The Heart of Mid-Lothian

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN

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The Pennsylvania State University is an equal opportunity university. Sir Walter Scott

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN

By Walter Scott

TALES OF MY LANDLORD COLLECTED AND ARRANGED BY JEDEDIAH CLEISHBOTHAM, SCHOOLMASTER AND PARISH CLERK Sir Walter Scott, 1st Baronet OF GANDERCLEUGH. (15 August 1771 – 21 September 1832) Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

3 The Heart of Mid-Lothian

PROVENANCE OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Subject or Title Original Drawing Etching

Effie and Geordie Sir J. E. Millais R. Macbeth-Raeburn Tolbooth, Cannongate Photo Etching by: John Andrew & Son Co. The Porteous Mob Wal. Paget Ad. Lalouze The Laird in Jeanie’s Cottage Hugh Cameron H. Macbeth-Raeburn “Jeanie—I say Jeanie woman!” Original Etching by: George Cruikshank St. Anthony’s Chapel Photo Etching by: John Andrew & Son Co. Muschat’s Cairn Sam Bough B. Dammon Jeanie and Effie R. Herdman H. Macbeth-Raeburn Jeanie and the Laird of Dumbiedykes Wal. Paget V. Focillon Jeanie in the Outlaws Hut Wal. Paget A. Mongin Madge and Jeanie Wal. Paget H. W. Batley A “Summat” to Eat and Drink Original Etching by: Georg Cruikshank Jeanie and Queen Caroline Wal. Paget F. Huth The Captain of Knockdunder Original Etching by: Georg Cruikshank Death of Sir George Staunton Wal. Paget Ad. Lalouze Jeanie Dean’s Cottage Photo Etching by: John Andrew & Son Co.

4 Sir Walter Scott

MID-LOTHIAN

Hear, Land o’ Cakes and brither Scots, Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat’s, If there’s a hole in a’ your coats, I rede ye tent it; A chiel’s amang you takin’ notes, An’ faith he’ll prent it!

Burns.

THE HEART OF 5 The Heart of Mid-Lothian for the want of the Tales, and may grumble as they choose: we have Taggy by the tail, and, if we have influ- EDITOR’S INTRODUCTION TO THE HEART ence to keep the best author of the day, we ought to do OF MID-LOTHIAN. it.”—[Archibald Constable, iii. 104.] Though contemplated and arranged for, “The Heart of SCOTT BEGAN to work on “The Heart of Mid-Lothian” Mid-Lothian” was not actually taken in hand till shortly almost before he had completed “Rob Roy.” On Nov. after Jan. 15, 1818, when Cadell writes that the tracts and 10, 1817, he writes to Archibald Constable announcing pamphlets on the affair of Porteous are to be collected for that the negotiations for the sale of the story to Messrs. Scott. “The author was in great glee … he says that he Longman have fallen through, their firm declining to feels very strong with what he has now in hand.” But there relieve the Ballantynes of their worthless “stock.” “So was much anxiety concerning Scott’s health. “I do not at you have the staff in your own hands, and, as you are all like this illness of Scott’s,” said James Ballantyne to on the spot, can manage it your own way. Depend on it Hogg. “I have eften seen him look jaded of late, and am that, barring unforeseen illness or death, these will be afraid it is serious.” “Hand your tongue, or I’ll gar you the best volumes which have appeared. I pique myself measure your length on the pavement,” replied Hogg. “You on the first tale, which is called ‘The Heart of Mid- fause, down-hearted loon, that ye are, you daur to speak Lothian.’” Sir Walter had thought of adding a romance, as if Scott were on his death-bed! It cannot be, it must not “The Regalia,” on the Scotch royal insignia, which had be! I will not suffer you to speak that gait.” Scott himself been rediscovered in the Castle of Edinburgh. This story complains to Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe of “these damned he never wrote. Mr. Cadell was greatly pleased at oust- spasms. The merchant Abudah’s hag was a henwife to them ing the Longmans— “they have themselves to blame when they give me a real night of it.”

6 Sir Walter Scott “The Heart of Mid-Lothian,” in spite of the author’s chief fault I have to find relates to the reappearance malady, was published in June 1818. As to its reception, and shocking fate of the boy. I hear on all sides ‘Oh, I and the criticism which it received, Lockhart has left do not like that!’ I cannot say what I would have had nothing to be gleaned. Contrary to his custom, he has instead, but I do not like it either; it is a lame, huddled published, but without the writer’s name, a letter from conclusion. I know you so well in it, by-the-by! You grow Lady Louisa Stuart, which really exhausts what criti- tired yourself, want to get rid of the story, and hardly cism can find to say about the new novel. “I have not care how.” Lady Lousia adds that Sir George Staunton only read it myself,” says Lady Louisa, “but am in a would never have hazarded himself in the streets of house where everybody is tearing it out of each other’s Edinburgh. “The end of poor Madge Wildfire is most hands, and talking of nothing else.” She preferred it to pathetic. The meeting at Muschat’s Cairn tremendous. all but “Waverley,” and congratulates him on having Dumbiedikes and Rory Beau are delightful. . . . I dare made “the perfectly good character the most interest- swear many of your readers never heard of the Duke of ing. … Had this very story been conducted by a com- Argyle before.” She ends: “If I had known nothing, and mon hand, Effie would have attracted all our concern the whole world had told me the contrary, I should have and sympathy, Jeanie only cold approbation. Whereas found you out in that one parenthesis, ‘for the man was Jeanie, without youth, beauty, genius, warns passions, mortal, and had been a schoolmaster.’” or any other novel-perfection, is here our object from Lady Louisa omits a character who was probably as beginning to end.” Lady Louisa, with her usual frank- essential to Scott’s scheme as any—Douce Davie Deans, ness, finds the Edinburgh lawyers tedious, in the intro- the old Cameronian. He had almost been annoyed by duction, and thinks that Mr. Saddletree “will not enter- the criticism of his Covenanters in “Old Mortality,” “the tain English readers.” The conclusion “flags”; “but the heavy artillery out of the Christian Instructor or some

