their gilded frames were dashed. Confusion reigned. The host fled in dismay; but Odin's priests sunk down in low prostration, groaning and howling for the fall of Odin,—the shield and glory of the Danish host.

From out this wild confusion the bright guide conducted the three virgins, to a cave close by the river's brink, and charged them hide until the wrath of the enraged foe should be abated. Here, said he, you are in perfect safety. No one living knows of this retreat. Here sleep and take your rest. May angels watch around your flinty couch. Farewell, I must begone on the employ assigned me by your father and by mine. He left the lamp and went his way. Forthwith they kneeled in prayer, thanking their Saviour for their great deliverance, then laid them down to rest. They kissed the cross, and folded closely in each other's arms, cheek leaning unto cheek, with holy hymns they sung themselves asleep.

Great was the rage among the Danish chiefs, and wide the search for these presumptuous and bold aggressors. The host was all discouraged and amazed, and nought but terror reigned. Earldoms were offered for the audacious maids, dead or alive. But nor alive nor dead could they be found, either by friend or foe. O dreadful were the execrations uttered by the Danes. They called them demons, witches, and the worst of all incendiaries. Well they might. The terror of their arms was broken. Great was the rejoicing mid the hills and glens of Albyn, but the eastern vallies groaned beneath the fury of the savage Dane, and Christian blood was shed on every cross.

The virgins waked at morn, and still the lamp sent forth its feeble glimmer through the cave. The day-beam through the crevice of the rock streamed in and mixed with it. The virgins strove to rise, to speak—to sing a morning hymn. But all their limbs were cold, and their tongues clove fast to their thirsty palates. Lena, first of all the three, upraised her pallid form, and on the lamp turning her drowsy eye, there did it settle, closed, and oped again, but still with faded and uncertain light, as if the mind were lacking. Long she sat, half raised in this uneasy torpid state,—this struggle 'twixt oblivion and life. Oft she assayed her sisters to awake, by naming them; but still as oft the names died in a whisper. By degrees her mind dawned into recollection, as the moon breaks o'er the sullen twilight. Then the wonders, that she had seen o'ernight, aroused her soul to all its wonted energy. She kneeled, and thanked her Maker for the great deliverance to them vouchsafed. And when her sisters woke, they woke to join her in a heavenly song.

"What ails our sister? Here we are in safety. Why does our dear beloved not rest in peace? The night is not far spent: the dawn of morn is yet far distant. O dear Lena sleep. Sleep on, and take your rest. The morning sun is yet beneath the deep. Our limbs are cold; our eyes are heavy; yet we cannot rise, for we are weary, and not half awake."

"Wake, my beloved sisters. It is time. The noon is at its height. See how the sun peeps through the granite cliffs, and on the stream sheds ray of trembling silver. Let us rise and talk of all the wonders we have seen."

Long they conversed in tears of gratitude, still peeping from their cavern, lest the Dane again should find and drag them to the altar. Sore were they pressed by hunger. From the stream they drank abundantly with thankful hearts. But food for many a day and many a night they scarce had tasted, and they longed for it with more than ordinary longing. Night approached; and there they sat, not knowing what to do, a prey to gnawing hunger. At the last, young Lena said, "I cannot ween that heaven hath wrought a miracle for our relief, and for no higher purpose than that we should be left to die of hunger in this dark and hideous den. Again I'll put my life into its hand, and go into the city after twilight in search of bread; and if I die I die: Heaven's will be done." Her sisters looked at her, and blessed her in the holy Virgin's name. They could not bid her go where danger waited, so great, so imminent; and yet they felt they could not press her stay. With cautious eye, and with enfeebled step, trembling she sought the city gate. But when, afar, she saw by torch-light porters striding to and fro, with glittering lances of enormous length, and ponderous battle axes, her heart failed, and she drew back. But then she thought again of those she left behind, and all the throes of perishing with hunger, and resolved to risk all hazards. The huge gate stood open, and strangers went and came. "I'll join," thought she, "this straggling crew, and enter among them; they speak my native tongue. Ah! they must be a band of traitorous base renegades, that have renounced the cross and joined the Dane; else wherefore free to go and come and trade? I'm all unsafe with such. The strangers eyed her with most curious and piercing looks, and whispered as they went. They seemed afraid, and shunned her by the way, as they who shun a being infected by the pestilence, or spirit from the dead. No one addressed a word to her, but hurried to the gate.

She came alone, for feeble was her step, and her breast palpitating as with throb of burning fever, hopeless of admission.

The porters stared with wide extended gaze, and eyes protruding; but no word they spoke, nor crossed their lances. Straight she entered in. "What can this mean?" thought she; "There is a change since yester-even that it passes thought to comprehend. These keepers are not Danes; I heard them speak in Albyn's ancient tongue; and yet methinks they wear the Danish garb. How's this? that I am free to come and go, as in my childhood, when the land was free?"

She passed the sacred fane, and there beheld crowds entering in; but fast she sped away, weening they went to Odin's cursed rites.

She went to those that sold, and asked for bread. The woman stared at her with silent gaze. She asked again, and straight the huckster fled in floundering haste. Poor Lena stood amazed. "How's this?" said she, "where'er I show my face the people shun me. Here I shall remain, for I am faint with hunger, till I taste some of these cakes, which I can well repay."

She stood not long until she was accosted by holy bedesman, who, with cautious step, and looks of terror, entered, fast repeating his Ave Maria. "In the Virgin's name," cried he, "and under sanction of this cross, I charge thee tell who or from whence thou art."

The virgin kneeled, and kissed the holy symbol, but waived direct reply. "I lack some bread to give to those that famish, and I'll pay for that which I receive," was her reply.

"Then 'tis the bread of life that thou dost lack; man's natural food I fear thou can'st not use, for thou art not a being of this world, but savour'st of the grave. Thy robes are mouldy, and fall from off thy frame? Thy lips are parched and colourless. These eyes have not the light of human life. Thou ominous visitant, declare from whence thou art, and on what mission thou com'st to this devoted wasted land?"

Lena looked up. The holy father's face to her appeared familiar. But how great the change since last she saw it. "Father Brand, dost thou not know me?" was her home reply.

With blenching cheek and with unstable eye the father gazed, and, faultering, stammered forth, "No. Jesu Maria, be thy servant's shield! Yes. Now I know thee. Art thou not the spirit of the hapless Ellamere, who was put down within our convent for a wilful breach of its most sacred law? Avaunt! Begone! Nor come thou here t' accuse those that grieved for thee, while they executed just vengeance on thy life. Injurious ghost! Thy curses have fallen heavy on our heads, and brought the wrath of heaven upon our land in tenfold measure. In the Saviour's name, whose delegate I am, I charge thee hence unto thy resting-place,—to that award that heaven's strict justice hath ordained for thee; and come not, with that pale and withering look, more curses and more judgments to pronounce."