7 The Heart of Mid-Lothian such obscure field work,” and was determined to “tickle positively vanished from the library” (the Advocates’ off” another. There are signs of a war between literary Library). “Neither book nor receipt is to be found: surely Cavaliers and literary Covenanters at this time, after the they have stolen it in the fear of the Lord.” The truth discharge of Dr. McCrie’s “heavy artillery.” Charles seems to have been that Cavaliers and Covenanters were Kirkpatrick Sharpe was presented by Surtees of racing for the manuscripts wherein they found smooth Mainsforth with a manuscript of Kirkton’s unprinted stones of the brook to pelt their opponents withal. Soon “History of the Church of Scotland.” This he set forth after Scott writes: “It was not without exertion and to edite, with the determination not to “let the Whig trouble that I this day detected Russell’s manuscript dogs have the best of it.” Every Covenanting scandal (the account of the murder of Sharpe by one of the and absurdity, such as the old story of Mess David murderers), also Kirkton and one or two others, which Williamson— “Dainty Davie”—and his remarkable Mr. McCrie had removed from their place in the library prowess, and presence of mind at Cherrytrees, was raked and deposited in a snug and secret corner.” The Cov- up, and inserted in notes to Kirkton. Scott was Sharpe’s enanters had made a raid on the ammunition of the ally in this enterprise. “I had in the persons of my for- Cavaliers. “I have given,” adds Sir Walter, “an infernal bears a full share, you see, of religious persecution . . . row on the subject of hiding books in this manner.” for all my greatgrandfathers were under the ban, and I Sharpe replies that the “villainous biographer of John think there were hardly two of them out of jail at once.” Knox” (Dr. McCrie), “that canting rogue,” is about to “I think it would be most scandalous to let the godly edite Kirkton. Sharpe therefore advertised his own edi- carry it oft thus.” “It” seems to have been the editing tion at once, and edited Kirkton by forced marches as it of Kirkton. “It is very odd the volume of Wodrow, con- were. Scott reviewed the book in the Quarterly (Jan. taining the memoir of Russell concerning the murder, is 1818). He remarked that Sharpe “had not escaped the

8 Sir Walter Scott censure of these industrious literary gentlemen of op- land by Charles, Pretended Prince of Wales, and Will- posite principles, who have suffered a work always re- iam, Pretended Duke of Cumberland.” Everything and lied upon as one of their chief authorities to lie dor- everybody not Covenanted, the House of Stuart, the mant for a hundred and forty years.” Their “querulous House of Brunswick, the House of Hapsburg, Papists, outcries” (probably from the field-work of the Chris- Prelatists and Turks, are cursed up hill and down dale, tian Instructor) he disregards. Among the passions of by these worthy survivors of the Auld Leaven. Every- this literary “bicker,” which Scott allowed to amuse him, body except the authors, Haldane and Leslie, “has bro- was Davie Deans conceived. Scott was not going to be ken the everlasting Covenant.” The very Confession of driven by querulous outcries off the Covenanting field, Westminster is arraigned for its laxity. “The whole Civil where he erected another trophy. This time he was more and Judicial Law of God,” as given to the Jews (except friendly to the “True Blue Presbyterians.” His Scotch the ritual, polygamy, divorce, slavery, and so forth), is patriotism was one of his most earnest feelings, the Cov- to be maintained in the law of Scotland. Sins are ac- enanters, at worst, were essentially Scotch, and he in- knowledged, and since the Covenant every political troduced a new Cameronian, with all the sterling hon- step—Cromwell’s Protectorate, the Restoration, the esty, the Puritanism, the impracticable ideas of the Cov- Revolution, the accession of the “Dukes of Hanover”— enant, in contact with changed times, and compelled to has been a sin. A Court of Elders is to be established to compromise. put in execution the Law of Moses. All offenders against He possessed a curious pamphlet, Haldane’s “Active the Kirk are to be “capitally punished.” Stage plays are Testimony of the true blue Presbyterians” (12mo, 1749). to be suppressed by the successors of the famous con- It is a most impartial work, “containing a declaration vention at Lanark, Anno 1682. Toleration of all reli- and testimony against the late unjust invasion of Scot- gions is “sinful,” and “contrary to the word of God.”

9 The Heart of Mid-Lothian Charles Edward and the Duke of Cumberland are cursed. very active indeed, and could be delivered, thanks to “Also we reckon it a great vice in Charles, his foolish hellish Toleration, with perfect safety, by Leslie and Pity and Lenity, in sparing these profane, blasphemous Haldane. The candour of their eloquence assuredly Redcoats, that Providence delivered into his hand, when, proves that Davie Deans is not overdrawn; indeed, he is by putting them to death, this poor land might have much less truculent than those who actually were testi- been eased of the heavy burden of these vermin of Hell.” fying even after his decease. The Auld Leaven swore terribly in Scotland. The atro- In “The Heart of Mid-Lothian” Scott set himself to cious cruelties of Cumberland after Culloden are stated draw his own people at their best. He had a heroine to with much frankness and power. The German soldiers his hand in Helen Walker, “a character so distinguished are said to have carried off “a vast deal of Spoil and for her undaunted love of virtue,” who, unlike Jeanie Plunder into Germany,” and the Redcoats had Plays Deans, “lived and died in poverty, if not want.” In 1831 and Diversions (cricket, probably) on the Inch of Perth, he erected a pillar over her grave in the old Covenanting on a Sabbath. “The Hellish, Pagan, Juggler plays are stronghold of Irongray. The inscription ends— set up and frequented with more impudence and audacity than ever.” Only the Jews, “our elder Brethren,” are Respect the Grave of Poverty, exempted from the curses of Haldane and Leslie, who When combined with Love of Truth promise to recover for them the Holy Land. “The Mas- And Dear Affection. sacre in Edinburgh” in 1736, by wicked Porteous, calls for vengeance upon the authors and abettors thereof. The sweetness, the courage, the spirit, the integrity of The army and navy are “the most wicked and flagitious Jeanie Deans have made her, of all Scott’s characters, in the Universe.” In fact, the True Blue Testimony is the dearest to her countrymen, and the name of Jeanie

10 Sir Walter Scott was given to many children, in pious memory of the drel utterly. “‘To make a Lang tale short, I canna un- blameless heroine. The foil to her, in the person of Effie, dertake the job. It gangs against my conscience.’ ‘Your is not less admirable. Among Scott’s qualities was one conscience, Rat?’ said Sharpitlaw, with a sneer, which rare among modern authors: he had an affectionate tol- the reader will probably think very natural upon the eration for his characters. If we compare Effie with occasion. ‘Ou ay, sir,’ answered Ratcliffe, calmly, ‘just Hetty in “Adam Bede,” this charming and genial qual- my conscience; a body has a conscience, though it may ity of Scott’s becomes especially striking. Hetty and be ill wunnin at it. I think mine’s as weel out o’ the gate Dinah are in very much the same situation and condi- as maist folk’s are; and yet it’s just like the noop of my tion as Effie and Jeanie Deans. But Hetty is a frivolous elbow, it whiles gets a bit dirl on a corner.’” Scott insists little animal, in whom vanity and silliness do duty for on leaving his worst people in possession of something passion: she has no heart: she is only a butterfly broken likeable, just as he cannot dismiss even Captain on the wheel of the world. Doubtless there are such Craigengelt without assuring us that Bucklaw made a women in plenty, yet we feel that her creator persecutes provision for his necessities. This is certainly a more her, and has a kind of spite against her. This was impos- humane way of writing fiction than that to which we sible to Scott. Effie has heart, sincerity, passion, loy- are accustomed in an age of humanitarianism. Nor does alty, despite her flightiness, and her readiness, when her Scott’s art suffer from his kindliness, and Effie in prison, chance comes, to play the fine lady. It was distasteful to with a heart to be broken, is not less pathetic than the Scott to create a character not human and sympathetic heartless Hetty, in the same condemnation. on one side or another. Thus his robber “of milder As to her lover, Robertson, or Sir George Staunton, he mood,” on Jeanie’s journey to England, is comparatively certainly verges on the melodramatic. Perhaps we know a good fellow, and the scoundrel Ratcliffe is not a scoun- too much about the real George Robertson, who was no