"Reach me thine hand," said she, and held her's forth, meaning to work conviction on his mind that she was flesh and blood. Her arm was wan as death itself, emaciated and withered, and furred with lines, livid and colourless, as by corrodent vapours of the grave. The monk withdrew his hand within his frock, shook his grey locks, and, with slow palsied step, moved backward till the threshold stone he gained; then turned and fled amain. The household dame fled also from her inner door, from which she peered and listened, and the wondering virgin again was left alone. She waited there in wild and dumb incertitude a space; then took some bread, some fruits, and baken meat, laid some money down as an equivalent, and went away to seek her dark retreat.

But as she passed the fane, with wary step she ventured to the porch, and, marvelling, heard the whole assembly, joined in rapt devotion, praising the name of Jesus. Close she stood, and, darkling as it was, joined in the choir so much beloved. But all the wonders she so late had seen yielded to this. In one short night, one strange eventful night, such things were done as human intellect, with all its cunning, could not calculate.

She passed the gate. The gaping sentinels stood, as they did before, immoveable, each casting sidelong glances unto his mate, to note who first should fly or call the word. She beckoned them as with intent to speak; but in one moment porters, spears, and axes scattered and vanished in the darksome shade.

Reaching the cave, she found the lamp gone out that their mysterious deliverer had left them over night. First she regaled her sisters' hearts with the miraculous tidings that all the people worshipped Jesus' name without dismay or molestation, who, but the night before, not for their lives durst have acknowledged him: That all seemed free to go and come, and pray to whom they listed. The tale seemed a romance,—a dream of wild delirium. The Danes could not be banished in a night, and all the land cleared of the vile idolatry of Odin. They disbelieved the whole, as well they might, but held their peace, dreading their sister's mind mazed in derangement. Still, as she went on, saying that all whom she had met or seen supposed her one arisen from the dead, or ghost of some departed criminal, strangled for breach of a monastic vow, then did they grasp each other's hands, and weep for their dear sister's sad mishap. They deemed her mad as raving whirlwind, or the music of mountain cataract. Yet she had brought them food of various sorts, which in the dark she gave them; and they fed, or strove to feed,—but small indeed the portion they devoured.

"How's this," cried Morna, "that my little cake grows ne'er the less? Can it be so that we are truly spirits,—ghosts of the three maids that overthrew the Danish god last night? I hunger and I thirst, 'tis true. Tell me, Can spirits drink the element of water? Certes they may. But then, how did we die, or when? for I cannot remember me of passing death's hideous and dreary bourn, though something of a weary painful dream hangs round my heart."

This vague disjointed speech, the wayward visions of distemperature, struck the two others motionless, and set them on cogitations wandering and wild as meteors o'er a dreary wilderness. The thought of being in a new existence, with all its unknown trials, powers, and limits, their struggling minds essayed in vain to grasp.

Reason returned, but as a step-mother returns to frenzied orphan's dying bed. They felt each other's pulses. There was life,—corporeal life; but still there was a change, which no one chose to mention,—yet a change quite unaccountable for one night's sleep to have effected. From their cavern's porch they viewed the stars of heaven. They were the same as they were wont. They saw the golden wain, the polar plough tilling his ample field with slow unwearied furrow, and the sisters,—the seven lovely sisters of the sky, arching their gorgeous path. Far to the east they spied a star beloved, which in their childhood they oft had watched, and named the "tiger's eye," changing its vivid colours as of yore. And then they wept to think of former days of innocence and joy. And thus in tears, clasped in each other's arms, they laid them down their mazed and oppressed spirits to compose.

While thus they lay, romantic Morna said: "My sisters, it is evident to all that some great change has happed to us last night. We are not what we were. What can it be but change from one existence to another? A mortal creature cannot touch or feel a disembodied spirit; but we know not how spirits feel each other. Sure as life and death hold opposition in this world, from the one into the other we have passed. I feel it in my being. So do you, though unacknowledged. Let us rise and walk as spirits do by night, and we shall see the change in us, not over a whole land in one short night. Come, let us roam abroad. I feel a restlessness,—a strong desire to flit from place to place,—perchance to fly between the mountain and the cloud, and view the abodes of those we love.

This wild romance waked in the virgins' hearts an energy between despair and madness. All extremes erratic and unnatural, on the minds of females, act like the infection of virulent disease. Up they arose, and, stepping from their cavern, took their way along the river's brink. Midnight was past. The tiger's eye had climbed the marble path that branches through the heaven, and goggled forth, now red, now blue, now purple and now green, down from his splendid ceiling far on high. 'Twas like a changeful spirit. In the east the hues of morning rose in towering streaks, as if the Almighty had caused light to grow like cedars from the summits of the hills. It was a scene for spirits! There were three abroad that morn before the twilight rose,—three creatures spiritual, yet made of flesh! First they espied an aged fisherman, who passed without regard. Then did they deem they were invisible, and wilder still their fancies worked. The suburbs now they gained of the resplendent ancient Otholine, the emporium of the east, and hand in hand, with hurried, but enfeebled step, they trode its lanes and alleys. Those who saw them said their motions were erratic, like the gait of beings overcome with wine, or creatures learning to walk for the first time on earth. The early matron, and the twilight groom, fled with hysteric cries at their approach. The gates were left a-jar, the streets a waste: porter and sentinel joined in the flight, and nought but terror and confusion reigned.

The virgin sisters wist not what to do, or what to dread. Within the convent's porch, they halted, turned, and gazed on one another, and wondered what they were, that nature thus shuddered at their approach, and held aloof. Three creatures spiritual yet made of flesh, belonging not to heaven nor earth! but shunned by the inhabitants of both. Just then, while standing in despondency, they heard the grey cock crow; the eldritch clarion note chilled every heart, and twanged on every nerve.

"That is our warning call," wild Morna said: "My sisters now we must hence and begone: that is the roll-call of the murdering spirits. We shall be missed at matins. To your homes! your damp and mouldering homes, ye ghastly shades! The daylight will dissolve you! Does that voice not say so?"

"Hush thee, gentle Morna! drive us not to distraction. Here we'll wait until the convent matin; then we'll ask the holy prioress what things we are. What say you, gentle sisters? can we live outcasts on earth in such incertitude? Our father's towers are distant. We can glide, like passing shades with slow and feeble motion, but nothing more spirits;—can sail the air in skiff of mist or on the breeze's wing. Such powers we have not; and to journey there we lack ability. Here then we stay until we are resolved what strange events have happened to us, to our native land, and church, of late so grievously oppressed."