11 The Heart of Mid-Lothian heir to a title in disguise, but merely a “stabler in Bristol” strength of his genius. The reader feels a lack of reality accused “at the instance of Duncan Forbes, Esq. of in the conclusion, the fatal encounter of the father and Culloden, his Majesty’s advocate, for the crimes of the lost son, an incident as old as the legend of Odysseus. Stouthrieff, Housebreaking, and Robbery.” Robertson But this is more than atoned for by the admirable part “kept an inn in Bristo, at Edinburgh, where the of Madge Wildfire, flitting like a feu follet up and down Newcastle carrier commonly did put up,” and is believed among the douce Scotch, and the dour rioters. Madge to have been a married man. It is not very clear that the Wildfire is no repetition of Meg Merrilies, though both novel gains much by the elevation of the Bristo inn- are unrestrained natural things, rebels against the settled keeper to a baronetcy, except in so far as Effie’s appear- life, musical voices out of the past, singing forgotten ance in the character of a great lady is entertaining and songs of nameless minstrels. Nowhere but in Shakspeare characteristic, and Jeanie’s conquest of her own envy is can we find such a distraught woman as Madge Wild- exemplary. The change in social rank calls for the tragic fire, so near akin to nature and to the moods of “the conclusion, about which almost every reader agrees with bonny lady Moon.” Only he who created Ophelia could the criticism of Lady Louisa Stuart and her friends. Thus have conceived or rivalled the scene where Madge ac- the novel “filled more pages” than Mr. Jedediah companies the hunters of Staunton on the moonlit hill Cleishbotham had “opined,” and hence comes a languor and sings her warnings to the fugitive. which does not beset the story of “Old Mortality.” Scott’s own love of adventure and of stirring incidents When the glede’s in the blue cloud, at any cost is an excellent quality in a novelist, but it The lavrock lies still; does, in this instance, cause him somewhat to dilute those When the hound’s in the green-wood, immortal studies of Scotch character which are the The hind keeps the hill.

12 Sir Walter Scott There’s a bloodhound ranging Tinwald wood, sees her but mysell.” Scott did not deal much in the fac- There’s harness glancing sheen; ile pathos of the death-bed, but that of Madge Wildfire There’s a maiden sits on Tinwald brae, has a grace of poetry, and her latest song is the sweetest And she sings loud between. and wildest of his lyrics, the most appropriate in its set- O sleep ye sound, Sir James, she said, ting. When we think of the contrasts to her—the hon- When ye suld rise and ride? est, dull good-nature of Dumbiedikes; the common-sense There’s twenty men, wi’ bow and blade, and humour of Mrs. Saddletree; the pragmatic pedantry Are seeking where ye hide. of her husband; the Highland pride, courage, and absurdity of the Captain of Knockdander—when we con- The madness of Madge Wildfire has its parallel in the sider all these so various and perfect creations, we need wildness of Goethe’s Marguerite, both of them lament- not wonder that Scott was “in high glee” over “The ing the lost child, which, to Madge’s fancy, is now dead, Heart of Mid-Lothian,” “felt himself very strong,” and now living in a dream. But the gloom that hangs about thought that these would be “the best volumes that have Muschat’s Cairn, the ghastly vision of “crying up Ailie appeared.” The difficulty, as usual, is to understand how, Muschat, and she and I will hae a grand bouking-wash- in all this strength, he permitted himself to be so care- ing, and bleach our claise in the beams of the bonny less over what is really by far the easiest part of the Lady Moon,” have a terror beyond the German, and are novelist’s task—the construction. But so it was; about unexcelled by Webster or by Ford. “But the moon, and “The Monastery” he said, “it was written with as much the dew, and the night-wind, they are just like a caller care as the rest, that is, with no care at all.” His genius kail-blade laid on my brow; and whiles I think the moon flowed free in its own unconscious abundance: where just shines on purpose to pleasure me, when naebody conscious deliberate workmanship was needed, “the

13 The Heart of Mid-Lothian forthright craftsman’s hand,” there alone he was lax and must ever be the case, when an author’s characters are irresponsible. In Shakspeare’s case we can often account not puppets but real creations. They then have a will for similar incongruities by the constraint of the old plot and a way of their own; a free-will which their creator which he was using; but Scott was making his own plots, cannot predetermine and correct. Something like this or letting them make themselves. “I never could lay appears to have been Scott’s own theory of his lack of down a plan, or, having laid it down, I never could ad- constructive power. No one was so assured of its ab- here to it; the action of composition always diluted some sence, no one criticised it more severely than he did him- passages and abridged or omitted others; and person- self. The Edinburgh Review about this time counselled ages were rendered important or insignificant, not ac- the “Author of Waverley” to attempt a drama, doubt- cording to their agency in the original conception of ing only his powers of compression. Possibly work at a the plan, but according to the success or otherwise with drama might have been of advantage to the genius of which I was able to bring them out. I only tried to make Scott. He was unskilled in selection and rejection, which that which I was actually writing diverting and inter- the drama especially demands. But he detested the idea esting, leaving the rest to fate. . . When I chain my mind of writing for actors, whom he regarded as ignorant, to ideas which are purely imaginative—for argument is dull, and conceited. “I shall not fine and renew a lease a different thing—it seems to me that the sun leaves the of popularity upon the theatre. To write for low, ill-in- landscape, that I think away the whole vivacity and formed, and conceited actors, whom you must please, spirit of my original conception, and that the results for your success is necessarily at their mercy, I cannot are cold, tame, and spiritless.” away with,” he wrote to Southey. “Avowedly, I will never In fact, Sir Walter was like the Magician who can raise write for the stage; if I do, ‘call me horse,’” he remarks spirits that, once raised, dominate him. Probably this to Terry. He wanted “neither the profit nor the shame