"Yes, here we'll stay. Come, rouse the porteress! For see the sun tips the far hills with gold, and we shall melt before his tepid ray, all gentle as it is at early morn! My frame is like a mildew. The hoar frost of death hath fallen on it. Oh, for the guide—the angelic youth that left us yester-eve. Ho! daughters of the Cross! If any here hath 'scaped the murderous Dane, come forth and welcome the conquerors of Odin. Ho! within! Wake ere the sun upbraids you. He is up, on service to his Maker, yet you sleep. I say, wake."

"Who calls? What are you there?"

"We know not what we are. For that we come, to see if any here can us resolve. But two short nights ago, we were three maids of royal lineage. Thou stern porteress, come forth and look on us. Canst thou not tell what we are made of? Why stand'st thou aloof?"

"Speak calmly, sister Morna. See she trembles and dares not answer. Gentle dame, we pray admission to your lady prioress, for sake of him who died upon the cross, whose name we worship." Straight she vanished upon her fearful mission, glad to 'scape from such a colloquy. Soon then arrived the aged prioress, who them approached with dauntless countenance, and, unappalled, asked of their errand. "Venerable dame, dost thou not know, or hast thou never heard of the three maids of Stormont, who of late, led by a heavenly messenger, o'erthrew the god of Denmark, and upheld the cross triumphant o'er the breasts of prostrate heathens?"

"Ay, I have heard of them; and often joined in prayer and thanksgiving for the deliverance wrought by these royal virgins. That was a conquest that roused the spirit of the Christian to deeds of more than mortal energy, and humbled the proud confidence the Dane placed in his idols. Ay, that was a conquest shall cloud the brow of the idolater while the world stands! But what was it you spoke of yester eve? Either you are deranged, or shallow poor impostors: for that time hath long gone past, and the three wondrous maids were in the sight, and from the middle of that mighty host translated into heaven. Unless you came from thence on sacred mission, and bringest evidence of identity by further miracle, better you had keep silence and depart."

"We are those maids, the maids of Stormont, nieces to the king; and we require of you lodging and fair protection, till we prove our lineage. There is something passing strange hath happed to us. But what the circumstance, or how accordant with the works of God, is far beyond the fathom and the height of our capacity. We are the maids of Stormont. To that truth we will make oath upon the holy cross."

The prioress crossed herself, commended her to heaven, and, with deep awe and dire astonishment, admitted them. She gazed upon them: their fair cheeks were pale, and their benignant eyes looked through a haze that was not earthly; it was like the blue mists of the dawning. All their robes were of the fashion of a former day; and they were damp and mouldy, falling piecemeal from off their bodies with their rottenness.

"I dread to question you, mysterious things. That you are earthly forms, I see and feel. Whence are you? In what dreary unknown clime have you been sojourning? Or are you risen from out your graves? If you have truth in you, and power to tell it, pray resolve me this; for I am lost in wonder."

"What we are we know not. For that purpose we came hither, that you might tell us. All we know is this: Last night but one we were the maids of Stormont, doomed to a dreadful fate. An heavenly one came to our rescue; led us through the gates of iron and of brass. Still as we went, we conquered. Ranks of proud idolaters fell prostrate in the dust; and the great god, the mighty Odin, was o'erthrown, and dashed into a thousand pieces. Straight our blessed guide conducted us into a lonely cave close by the river's brink, and bade us sleep and take our rest until the day should dawn and shadows fly away. We slept, and yester-morn, when we awoke, the lamp our guide had left still feebly burned. Impelled by hunger, from our cave we ventured. All people fly from us; the Danes are gone; the name of Christ is mentioned. Nought we see and nought we hear is comprehensible."

"A miracle! a mighty miracle! Within that secret cavern you have slept for days and years, in quiet sweet repose, the lamp of heaven still burning over you, until the day hath dawned,—such day of grace as Scotland hath not seen. The heathen Dane, with all his hideous gods, was vanquished, but days of darkness and contention rose, until this time, when all the glorious rays of mercy and of grace have shed their influence on this benighted persecuted land; and you are waked to enjoy it. Let us go straight to the altar, and beneath the cross join in elated thanksgiving."

The chancel door opened before the altar. When the three virgins entered in, and saw the figure on the cross, they cried aloud with one combined voice, "'Tis he, 'Tis he! What? Have these heathens dared to lay their impious hands on him? 'Tis he! 'Tis he! Our heavenly guide that saved us from the death. And have they slain him? Has the cursed Dane——"

"Hold, hold, for mercy's sake; you do not know the things you utter. What you look upon, hangs there to represent the death of him who died that man might live."

"And is it so? Then be our lives sacred unto the service of him who laid his life down for our race, and sent his angel to deliver us, in his own likeness too; for this is he who came to us in great extremity, when we called on the name of our Redeemer in agony of soul."

"Remain with me till our great festival. This miracle must be made known to all that trust in Jesus' name. Meanwhile I will cherish and comfort the beloved of heaven."

The day arrived of the great festival, the anniversary of the overthrow of mighty Odin,—that sublime event that broke the bands of iron and of steel, and threw the gates of superstition open to Albyn's Christian triumph. On that day the king's whole household, nobles of the realm, high dames and commons, abbots, monks, and mendicants, a motely and a countless multitude, assembled early at the monastery of ancient Otholine, to render thanks for their deliverance. Masses were said; and holy hymns of praise ascended to the skies. With one accord, then all the grateful multitude agreed to canonize the three heroic virgins, who, with the aid of angels, had wrought out the Christian's triumph, the beloved of heaven, translated to the blest beatitude, where souls of saints and blessed martyrs dwell, and whose joint prayers might with the holy Virgin much avail.

A joyful clamour for the ordinance then spread around, so eager were the crowd to kneel and pay their humble adorations to the three maids, translated to the heavens with bodies like their own. Applauses rang; and from behind the altar was given forth a song divine, in which a thousand voices joined, till all were hushed at this ecstatic strain.

Hail to the happy three!
Vessels of sanctity!
Now honoured to stand
At the Virgin's right hand.
(Mater Dei!
Remember me!)
Remember us all, and send us for good,
Bone of our bone, and blood of our blood.—
Song of harp, and voice be dumb!—
The heaven is oped. They come, they come!

A bustle rose. The abbot on his knees sunk down and leaned upon the altar-cloth, and only a few voices whispered round, "They come, they come!" The congregation turned their eyes into the chancel, and beheld three virgins, all in robes of purest white, stand over against the altar. The loud choir was hushed, and every brow was forward bent in low obeisance: All believing these three beauteous flowers from paradise had come arrayed in robes of heaven, with angel forms that bloomed like winter roses newly oped, in high approval of the festival, and sacred honours to be paid to them.

The virgins beckoned, raised their flowing veils, and their right hands to heaven. "Stay, they cried, stay the solemnity, ere you profane the name and altar of the God of heaven. Here stand the three unworthy maids of Stormont whom you would deify. Come nigh to us our father and our king, and ye chaste ministers of him we serve: Come nigh, and feel that we are mortal like yourselves, and stop the rite. Pay adoration to that Holy One who pitied us in misery extreme, and you in grievous bonds. There be your vows and worship paid, in which we three shall join. He hath indeed done wondrous things for us, works of amazement, which you all shall hear, and whoso heareth shall rejoice in heart."

Then came they all unto their father's knee, kneeled and embraced him, while the good old earl shed tears of joy, and rendered thanks to heaven; their sovereign next, their former lovers, friends, and all they knew in that mixed multitude, they did embrace, that no remaining doubt might spring and spread of their identity. It was a joyful meeting, such a one as hath not been in any land for happiness and holy ecstacy. They lived beyond the years of women,—but their lives were spent in acts of holiness, apart from grandeur's train. In curing of the sick, clothing the naked, ministering to all in want and wretchedness, and speaking peace unto poor wandering and benighted souls. Their evening of life was like the close of summer day, pure, placid, and serene,—the twilight long, but when at last it closed, it was with such a heavenly glow, it gave pure prospect of a joyous day to come. Thus ends my legend; and, with all submission, I bow to your awards, and wait my doom.

CHAP. III.

Garolde. Prick on good Markham. That galled jade of yours
Moves with a hedgehog's pace. Is this a time
To amble like a belle at tournament,
When life and death hang on our enterprize?

Mark. We've had long stages, Garolde;
We must take up. What miscreants have we here?

"Lo, have not I taken great delight in the words of thy mouth?" said the friar, "for it is a legend of purity and holiness which thou hast told, and the words of truth are contained in it. Peradventure it may be an ancient allegory of our nation, in which manner of instruction the fathers of Christianity amongst us took great delight. But, whether it be truth, or whether it be fiction, the tendency is good; and behold, is it not so; do not I even thank thee for thy tale?"

"It is the most diffuse, extravagant, and silly legend that ever was invented by votary of a silly and inconsistent creed," said the Master.

"I side wi' you, Master Michael Scott," said Tam Craik; "I think the tale is nought but a string of bombastical nonsense."

"Excepting ane about fat flesh, I think I never heard the match o't," said the laird of the Peatstacknowe; "It brings me a-mind o' our host's dinner, that was a' show but nae substance."

"If I foresee aught aright," said the Master, "of many a worse dinner shall I see thee partake, and enjoy the sight."

"Was not that a beautiful and sublime tale, father?" said Delany: "I could sit and listen to such divine legends for ever." The poet's eyes shone with tears when he heard the maid he loved say these words to the friar apart, who answered and said unto her, "Lo, there are many more sublime and more wonderful in thy little book; nevertheless the tale is good for instruction to those that are faithless and doubting."

"Alak! I fear I shall not live to learn and enjoy these. Do not you think, father, that we shall all perish in this miserable place," added Delany,—"this horrible place of witchcraft and divination?" Charlie Scott stepped forward when he overheard some of these words. "Eh? what was the lassie saying?" said he. "Eh? I'll tell ye what it is, hinney: I believe ye see things as they are. There's naething but witchcraft gaun on here; and it is that, and that alone, that a' our perils and mischances rise frae. Begging your pardon, father, I canna help thinking what I think, and seeing what I see. But, gude faith! we maun blaw lown till we win aff the tap o' this bigging, if that ever be."

"My hand hath prevailed against his hand," said the friar, "and my master over his master; and had it not been for this miserable accident we should have had nothing to fear from his divinations, sublime and mighty as they are. What hath become of the mighty men of valour from the camp of our captain?"

"O there's nae mortal can tell," said Charlie: "It was not for naething that Dan and his lads ran off and left us without ever looking ower their shoulders. A' witchcraft! a' witchcraft! Ane may stand against muckle, but nae man can stand against that. I wish we were where sword and shield could aince mair stand us in stead. But this I'm sure o'—Now that our situation is kend to our kinsman, it winna be lang before some aid appear. O if it wad but come afore we are driven to that last and warst of a' shifts to keep in life."

"We canna live another day," said Tam: "I therefore propose that the maid and the boy try ilk ane their hand at a tale too, and stand their chances with the rest of us. Their lives are of less value, and their bodies very tender and delicate."

Every one protested against Tam's motion with abhorrence; and it was agreed that they would now appeal to the Master who had told the worst tale. Not that the unfortunate victim was to be immediately sacrificed, nor even till the very last extremity; but with that impatience natural to man, they longed to be put out of pain; every one having hopes that his own merits protected himself from danger. Every one also believed that judgment would be given against Tam, except he himself; and that, at all events, such an award would put an end to his disagreeable and endless exultations of voracious delight. They then went before the renowned wizard, and desired him to give judgment who of them had related the worst and most inefficient tale, laying all prejudice with regard to creeds and testimonies aside.

He asked them if they referred the matter entirely to him, or if they wished to have each one a vote of their own? Tam said it was an understanding at first that each should have a vote, and, as he had made up his mind on the subject, he wished to give his. Charlie said it was a hard matter to vote away the life of a friend; and, for his part, he would rather appeal to the great Master altogether. But if any doubts should remain with any one of their host's impartiality, he thought it fairer that they should cast lots, and hazard all alike. The poet, who had heard the Master's disapprobation given pointedly of his tale, sided with Yardbire, and voted that it should be decided by lot. Gibbie, though quite convinced in his own mind that he had told the best story, yet having heard the morality of it doubted, and dreading on that score to have some voices against him, called also for a vote; for he said the referring the matter to the Master brought him in mind of the story of the fox sitting in judgment, and deciding against the lamb. The friar also said, "Verily, I should give my voice for the judgment of the Master to stand decisive: But, lo! is it not apparent that his thoughts are not like the thoughts of other men? Neither is his mind governed by the motives of the rest of the children of men. I do therefore lift up my voice for the judgment that goeth by lot. I would, notwithstanding of all this, gladly hear what the Master would say."

"I will be so far just that I shall give you your choice," said Master Michael Scott: "Nevertheless I can tell you, if there be any justice in the decision by lot, on whom the lot will fall." A pause of breathless anxiety occurred, and every eye was fixed on the grim and stern visage of the great necromancer, over whose features there appeared to pass a gleam of wild delight. "It will fall," added he, "on that man of fables and similitudes, who himself bears the similitude of a man, just as the lion's hide stuffed does the resemblance of a real one. How do you call that beautiful and amiable being with the nose that would split a drop of rain without being wet?"

"Most illustrious knight, and master of the arts of mystery," said the friar,—"as this man is, so is his name; for he is called Jordan, after the great river that is in the east, which overfloweth its banks at certain seasons, and falls into the stagnant lake called the Dead Sea, whose waters are diseased. So doth the matter of this our friend overflow, pass away, and is lost. But what sayest thou of the default of his story? Dost thou remember that it is not for the best story that we cast lots, but the worst?"