14 Sir Walter Scott of it.” “I do not think that the character of the audi- for, and their little adventure at Gandercleugh is unreal. ence in London is such that one could have the least Oddly enough, part of their conversation is absolutely pleasure in pleasing them.” He liked helping Terry to in the manner of Dickens. “Terryfy” “The Heart of Mid-Lothian,” and his other “‘I think,’ said I, … ‘the metropolitan county may, in novels, but he had no more desire than a senator of Rome that case, be said to have a sad heart.’ would have had to see his name become famous by the “‘Right as my glove, Mr. Pattieson,’ added Mr. Hardie; Theatre. This confirmed repulsion in one so learned in ‘and a close heart, and a hard heart—Keep it up, Jack.’ the dramatic poets is a curious trait in Scott’s charac- “‘And a wicked heart, and a poor heart,’ answered ter. He could not accommodate his genius to the needs Halkit, doing his best. of the stage, and that crown which has most potently “‘And yet it may be called in some sort a strong heart, allured most men of genius he would have thrust away, and a high heart,’ rejoined the advocate. ‘You see I can had it been offered to him, with none of Caesar’s reluc- put you both out of heart.’” tance. At the bottom of all this lay probably the secret Fortunately we have no more of this easy writing, conviction that his genius was his master, that it must which makes such very melancholy reading. take him where it would, on paths where he was com- The narrative of the Porteous mob, as given by the pelled to follow. Terse and concentrated, of set purpose, novelist, is not, it seems, entirely accurate. Like most he could not be. A notable instance of this inability oc- artists, Sir Walter took the liberty of “composing” his curs in the Introductory Chapter to “The Heart of Mid- picture. In his “Illustrations of the Author of Waverley” Lothian,” which has probably frightened away many (1825) Mr. Robert Chambers records the changes in facts modern readers. The Advocate and the Writer to the made by Scott. In the first place, Wilson did not attack Signet and the poor Client are persons quite uncalled his guard, and enable Robertson to escape, after the ser-

15 The Heart of Mid-Lothian mon, but as soon as the criminals took their seats in the evening, but pronounced the reports to be “caddies’ clat- pew. When fleeing out, Robertson tripped over “the ters.” Their negligence, of course, must have increased plate,” set on a stand to receive alms and oblations, the indignation of the Queen. The riot, according to a whereby he hurt himself, and was seen to stagger and very old man, consulted by Mr. Chambers, was headed fall in running down the stairs leading to the Cowgate. by two butchers, named Cumming, “tall, strong, and Mr. McQueen, Minister of the New Kirk, was coming exceedingly handsome men, who dressed in women’s up the stairs. He conceived it to be his duty to set clothes as a disguise.” The rope was tossed out of a win- Robertson on his feet again, “and covered his retreat as dow in a “small wares shop” by a woman, who received much as possible from the pursuit of the guard.” a piece of gold in exchange. This extravagance is one of Robertson ran up the Horse Wynd, out at Potter Row the very few points which suggest that people of some Port, got into the King’s Park, and headed for the vil- wealth may have been concerned in the affair. Tradi- lage of Duddingston, beside the loch on the south-east tion, according to Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, believed of Arthur’s Seat. He fainted after jumping a dyke, but in noble leaders of the riot. It is certain that several was picked up and given some refreshment. He lay in witnesses of good birth and position testified very hiding till he could escape to Holland. strongly against Porteous, at his trial. The conspiracy to hang Porteous did not, in fact, de- According to Hogg, Scott’s “fame was now so firmly velop in a few hours, after his failure to appear on the established that he cared not a fig for the opinion of his scaffold. The Queen’s pardon (or a reprieve) reached literary friends beforehand.” He was pleased, however, Edinburgh on Thursday, Sept. 2; the Riot occurred on by the notice of “Ivanhoe,” “The Heart of Mid- the night of Sept. 7. The council had been informed that Lothian,” and “The Bride of Lammermoor” in the lynching was intended, thirty-six hours before the fatal Edinburgh Review of 1820, as he showed by quoting

16 Sir Walter Scott part of its remarks. The Reviewer frankly observed “that, when we began with one of these works, we were An essay by Mr. George Ormond, based on manuscripts conscious that we never knew how to leave off. The in the Edinburgh Record office (Scottish Review, July, Porteous mob is rather heavily described, and the whole 1892), adds little to what is known about the Porteous part of George Robertson, or Staunton, is extravagant Riot. It is said that Porteous was let down alive, and and displeasing. The final catastrophe is needlessly im- hanged again, more than once, that his arm was broken probable and startling.” The critic felt that he must be by a Lochaber axe, and that a torch was applied to the critical, but his praise of Effie and Jeanie Deans obvi- foot from which the shoe had fallen. A pamphlet of 1787 ously comes from his heart. Jeanie’s character “is supe- says that Robertson became a spy on smugglers in Hol- rior to anything we can recollect in the history of inland, returned to London, procured a pardon through vention . . . a remarkable triumph over the greatest of the Butcher Cumberland, and “at last died in misery in all difficulties in the conduct of a fictitious narrative.” London.” It is plain that Colonel Moyle might have res- The critique ends with “an earnest wish that the Au- cued Porteous, but he was naturally cautious about en- thor would try his hand in the lore of Shakspeare”; but, tering the city gates without a written warrant from wiser than the woers of Penelope, Scott refused to make the civil authorities. that perilous adventure.

ANDREW LANG.

17 The Heart of Mid-Lothian TO THE BEST OF PATRONS, walls having been aforehand pronounced by Deacon A PLEASED AND INDULGENT READER Barrow to be capable of enduring such an elevation. Nor has it been without delectation that I have endued a JEDEDIAH CLEISHBOTHAM new coat (snuff-brown, and with metal buttons), hav- WISHES HEALTH, AND INCREASE, AND CON- ing all nether garments corresponding thereto. We do TENTMENT. therefore lie, in respect of each other, under a reciproca- tion of benefits, whereof those received by me being the Courteous Reader, most solid (in respect that a new house and a new coat are better than a new tale and an old song), it is meet If ingratitude comprehendeth every vice, surely so foul that my gratitude should be expressed with the louder a stain worst of all beseemeth him whose life has been voice and more preponderating vehemence. And how devoted to instructing youth in virtue and in humane should it be so expressed?—Certainly not in words only, letters. Therefore have I chosen, in this prolegomenon, but in act and deed. It is with this sole purpose, and to unload my burden of thanks at thy feet, for the favour disclaiming all intention of purchasing that pendicle or with which thou last kindly entertained the Tales of poffle of land called the Carlinescroft, lying adjacent to my Landlord. Certes, if thou hast chuckled over their my garden, and measuring seven acres, three roods, and factious and festivous descriptions, or hadst thy mind four perches, that I have committed to the eyes of those filled with pleasure at the strange and pleasant turns of who thought well of the former tomes, these four addi- fortune which they record, verily, I have also simpered tional volumes of the Tales of my Landlord. Not the when I beheld a second storey with attics, that has arisen less, if Peter Prayfort be minded to sell the said poffle, on the basis of my small domicile at Gandercleugh, the it is at his own choice to say so; and, peradventure, he