"Ay, that's weel said, good friar," said Charlie; "for, trifling as the laird's story was, I never heard ought sae queer, or that interested ane mair. If there be ony justice in lots, the laird's safe."

"Your's was the best tale, gallant yeoman," said the Master, "and you may rest assured that you are safe. The dumb judge will not err, and there is one overlooks the judgment by lot, of whom few are aware. I say your's was the best tale.

"Thank ye kindly, Master Michael Scott," said Charlie; "I'm feared ilk ane winna be o' your opinion."

The friar then took from the side-pockets of his frock a few scraps of parchment, amounting to fifteen. Twelve of these he marked with a red cross, and three with a black one, to prevent all infernal interference; then rolling them closely up, he counted them all into his cowl before his companions, and, shaking them together, he caused every one to do the same. Then putting the cowl into the virgin's hand, they desired her to hold it until they drew forth their scraps one by one. She did so, while her bright eyes were drowned in tears, and each of the candidates put in his hand, selecting his lot.

"Let them be opened, one by one, before all these witnesses," cried the Master; "that no suspicions of foul play whatever may remain."

The friar drew forth his without one muscle of his unyielding features being altered, and turning deliberately about, he opened it before them all. It was red. The friar bowed his head, and made the sign of the cross. Charlie thrust in his hand,—pulled out a ticket,—and tore it open, all in one moment, and with the same impatience that he fought in a battle. His was likewise red.

"Gude faith I'm aince ower the water," said Charlie.

Tam put in his hand with a decision that would have done honour to a better man, the form of his mouth only being a little altered.

"Now, who will take me a bet of a three-year old cout," cried Gibbie, "that the next shall turn out a black one?" and he grinned a ghastly smile, in anticipation of the wished event. Tam kept his hand within the cowl for a good while, as if groping which to select. At length he drew one forth; and before he got it opened, Gibbie's long nose and his own had met above it, so eager was each of them to see what it contained. It was opened. Each of them raised up his face, and looked at the face of his opponent; but with what different expressions of countenance! The cross on the lot was red! Grief, dread, and disappointment were all apparent in the features of poor Jordan, while the exulting looks of his provoking neighbour were hardly to be endured.

"What think you o' that now, laird?" cried he. "What does that bring you in mind o'? Eh? I say, wha's jugular vein swells highest now; or wha's shoulder-blade stands maist need o' clawing?"

This was rather more than Gibbie was disposed at that juncture to bear; and when Tam, as he concluded, put forth his forefinger to ascertain the thickness of fat on the laird's ribs, the latter struck him with such force on the wrist, that he rendered his arm powerless for a space. He put his hand to his sword, but could not grasp it; while Gibbie, seeing the motion, had his out in a twinkling; and if the staunch friar had not turned it aside, he would have had it through the heart of the deil's Tam in a second, which might have prevented the further drawing of lots for that present time, and thereby put an end to a very critical and disagreeable business. Gibbie was far from being a hot or passionate man; but whether his rage was a manœuvre to put by the decision, or if he really was offended at being handled like a wedder for slaughter, the curate pretends not to guess. He however raged and fumed exceedingly, and tried again and again to wound Tam, while the rest were remonstrating with him; nor would he be pacified, until Tam's disabled arm by degrees regaining somewhat of its pristine nerve, he retreated back towards the battlement for sword-room, and dared the laird to the combat. Gibbie struggled hard; but finding that they were about to let him go, his wrath subsided a little; he put up his sword, and said the whole business reminded him of a story of the laird of Tweelsdon and his two brothers, which he assured them was a prime story, and begged permission to tell it. This was protested against with one voice until the business of the lots was decided, and then all were willing to hear it. "Oh, the lots? that is quite true," said Gibbie: "I declare that business had gone out of my head. Let us see what casts up next." There was a relaxation in every muscle of Gibbie's face as he put his hand into the cowl. But Gibbie's was a sort of a cross face. It did not grow long and sallow as most other men's faces do when they are agitated. The jaws did not fall down, they closed up; so that his face grew a great deal shorter and broader. The eye-brows and the cheek-bones met, and the nose and chin approached to a close vicinity. He drew forth the momentous scrap, and, with fumbling and paralytic hand, opened it before them. The cross was black. He dared not lift his eyes to any face there save to Delany's, and when he saw it covered with tears his looks again reverted that way. This lot it is true was not decisive, yet it placed Gibbie on ticklish ground; it having been agreed, that whoever should draw the two first black crosses, subjected himself to immolation, if the necessity of the case required it. The great Master and Tam were visibly well pleased with the wicked chance that had fallen to the laird. The motives of the former for this delight were quite a mystery to those who beheld it; as for Tam, he seemed determined to keep no more terms with poor Gibbie.

The poet also drew a red one; and then it was decreed, that the next round Gibbie should have his choice of the time, if he judged it any advantage either to be first or last. He seemed quite passive, and said it was all one to him, he should draw at any time they chose, and desired his friend Yardbire, as he termed him, to choose for him. Charlie said he deemed the first chance the best, as he had then four chances to be right, for one of being wrong; and it would be singular indeed if his hand fixed on a black cross again for a time or two, when more of them might be on an equal footing.

Gibbie accordingly turned round, and drew out one more of the ominous scraps, opening it under the eyes of all the circle with rather a hopeful look. "If the deil be nae in the cowl, I shall hae a red ane this time," said he, as he unrolled it; but as soon as the head of the cross appeared the ticket fell from his hand; and, as the friar expressed it, there was no more strength remaining in him. "Verily, my son, thy fate is decided," said the latter worthy; "and that in a wonderful and arbitrary manner. As the Master said, so hath it come to pass, although to judge of any thing having been done unfairly is impossible."

"It is absolute nonsense to talk of aught being done fairly in this place," said Charlie Scott: "There's naething but witchcraft gaun. I tell ye a' things here are done by witchery an' the black arts; and after what I heard the king of a' warlocks say, that the lot wad fa' in this way, I winna believe that honest Gibbie has gotten fair play for his life."

"If you would try it an hundred times over," said the Master, "you would see it turn out in the same way. Did not I say to you that there was a power presided over the decision by lot, which you neither know nor comprehend. Man of metaphors and old wives' fables, where art thou now?" "Keep a gude heart, Peatstacknowe," said Charlie; "perhaps things may not come to the worst. I have great dependence on Dan Chisholm and the warden's good men. I wonder they have not appeared wi' proper mattocks, or ladders, by this time o' the morning."

"If they should," said the Master, "and if we were all set at liberty this minute, he shall remain my bondsman, in place of these two and him of whom your arts have bereaved me. Remember to what you agreed formerly, of which I now remind you."

"I think that is but fair," said the poet.