18 Sir Walter Scott may meet with a purchaser: unless (gentle reader) the a generation hard of faith; since what can a man do to pleasing pourtraictures of Peter Pattieson, now given assert his property in a printed tome, saving to put his unto thee in particular, and unto the public in general, name in the title-page thereof, with his description, or shall have lost their favour in thine eyes, whereof I am designation, as the lawyers term it, and place of abode? no way distrustful. And so much confidence do I repose Of a surety I would have such sceptics consider how in thy continued favour, that, should thy lawful occa- they themselves would brook to have their works as- sions call thee to the town of Gandercleugh, a place fre- cribed to others, their names and professions imputed quented by most at one time or other in their lives, I as forgeries, and their very existence brought into ques- will enrich thine eyes with a sight of those precious tion; even although, peradventure, it may be it is of little manuscripts whence thou hast derived so much delecta- consequence to any but themselves, not only whether tion, thy nose with a snuff from my mull, and thy pal- they are living or dead, but even whether they ever lived ate with a dram from my bottle of strong waters, called or no. Yet have my maligners carried their uncharitable by the learned of Gandercleugh, the Dominie’s Dribble censures still farther. o’ Drink. These cavillers have not only doubted mine identity, It is there, O highly esteemed and beloved reader, thou although thus plainly proved, but they have impeached wilt be able to bear testimony, through the medium of my veracity and the authenticity of my historical nar- thine own senses, against the children of vanity, who ratives! Verily, I can only say in answer, that I have been have sought to identify thy friend and servant with I cautelous in quoting mine authorities. It is true, indeed, know not what inditer of vain fables; who hath cum- that if I had hearkened with only one ear, I might have bered the world with his devices, but shrunken from the rehearsed my tale with more acceptation from those who responsibility thereof. Truly, this hath been well termed love to hear but half the truth. It is, it may hap, not

19 The Heart of Mid-Lothian altogether to the discredit of our kindly nation of Scot- unto death for high-treason. Natheless, while such and land, that we are apt to take an interest, warm, yea par- so preposterous were the opinions on either side, there tial, in the deeds and sentiments of our forefathers. He were, it cannot be doubted, men of virtue and worth on whom his adversaries describe as a perjured Prelatist, is both, to entitle either party to claim merit from its desirous that his predecessors should be held moderate martyrs. It has been demanded of me, Jedediah in their power, and just in their execution of its privi- Cleishbotham, by what right I am entitled to constitute leges, when truly, the unimpassioned peruser of the an- myself an impartial judge of their discrepancies of opin- nals of those times shall deem them sanguinary, vio- ions, seeing (as it is stated) that I must necessarily have lent, and tyrannical. Again, the representatives of the descended from one or other of the contending parties, suffering Nonconformists desire that their ancestors, the and be, of course, wedded for better or for worse, ac- Cameronians, shall be represented not simply as honest cording to the reasonable practice of Scotland, to its enthusiasts, oppressed for conscience’ sake, but persons dogmata, or opinions, and bound, as it were, by the tie of fine breeding, and valiant heroes. Truly, the histo- matrimonial, or, to speak without metaphor, ex jure san- rian cannot gratify these predilections. He must needs guinis, to maintain them in preference to all others. describe the cavaliers as proud and high-spirited, cruel, But, nothing denying the rationality of the rule, which remorseless, and vindictive; the suffering party as calls on all now living to rule their political and reli- honourably tenacious of their opinions under persecu- gious opinions by those of their great-grandfathers, and tion; their own tempers being, however, sullen, fierce, inevitable as seems the one or the other horn of the di- and rude; their opinions absurd and extravagant; and lemma betwixt which my adversaries conceive they have their whole course of conduct that of persons whom pinned me to the wall, I yet spy some means of refuge, hellebore would better have suited than prosecutions and claim a privilege to write and speak of both parties

20 Sir Walter Scott with impartiality. For, O ye powers of logic! when the Prelatists and Presbyterians of old times went together by the ears in this unlucky country, my ancestor (vener- INTRODUCTION TO THE HEART OF MID- ated be his memory!) was one of the people called Quak- LOTHIAN—(1830). ers, and suffered severe handling from either side, even to the extenuation of his purse and the incarceration of his person. The author has stated, in the preface to the Chronicles Craving thy pardon, gentle Reader, for these few words of the Canongate, 1827, that he received from an anony- concerning me and mine, I rest, as above expressed, thy mous correspondent an account of the incident upon sure and obligated friend,* which the following story is founded. He is now at liberty to say, that the information was conveyed to him J. C. GANDERCLEUGH, this 1st of April, 1818. by a late amiable and ingenious lady, whose wit and power of remarking and judging of character still survive in the memory of her friends. Her maiden name was Miss Helen Lawson, of Girthhead, and she was wife of Thomas Goldie, Esq. of Craigmuie, Commissary of Dumfries. Her communication was in these words:— “I had taken for summer lodgings a cottage near the old Abbey of Lincluden. It had formerly been inhabited by a lady who had pleasure in embellishing cottages, * Note A. Author’s connection with Quakerism. 21 The Heart of Mid-Lothian which she found perhaps homely and even poor enough; son I heard offering them for sale. It was a little, rather mine, therefore, possessed many marks of taste and el- stout-looking woman, who seemed to be between sev- egance unusual in this species of habitation in Scotland, enty and eighty years of age; she was almost covered where a cottage is literally what its name declares. with a tartan plaid, and her cap had over it a black silk “From my cottage door I had a partial view of the old hood, tied under the chin, a piece of dress still much in Abbey before mentioned; some of the highest arches use among elderly women of that rank of life in Scot- were seen over, and some through, the trees scattered land; her eyes were dark, and remarkably lively and in- along a lane which led down to the ruin, and the strange telligent; I entered into conversation with her, and be- fantastic shapes of almost all those old ashes accorded gan by asking how she maintained herself, etc. wonderfully well with the building they at once shaded “She said that in winter she footed stockings, that is, and ornamented. knit feet to country-people’s stockings, which bears “The Abbey itself from my door was almost on a level about the same relation to stocking-knitting that cob- with the cottage; but on coming to the end of the lane, bling does to shoe-making, and is of course both less it was discovered to be situated on a high perpendicular profitable and less dignified; she likewise taught a few bank, at the foot of which run the clear waters of the children to read, and in summer she whiles reared a few Cluden, where they hasten to join the sweeping Nith, chickens. “I said I could venture to guess from her face she had ‘Whose distant roaring swells and fa’s.’ never been married. She laughed heartily at this, and said, ‘I maun hae the queerest face that ever was seen, As my kitchen and parlour were not very far distant, I that ye could guess that. Now, do tell me, madam, how one day went in to purchase some chickens from a per- ye cam to think sae?’ I told her it was from her cheerful

22 Sir Walter Scott disengaged countenance. She said, ‘Mem, have ye na far by the laws of her country for child-murder, and upon mair reason to be happy than me, wi’ a gude husband being called as principal witness against her. The coun- and a fine family o’ bairns, and plenty o’ everything? sel for the prisoner told Helen, that if she could declare for me, I’m the puirest o’ a’ puir bodies, and can hardly that her sister had made any preparations, however contrive to keep mysell alive in a’ the wee bits o’ ways I slight, or had given her any intimation on the subject, hae tell’t ye.’ After some more conversation, during that such a statement would save her sister’s life, as she which I was more and more pleased with the old womans was the principal witness against her. Helen said, ‘It is sensible conversation, and the naivete of her remarks, impossible for me to swear to a falsehood; and, what- she rose to go away, when I asked her name. Her coun- ever may be the consequence, I will give my oath ac- tenance suddenly clouded, and she said gravely, rather cording to my conscience.’ colouring, ‘My name is Helen Walker; but your husband “The trial came on, and the sister was found guilty kens weel about me.’ and condemned; but in Scotland six weeks must elapse “In the evening I related how much I had been pleased, between the sentence and the execution, and Helen and inquired what was extraordinary in the history of Walker availed herself of it. The very day of her sister’s the poor woman. Mr. —— said, there were perhaps few condemnation she got a petition drawn, stating the pe- more remarkable people than Helen Walker. She had culiar circumstances of the case, and that very night been left an orphan, with the charge of a sister consid- set out on foot to London. erably younger than herself, and who was educated and “Without introduction or recommendation, with her maintained by her exertions. Attached to herby so many simple (perhaps ill-expressed) petition, drawn up by ties, therefore, it will not be easy to conceive her feel- some inferior clerk of the court, she presented herself, ings, when she found that this only sister must be tried in her tartan plaid and country attire, to the late Duke

23 The Heart of Mid-Lothian of Argyle, who immediately procured the pardon she This narrative was inclosed in the following letter to petitioned for, and Helen returned with it on foot just the author, without date or signature— in time to save her sister. “Sir,—The occurrence just related happened to me “I was so strongly interested by this narrative, that I twenty-six years ago. Helen Walker lies buried in the determined immediately to prosecute my acquaintance churchyard of Irongray, about six miles from Dumfries. with Helen Walker; but as I was to leave the country I once proposed that a small monument should have next day, I was obliged to defer it till my return in spring, been erected to commemorate so remarkable a charac- when the first walk I took was to Helen Walker’s cot- ter, but I now prefer leaving it to you to perpetuate her tage. memory in a more durable manner.” “She had died a short time before. My regret was ex- The reader is now able to judge how far the author has treme, and I endeavoured to obtain some account of improved upon, or fallen short of, the pleasing and in- Helen from an old woman who inhabited the other end teresting sketch of high principle and steady affection of her cottage. I inquired if Helen ever spoke of her displayed by Helen Walker, the prototype of the ficti- past history—her journey to London, etc., ‘Na,’ the old tious Jeanie Deans. Mrs. Goldie was unfortunately dead woman said, ‘Helen was a wily body, and whene’er ony before the author had given his name to these volumes, o’ the neebors asked anything about it, she aye turned so he lost all opportunity of thanking that lady for her the conversation.’ highly valuable communication. But her daughter, Miss “In short, every answer I received only tended to in- Goldie, obliged him with the following additional infor- crease my regret, and raise my opinion of Helen Walker, mation:— who could unite so much prudence with so much heroic “Mrs. Goldie endeavoured to collect further particu- virtue.” lars of Helen Walker, particularly concerning her jour-

24 Sir Walter Scott ney to London, but found this nearly impossible; as the inn, was shown into the parlour by a female servant, natural dignity of her character, and a high sense of who, after cautiously shutting the door, said, ‘Sir, I’m family respectability, made her so indissolubly connect Nelly Walker’s sister.’ Thus practically showing that she her sister’s disgrace with her own exertions, that none considered her sister as better known by her high con- of her neighbours durst ever question her upon the sub- duct than even herself by a different kind of celebrity. ject. One old woman, a distant relation of Helen’s, and “Mrs. Goldie was extremely anxious to have a tomb- who is still living, says she worked an harvest with her, stone and an inscription upon it erected in Irongray but that she never ventured to ask her about her sister’s Churchyard; and if Sir Walter Scott will condescend to trial, or her journey to London; ‘Helen,’ she added, ‘was write the last, a little subscription could be easily raised a lofty body, and used a high style o’ language.’ The in the immediate neighbourhood, and Mrs. Goldie’s wish same old woman says, that every year Helen received a be thus fulfilled.” cheese from her sister, who lived at Whitehaven, and It is scarcely necessary to add that the request of Miss that she always sent a liberal portion of it to herself, or Goldie will be most willingly complied with, and with- to her father’s family. This fact, though trivial in itself, out the necessity of any tax on the public.* Nor is there strongly marks the affection subsisting between the two much occasion to repeat how much the author conceives sisters, and the complete conviction on the mind of the himself obliged to his unknown correspondent, who thus criminal that her sister had acted solely from high prin- supplied him with a theme affording such a pleasing view ciple, not from any want of feeling, which another small of the moral dignity of virtue, though unaided by birth, but characteristic trait will further illustrate. A gentle- beauty, or talent. If the picture has suffered in the ex- man, a relation of Mrs. Goldie’s, who happened to be ecution, it is from the failure of the author’s powers to travelling in the North of England, on coming to a small * Note B. Tombstone to Helen Walker. 25 The Heart of Mid-Lothian present in detail the same simple and striking portrait Helen Walker was held among her equals pensy, that exhibited in Mrs. Goldie’s letter. is, proud or conceited; but the facts brought to prove Abbotsford, April 1, 1830. this accusation seem only to evince a strength of character superior to those around her. Thus it was remarked, POSTSCRIPT. that when it thundered, she went with her work and her Bible to the front of the cottage, alleging that the Al- Although it would be impossible to add much to Mrs. mighty could smite in the city as well as in the field. Goldie’s picturesque and most interesting account of Mr. M’Diarmid mentions more particularly the mis- Helen Walker, the prototype of the imaginary Jeanie fortune of her sister, which he supposes to have taken Deans, the Editor may be pardoned for introducing two place previous to 1736. Helen Walker, declining every or three anecdotes respecting that excellent person, proposal of saving her relation’s life at the expense of which he has collected from a volume entitled, Sketches truth, borrowed a sum of money sufficient for her jour- from Nature, by John M’Diarmid, a gentleman who con- ney, walked the whole distance to London barefoot, and ducts an able provincial paper in the town of Dumfries. made her way to John Duke of Argyle. She was heard Helen was the daughter of a small farmer in a place to say, that, by the Almighty strength, she had been called Dalwhairn, in the parish of Irongray; where, af- enabled to meet the Duke at the most critical moment, ter the death of her father, she continued, with the un- which, if lost, would have caused the inevitable forfei- assuming piety of a Scottish peasant, to support her ture of her sister’s life. mother by her own unremitted labour and privations; a Isabella, or Tibby Walker, saved from the fate which case so common, that even yet, I am proud to say, few impended over her, was married by the person who had of my countrywomen would shrink from the duty. wronged her (named Waugh), and lived happily for great