"I do not know, gentlemen, what you call fair or foul," said Gibbie: "I think there is little that is favourable going for somebody. Of the two evils, I judge the last the worst. I appeal to my captain the Warden." Gibbie's looks were so rueful and pitiable when he said this, that no one had the heart to remonstrate farther with him on the justice or injustice of his doom. The Master and Tam enjoyed his plight exceedingly; the poet rejoiced in it, as it tended to free Delany from a vile servitude; and the friar also was glad of the release of the darling of his younger years, the grand-daughter of Galli the scribe. Charlie and Delany were the only two that appeared to suffer on account of the laird's dismal prospects, and their feelings were nearly as acute as his own. Stories and all sorts of amusements were now discontinued. A damp was thrown over these by the dismal gloom on the laird's countenance, and the congenial feelings of others on his account. The night had passed over without any more visitants from the infernal regions; the day had arisen in the midst of heaviness and gloom; and every eye was turned towards the mill, in the expecsation of seeing the approach of Dan and his companions.

CHAPTER IV.

Ask me not whence I am;
My vesture speaks mine office.

After the frightsome encounter at the mill, with "the masterless dog and his bow-wow-wow," Dan and his companions spent a sleepless night, not without several alarms and breathless listenings on the occurrence of any noise without. Few were the nightly journies on the banks of the Ettrick in those days, and few the midnight noises that occurred, save from the wild beasts of the forest. There were no wooer lads straying at that still and silent hour, to call up their sweethearts for an hour's kind conversation. Save when the English marauders were abroad, all was quietness by hamlet and steading. The land was the abode of the genii of the woods, the rocks, and the rivers; and of this the inhabitants were well aware, and kept within locked doors, whose lintels were made of the mountain ash, and nightly sprinkled with holy water. Cradle and bed were also fenced with cross, book, and bead; for the inmates knew that in no other way could they be safe, or rest in peace. They knew that their green and solitary glens were the nightly haunts of the fairies, and that they held their sports and amorous revels in the retiring dells by the light of the moon. The mermaid sung her sweet and alluring strains by the shores of the mountain lake, and the kelpie sat moping and dripping by his frightsome pool, or the boiling caldron at the foot of the cataract. The fleeting wraiths hovered round the dwellings of those who were soon to die, and the stalking ghost perambulated the walks of him that was lately living, or took up his nightly stand over the bones of the unhouseholded or murdered dead. In such a country, and among such sojourners, who durst walk by night?

But these were the natural residenters in the wilds of the woodland, the aboriginal inhabitants of the country; and however inimical their ways might be to the ways of men, the latter laid their account with them. There were defences to be had against them from holy church, which was a great comfort. But ever since Master Michael Scott came from the colleges abroad to reside at the castle of Aikwood, the nature of demonology in the forest glades was altogether changed, and a full torrent of necromancy, or, as Charlie Scott better expressed it, of witchcraft, deluged the country all over,—an art of the most malignant and appalling kind, against which no fence yet discovered could prevail. How different, indeed, became the situation of the lonely hind. Formerly he only heard at a distance on moonlight eves the bridle bells of the fairy troopers, which haply caused him to haste homeward. But when the door was barred and fenced, he sat safe in the middle of his family circle as they closed round the hearth, and talked of the pranks of the gude neyboris. When the speats descended, and floods roared and foamed from bank to brae, then would they perceive the malevolent kelpie rolling and tumbling down the torrent like a drowning cow, or mountain stag, to allure the hungry peasant into certain destruction. But, aware of the danger, he only kept the farther aloof, quaking at the tremendous experiment made by the spirit of the waters. It was in vain that the mermaid sung the sweetest strain s that ever breathed over the evening lake, or sunk and rose again, spreading her hands for assistance, like a drowning maiden, at the bottom of the abrupt cliff washed by the waves,—he would not be allured to her embraces.

But what could he do now? His daughters were turned into roes and hares, to be hunted down for sport to the Master. The old wives of the hamlet were saddled and bridled by night, and urged with whip and spur over whole realms. The cows were deprived of their milk,—the hinds cast their young, and no domestic cat in the whole district could be kept alive for one year. That infernal system of witchcraft then began, which the stake and the gibbet could scarcely eradicate in a whole century. It had at this time begun to spread all around Aikwood; but of these things our Border troopers were not altogether aware. They dreaded the spirits of the old school, the devil in particular; but of the new prevailing system of metamorphoses they had no comprehension.

Dan and three chosen companions, mounting their horses by the break of day, rode straight for the abbey of Melrose, to lodge their complaint against the great enemy of mankind, and request assistance from the holy fathers in rescuing their friends out of his hands. They reached Darnick-burn before the rising of the sun; and just as they passed by a small deep-wooded dell, they espied four horsemen approaching them, who, from their robes and riding appurtenances, appeared to belong to the abbey, and to rank high among its dignitaries. They were all mounted on black steeds, clothed in dark flowing robes that were fringed with costly fringes, and they had caps on their heads that were horned like the new moon. The foremost, in particular, had a formidable and majestic mitre on his head, that seemed all glancing with gems, every one of which was either black, or a certain dazzling red of the colour of flame.

Dan doffed his helmet to this dignified and commanding personage, but he deigned not either to return our yeoman's low bow, that brought his face in contact with the mane of his steed, or once to cross his hand on his brow in token of accepting the submission proffered. He, however, reined up his black steed, and sat upright on his saddle, as if in the act of listening what this bold and blunt trooper had to say.

"Begging pardon of your grand and sublime reverence," said Dan, "I presume, from your lofty and priest-like demeanour, habiliments, and goodly steed, and also from that twa-horned helmet on your head, that you are the very chap I want. I beg your pardon I canna keep up my style to suit your dignity. But are nae ye Father Lawrence, the great primate, that acts as a kind o' king or captain ower a' the holy men of Scotland, and has haudding in that abbey down by there?"

"Certes I am Father Lawrence. Dost thou doubt it?"

"No, no; what for should I doubt it when your worship has said it? An we dinna find truth aneath the mitre and the gown, where are we to look for it?"

The sublime abbot shook his head as if in scorn and derision of the apothegm, and sat still upright on his steed, with his face turned away. Dan looked round to his companions with a meaning look, as much as to say, "What does the body mean?" But seeing that he sat still in the act of listening, he proceeded.

"Worthy Sir Priest, ye ken our captain, Sir Ringan Redhough, warden of the Border. He has helpit weel to feather your nest, ye ken."

"He has. There is no one can dispute it," said the abbot, nodding assent.

"Then ye'll no be averse, surely, to the lending o' him and his a helping hand in your ain way."

The priest nodded assent.