26 Sir Walter Scott part of a century, uniformly acknowledging the extraordinary affection to which she owed her preservation. Helen Walker died about the end of the year 1791, INTRODUCTORY and her remains are interred in the churchyard of her native parish of Irongray, in a romantic cemetery on So down thy hill, romantic Ashbourn, glides the banks of the Cairn. That a character so distinguished The Derby dilly, carrying six insides. for her undaunted love of virtue, lived and died in poverty, if not want, serves only to show us how insignifi- Frere. cant, in the sight of Heaven, are our principal objects of ambition upon earth. THE TIMES HAVE CHANGED in nothing more (we follow as we were wont the manuscript of Peter Pattieson) than in the rapid conveyance of intelligence and communication betwixt one part of Scotland and another. It is not above twenty or thirty years, according to the evidence of many credible witnesses now alive, since a little miserable horse-cart, performing with difficulty a journey of thirty miles per diem, carried our mails from the capital of Scotland to its extremity. Nor was Scotland much more deficient in these accommodations than our rich sister had been about eighty years before. Fielding,

27 The Heart of Mid-Lothian in his Tom Jones, and Farquhar, in a little farce called Salmoneus meets with as undesirable and violent a ter- the Stage-Coach, have ridiculed the slowness of these mination as that of their prototype. It is on such occa- vehicles of public accommodation. According to the lat- sions that the Insides and Outsides, to use the appropri- ter authority, the highest bribe could only induce the ate vehicular phrases, have reason to rue the exchange coachman to promise to anticipate by half-an-hour the of the slow and safe motion of the ancient Fly-coaches, usual time of his arrival at the Bull and Mouth. which, compared with the chariots of Mr. Palmer, so ill But in both countries these ancient, slow, and sure deserve the name. The ancient vehicle used to settle modes of conveyance are now alike unknown; mail-coach quietly down, like a ship scuttled and left to sink by the races against mail-coach, and high-flyer against high- gradual influx of the waters, while the modern is flyer, through the most remote districts of Britain. And smashed to pieces with the velocity of the same vessel in our village alone, three post-coaches, and four coaches hurled against breakers, or rather with the fury of a with men armed, and in scarlet cassocks, thunder bomb bursting at the conclusion of its career through through the streets each day, and rival in brilliancy and the air. The late ingenious Mr. Pennant, whose humour noise the invention of the celebrated tyrant:— it was to set his face in stern opposition to these speedy conveyances, had collected, I have heard, a formidable Demens, qui nimbos et non imitabile fulmen, list of such casualties, which, joined to the imposition Ære et cornipedum pulsu, simularat, equorum. of innkeepers, whose charges the passengers had no time to dispute, the sauciness of the coachman, and the un- Now and then, to complete the resemblance, and to cor- controlled and despotic authority of the tyrant called rect the presumption of the venturous charioteers, it the guard, held forth a picture of horror, to which mur- does happen that the career of these dashing rivals of der, theft, fraud, and peculation, lent all their dark

28 Sir Walter Scott colouring. But that which gratifies the impatience of when longing for intelligence from the mart of news.— the human disposition will be practised in the teeth of danger, and in defiance of admonition; and, in despite The grand debate, of the Cambrian antiquary, mail-coaches not only roll The popular harangue,—the tart reply,— their thunders round the base of Penman-Maur and The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit, Cader-Idris, but And the loud laugh,—I long to know them all;— I burn to set the imprisoned wranglers free, Frighted Skiddaw hears afar And give them voice and utterance again. The rattling of the unscythed car. It was with such feelings that I eyed the approach of And perhaps the echoes of Ben Nevis may soon be awak- the new coach, lately established on our road, and known ened by the bugle, not of a warlike chieftain, but of the by the name of the Somerset, which, to say truth, pos- guard of a mail-coach. sesses some interest for me, even when it conveys no such It was a fine summer day, and our little school had important information. The distant tremulous sound of obtained a half-holiday, by the intercession of a good- its wheels was heard just as I gained the summit of the humoured visitor.* gentle ascent, called the Goslin-brae, from which you I expected by the coach a new number of an interest- command an extensive view down the valley of the river ing periodical publication, and walked forward on the Gander. The public road, which comes up the side of highway to meet it, with the impatience which Cowper that stream, and crosses it at a bridge about a quarter has described as actuating the resident in the country of a mile from the place where I was standing, runs * His honour Gilbert Goslinn of Gandercleugh; for I love to partly through enclosures and plantations, and partly be precise in matters of importance.—J. C. 29 The Heart of Mid-Lothian through open pasture land. It is a childish amusement by seeing the coach rattle past me as I sat on the turf, perhaps,—but my life has been spent with children, and and hearing the hoarse grating voice of the guard as he why should not my pleasures be like theirs?—childish skimmed forth for my grasp the expected packet, with- as it is then, I must own I have had great pleasure in out the carriage checking its course for an instant. I had watching the approach of the carriage, where the open- seen the vehicle thunder down the hill that leads to the ings of the road permit it to be seen. The gay glancing bridge with more than its usual impetuosity, glittering of the equipage, its diminished and toy-like appearance all the while by flashes from a cloudy tabernacle of the at a distance, contrasted with the rapidity of its mo- dust which it had raised, and leaving a train behind it tion, its appearance and disappearance at intervals, and on the road resembling a wreath of summer mist. But it the progressively increasing sounds that announce its did not appear on the top of the nearer bank within the nearer approach, have all to the idle and listless specta- usual space of three minutes, which frequent observa- tor, who has nothing more important to attend to, some- tion had enabled me to ascertain was the medium time thing of awakening interest. The ridicule may attach to for crossing the bridge and mounting the ascent. When me, which is flung upon many an honest citizen, who double that space had elapsed, I became alarmed, and watches from the window of his villa the passage of the walked hastily forward. As I came in sight of the bridge, stage-coach; but it is a very natural source of amuse- the cause of delay was too manifest, for the Somerset ment notwithstanding, and many of those who join in had made a summerset in good earnest, and overturned the laugh are perhaps not unused to resort to it in se- so completely, that it was literally resting upon the cret. ground, with the roof undermost, and the four wheels On the present occasion, however, fate had decreed that in the air. The “exertions of the guard and coachman,” I should not enjoy the consummation of the amusement both of whom were gratefully commemorated in the