"Weel, ye see, Sir Priest, there is a kinsman of our master's lives up by here at Aikwood, a rank warlock, and master o' the arts of witchcraft and divination. He is in compact wi' the deil, and can do things far ayont the power o' mortal man. What do ye think, Sir Priest? he can actually turn a man into a dog, and an auld wife into a hare; a mouse into a man, and a cat into a good glyde-aver. And mair than that, Sir, he can raise storms and tempests in the air; can gar the rivers rin upward, and the trees grow down. He can shake the solid yird; and, look ye, Sir, he can cleave a great mountain into three, and lift the divisions up like as mony gowpens o' sand."

The stern abbot gave a glance up to the three new hills of Eildon, that towered majestically over their heads; but it seemed rather a look of exultation than one either of wonder or regret.

"Weel, Sir, disna our captain send a few chosen friends, a wheen queer devils to be sure, on a message of good friendship to this auld warlock Master Michael Scott, merely with a request to read him some trivial weird. And what does the auld knave, but pricks them a' up on the top o' his castle, wi' a lockit iron-door aneath them, and there has keepit them in confinement till they are famishing of hunger, and I fear by this time they are feeding on ane another. And the warst o't ava, Sir, is this, I wad break his bolts and his bars to atoms for him, but has nae he the deil standing sentry on the stair, spuing fire and brimstone on a' that come near him in sic torrents that it is like the fa' o' the Grey-mare's-tail. Now, maist reverend and worthy Sir, my errand and request to you is, that, for my master's sake, and for his men's sake, that are a' good Christians, for ought that I ken to the contrary, you will lend us a lift wi' book and bead, Ave Marias, and other powerful things, to drive away this auld sneckdrawing thief, the devil, and keep him away till I get my friends released; and I promise you, in my master's name, high bounty and reward."

"Ha! is it so?" said the abbot, in a hollow, tremulous voice. "Are my friend and fellow-soldier's men detained in that guise? Come, my brethren, let us ride,—let us fly to their release, and we shall see whose power can stand against our own. For Aikwood, ho!"

"For Aikwood, ho!" shouted Dan and his companions, as they took the rear of the four sable dignitaries; and striking the spurs into their steeds all at the same time, they went off at their horses' utmost speed, but in a short time the four yeomen were distanced. The black steeds and their riders went at such a pace as warrior had never before witnessed. Up by the side of Hindly-burn they sped, with the most rapid velocity,—over mire, over ditch, over ford, without stay or stumble. Dan and his companions posted on behind, sparing neither whip nor spur, for they were affronted that these gownsmen should display more energy in their master's cause, and the cause of his friends, than they should do themselves. But their horses floundered, and blew, and snorted, and puffed, and whisked their tails with a whistling sound, and still lagged farther and farther behind.

"Come, come, callants," cried Dan to his companions, "let us rein up. These bedesmen's horses are ower weel fed for our bog-trotting nags. They fly like the wind. Od, we may as weel try to ride wi' the devil."

"Whisht, whisht," said Will Martin; "I dinna like to mak ower familiar wi' that name now-a-days. We never ken wha's hearing us in this country."

They were nigh to the heights when these words passed, and the four black horsemen perceiving them to take it leisurely, they paused and wheeled about, and the majestic primate taking off his cornuted chaperon, waved it aloft, and called aloud, "For shame, sluggish hinds! Why won't you speed, before the hour of prevention is lost? For Aikwood, ho, I say!" As he said these words, his black courser plunged and reared at a fearful rate; and, as our troopers thought, at one bolt sprung six or seven yards from the ground. The marks of that black horse's hoofs remain impressed in the sward to this day, and the spot is still called The Abbot's lee. At least it had been so called when Isaac the curate wrote this history.

To keep clear of the wood that was full of thickets, they turned a little to the left, and pursued their course; and the ground becoming somewhat firmer, our yeomen pursued hard after them. But on coming over the steep brow of a little hill, the latter perceived a mountain lake of considerable extent that interrupted their path, and, to their utter astonishment, the four black horsemen going straight across it, at about the same rate that the eagle traverses the firmament. "The loch is frozen and bears over," said Dan: "Let us follow them across."

"The loch is frozen indeed," said Will Martin, "but, ony man may see, that ice winna bear a cat."

"Haud your tongue, you gouk," said Dan: "Do ye think the thing that bore them winna bear us?" And as he spurred foremost down the steep, he took the lake at the broad side; but the ice offering no manner of resistance, horse and man were in one moment out of sight. The sable horsemen on the other side shouted with laughter, and called aloud to the troopers, "to venture on, and haste forward, for the ice was sufficiently strong."

The bold trooper and his horse were extricated with some difficulty, and the monks testifying the utmost impatience he remounted, dripping as he was, and not being able to find the passage across the lake on the ice, he and his companions gallopped around the head of it. As he rode, the morning being frosty, he chanced to utter these words: "Heigh-ho, but I be a cauld cheil!" Which words, says Isaac, gave the name to that lake and the hill about it to all future ages; and from those perilous days of witchcraft and divination, and the shocking incidents that befel to men, adds he, have a great many of the names of places all over our country had their origin.

The dark horsemen always paused until the troopers were near them, as if to encourage them on, but they never suffered them to join company. When they came over a ridge above old Lindean they were hard upon them, but lost sight of them for a short space on the height; and, coming on full speed, they arrived on the brink of a deep wooded dell, and to their utter astonishment saw the four gownsmen on the other side, riding deliberately along, and beckoning them forward.

"I am sair mista'en," said Will Martin, "gin thae chaps hae nae gaen ower the cleugh at ae bound. An it warna for their habits I wad take them for something nouther good nor cannie."

"Haud your tongue, or else speak feasible things," said Dan; "Can the worthy Father Lawrence, and his chief priors and functionaries ever be suspected as warlocks, or men connected wi' the devil and his arts. If sic were to be the case, we hae nae mair trust to put in aught on this earth. The dell maun be but a step across. Here is a good passable road; come, let us follow them.

Dan led the way, and they dived into the dell by a narrow track, rather like a path for a wild goat than men and horses; however, by leaping, sliding, and pushing one another's horses behind, they got to the bottom of the precipice, and perceiving a path on the other side, they expected to reach the western brink immediately. But in this they were mistaken; abrupt rocks, and impenetrable thickets barred their progress on every side, and they found it impossible to extricate themselves without leaving their horses. They tried every quarter with the same success, and at the last attempted to ascend by the way they came; but that too they found impracticable, and all the while they heard the voices of their fellow travellers chiding their stay from above, and shaming them for their stupidity in taking the wrong path. At one time they heard them calling on them to come this way, here was an excellent out-gate; and when the toiled yeomen stuck fairly still in that direction, they instantly heard other voices urging them to ascend by some other quarter. At other times they thought they heard restrained bursts of giggling laughter. After a great deal of exertion to no manner of purpose, they grew they neither knew what to do nor what they were doing, and at last were obliged to abandon their horses, and climb the ascent by hanging by the bushes and roots of trees. When they emerged from the deep hollow, they perceived eight black horsemen awaiting them instead of four; but as the country around Melrose and Dryburgh swarmed with members of the holy brotherhood of every distinction and rank, the troopers took no notice of it, thinking these were some of the head functionaries come to wait on their abbot. The latter chided our yeomen in sharp and resentful language for their utter stupidity in taking the wrong path, and regretted exceedingly the long delay their mistake had occasioned, his time he said being limited, as was also the time that his power prevailed in a more particular way over the powers of darkness. "For us to go alone," added he, "would signify nothing. The manual labour of breaking through the iron gates we cannot perform; therefore, unless you can keep up with us, we may return home by the way we came."

"I am truly grieved," said Dan, "at our misfortune. We have certainly been more forward than wise, and I fear have marred the fairest chance we will ever have for the deliverance of our friends. But I have a few fellow warriors at the mill who will accompany you for a word of your mouth. I beg that you will not think of returning, for the case brooks no delay. We have lost our horses, and can hardly reach the castle on foot before it be evening. I wot not what we shall do."

"Brethren, I am afraid I must request of you to lend these brave troopers your horses," said the abbot to the four last comers. "My esteem for the doughty champion of my domains is such, that I would gladly do him a favour." "O thank you, thank you, kind sir; we are mair behadden to you than tongue can tell," said Dan. The four new come brethren dismounted at their abbot's request; and, without taking a moment to hesitate, the four yeomen mounted their horses. The abbot Lawrence charged them to urge the steeds to their utmost speed. Away went the abbot and his three sable attendants, and away went the four troopers after them; but from the first moment that they started the latter lost sight of the ground, unless it was, as they thought, about a mile below their feet. The road seemed to be all one marble pavement, or sheet of solid alabaster; there was neither height nor hollow in it that they could distinguish; but the fire flew from the heels of the horses, and sparkled across the firmament like thousands of flying stars. The velocity at which they went was such, that the borderers could not draw their breath save by small broken gulps; but as they imagined they rode at such an immense distance from the ground, they kept firm by their seats for bare life, leaning forward with their eyes and their mouths wide open. Having never in all their lives rode on such a path, they were soon convinced that they could not be riding toward Aikwood, around which the roads were very different. They often attempted to speak to one another, but could not utter any thing farther than one short sound, for the swiftness with which they clove the atmosphere cut their voices short. At length Dan, perceiving his comrade, Will Martin, scouring close by his side, forced out the following sentence piecemeal:

"Where—the—devil—are we—gaun—now?"

"Straight—to—hell.—What—need—ye—speer?"

"The—lord—for—for—for—bid—Will Martin," was the reply, which has since grown to a proverb.

On they flew, over hill, over dale, over rock and river, over town, tower, and steeple, as our yeomen deemed; but they might deem what they pleased, for they saw nothing except now and then the tails of the churchmen's gowns flapping in the air before them. However, they came to their goal sooner than they expected, and that in a way as singular as that by which they reached it.

The miller at Aikwood-mill had a whole hill of kiln-seeds, or shealings of oats, thrown out in a heap adjoining to the mill. Ere ever our yeomen knew what they were doing from the time they mounted, they were all lying in this immense heap of kiln-seeds, perfectly dizzy and dumfoundered, and setting up their heads from among them with the same sort of staring stupid attempt at consideration as the heads of so many frogs which may be seen newly popped up out of a marsh. The bedesmen were a-head of them to the end of the course, and drew up by wheeling their horses round the kiln as if it had been a winning-post; but the yeomen's horses, in making the wheel, threw their riders, one by one, with a jerk over head and ears among the loose heap of seeds, and galloping off around the corner of the hill, they never saw another hair of their tails.

The miller came running out from his mill with his broad dusty bonnet; the smoky half-roasted kiln-man out from his logie; the mill-maidens came skipping from the meal-trough, as white as lilies; the rest of the warden's men, and the four sable dignitaries of the church came also, and all of them stood in a ring round our dismounted troops, some asking one question, some another, but all in loud fits of laughter. Their wits could not be rallied in an instant; and all that they could do or say was to blow the seeds out of their mouths, with which they were literally filled, and utter some indefinite sentences, such as, "Rather briskish yauds these same!" "May the like o' mine never be crossed by man again!" "Hech! but they are the gear for the lang road!" "What's become o' them? I wad like to take a right look o' them for aince." "Do ye want to look if they have mark o' mouth, Will? You may look at some o' these that came foremost then. Yours are aff wi' their tails on their rigging; there are some cheated if ever you see mair o' them." Will Martin looked at the abbot's horse; but when he saw the glance of his eye, he would not have taken him by the jaws to have looked his mouth for all Christendom.

The four sable horsemen led the way, and all the yeomen followed on foot, bearing with them such mattocks as they had been able to procure about Selkirk that morning, and away they marched in a body to Aikwood castle. That was a blyth sight to our forlorn and starving prisoners; even Gibbie had some hopes of a release: but whenever Master Michael Scott got a near view of the four sable equestrians, he sunk into profound and gloomy silence, and every now and then his whole frame was observed to give a certain convulsed shake, or shudder, which cannot be described. The rest of the sufferers supposed it to proceed from his rooted aversion to holy and devout men; but they were so intent on regaining their own liberty that they paid little attention to the manner in which he was affected. Father Lawrence bade the men proceed to work, and he would retire into an inner chamber and exercise himself so as to keep from them all sorts of interruption from spirits of whatever denomination, and he pledged himself for their protection. They thanked him, and hasted to execute their design; nor were they long in accomplishing it. By the help of huge scaling hammers they broke down a part of the narrow stair-case, and actually set their friends at liberty. But the abbot enjoined them in nowise to depart, or to do any thing contrary to the desire of the mighty Master, while they remained in his premises, else he could not answer for the consequences. This our yeomen readily assented to, and undertook to prevail with their friends to acquiesce in the same measure.

As soon as the iron-door was forced, the abbot Lawrence sent one of his officers to desire Master Michael Scott to come and speak to him privately in the secret chamber. The wizard looked at the messenger as a sovereign does to a minister of whom he is afraid, or a master to a slave, who, he knows, would assassinate him if he could; nevertheless he rose and followed him to his superior. What passed between these two dignified characters it is needless here to relate, as the substance of the matter will appear in the sequel. But the Master returned into the great hall, where the warden's men were by that time all assembled, an altered man indeed. His countenance glanced with a sublime but infernal exultation. His eye shone with ten times the vigour of youthful animation. It was like a dying flame relumined, that flashes with more than pristine brightness; and the tones of his voice were like those of a conqueror on the field of battle. With this voice, and with this mien, he ordered the friar and his ward Delany instantly to quit the castle; and if an hour hence they were found on his domains, he would cause them to be hewed into so many pieces as there were hairs on their heads.