30 Sir Walter Scott newspapers, having succeeded in disentangling the horses by cutting the harness, were now proceeding to I applied my poor exertions where they seemed to be extricate the insides by a sort of summary and Caesar- most needed, and with the assistance of one or two of ean process of delivery, forcing the hinges from one of the company who had escaped unhurt, easily succeeded the doors which they could not open otherwise. In this in fishing out two of the unfortunate passengers, who manner were two disconsolate damsels set at liberty from were stout active young fellows; and, but for the pre- the womb of the leathern conveniency. As they imme- posterous length of their greatcoats, and the equally diately began to settle their clothes, which were a little fashionable latitude and longitude of their Wellington deranged, as may be presumed, I concluded they had trousers, would have required little assistance from any received no injury, and did not venture to obtrude my one. The third was sickly and elderly, and might have services at their toilette, for which, I understand, I have perished but for the efforts used to preserve him. since been reflected upon by the fair sufferers. The When the two greatcoated gentlemen had extricated outsides, who must have been discharged from their el- themselves from the river, and shaken their ears like huge evated situation by a shock resembling the springing of water-dogs, a violent altercation ensued betwixt them a mine, escaped, nevertheless, with the usual allowance and the coachman and guard, concerning the cause of of scratches and bruises, excepting three, who, having their overthrow. In the course of the squabble, I observed been pitched into the river Gander, were dimly seen con- that both my new acquaintances belonged to the law, tending with the tide like the relics of AEneas’s ship- and that their professional sharpness was likely to prove wreck,— an overmatch for the surly and official tone of the guard- ians of the vehicle. The dispute ended in the guard as- Rari apparent mantes in gurgite vasto. suring the passengers that they should have seats in a

31 The Heart of Mid-Lothian heavy coach which would pass that spot in less than They immediately applied to me to guide them to the half-an-hour, provided it were not full. Chance seemed next village and the best inn; and from the account I gave to favour this arrangement, for when the expected ve- them of the Wallace Head, declared they were much bet- hicle, arrived, there were only two places occupied in a ter pleased to stop there than to go forward upon the terms carriage which professed to carry six. The two ladies of that impudent scoundrel the guard of the Somerset. who had been disinterred out of the fallen vehicle were All that they now wanted was a lad to carry their travel- readily admitted, but positive objections were stated by ling bags, who was easily procured from an adjoining cot- those previously in possession to the admittance of the tage; and they prepared to walk forward, when they found two lawyers, whose wetted garments being much of the there was another passenger in the same deserted situa- nature of well-soaked sponges, there was every reason tion with themselves. This was the elderly and sickly-look- to believe they would refund a considerable part of the ing person, who had been precipitated into the river along water they had collected, to the inconvenience of their with the two young lawyers. He, it seems, had been too fellow-passengers. On the other hand, the lawyers re- modest to push his own plea against the coachman when jected a seat on the roof, alleging that they had only he saw that of his betters rejected, and now remained betaken that station for pleasure for one stage, but were hind with a look of timid anxiety, plainly intimating that entitled in all respects to free egress and regress from he was deficient in those means of recommendation which the interior, to which their contract positively referred. are necessary passports to the hospitality of an inn. After some altercation, in which something was said I ventured to call the attention of the two dashing upon the edict Nautae caupones stabularii, the coach young blades, for such they seemed, to the desolate con- went off, leaving the learned gentlemen to abide by their dition of their fellow-traveller. They took the hint with action of damages. ready good-nature.

32 Sir Walter Scott “O, true, Mr. Dunover,” said one of the youngsters, “that Gideon’s fleece remains dry, while all around is “you must not remain on the pave’ here; you must go moist; this is the reverse of the miracle.” and have some dinner with us—Halkit and I must have “We ought to be received with gratitude in this good a post-chaise to go on, at all events, and we will set you town; we bring a supply of what they seem to need down wherever suits you best.” most,” said Halkit. The poor man, for such his dress, as well as his diffi- “And distribute it with unparalleled generosity,” re- dence, bespoke him, made the sort of acknowledging plied his companion; “performing the part of three wa- bow by which says a Scotsman, “It’s too much honour ter-carts for the benefit of their dusty roads.” for the like of me;” and followed humbly behind his gay “We come before them, too,” said Halkit, “in full pro- patrons, all three besprinkling the dusty road as they fessional force—counsel and agent”— walked along with the moisture of their drenched gar- “And client,” said the young advocate, looking behind ments, and exhibiting the singular and somewhat ridicu- him; and then added, lowering his voice, “that looks as lous appearance of three persons suffering from the op- if he had kept such dangerous company too long.” posite extreme of humidity, while the summer sun was It was, indeed, too true, that the humble follower of at its height, and everything else around them had the the gay young men had the threadbare appearance of a expression of heat and drought. The ridicule did not worn-out litigant, and I could not but smile at the con- escape the young gentlemen themselves, and they had ceit, though anxious to conceal my mirth from the ob- made what might be received as one or two tolerable ject of it. jests on the subject before they had advanced far on their When we arrived at the Wallace Inn, the elder of the peregrination. Edinburgh gentlemen, and whom I understood to be a “We cannot complain, like Cowley,” said one of them, barrister, insisted that I should remain and take part of

33 The Heart of Mid-Lothian their dinner; and their inquiries and demands speedily interest in the language of both. But to me, who had no put my landlord and his whole family in motion to pro- pretensions to be so critical, my companions seemed to duce the best cheer which the larder and cellar afforded, form a very happy mixture of good-breeding and lib- and proceed to cook it to the best advantage, a science eral information, with a disposition to lively rattle, pun, in which our entertainers seemed to be admirably skilled. and jest, amusing to a grave man, because it is what he In other respects they were lively young men, in the hey- himself can least easily command. day of youth and good spirits, playing the part which is The thin pale-faced man, whom their good-nature had common to the higher classes of the law at Edinburgh, brought into their society, looked out of place as well as and which nearly resembles that of the young Templars out of spirits; sate on the edge of his seat, and kept the in the days of Steele and Addison. An air of giddy gai- chair at two feet distance from the table; thus incom- ety mingled with the good sense, taste, and information moding himself considerably in conveying the victuals which their conversation exhibited; and it seemed to be to his mouth, as if by way of penance for partaking of their object to unite the character of men of fashion them in the company of his superiors. A short time af- and lovers of the polite arts. A fine gentleman, bred up ter dinner, declining all entreaty to partake of the wine, in the thorough idleness and inanity of pursuit, which I which circulated freely round, he informed himself of understand is absolutely necessary to the character in the hour when the chaise had been ordered to attend; perfection, might in all probability have traced a tinge and saying he would be in readiness, modestly withdrew of professional pedantry which marked the barrister in from the apartment. spite of his efforts, and something of active bustle in “Jack,” said the barrister to his companion, “I remem- his companion, and would certainly have detected more ber that poor fellow’s face; you spoke more truly than you than a fashionable mixture of information and animated were aware of; he really is one of my clients, poor man.”

34 Sir Walter Scott “Poor man!” echoed Halkit— “I suppose you mean he is your one and only client?” Making good the saying odd, “That’s not my fault, Jack,” replied the other, whose ‘Near the church and far from God’”— name I discovered was Hardie. “You are to give me all your business, you know; and if you have none, the Mr. Halkit broke in upon his learned counsel, to con- learned gentleman here knows nothing can come of tribute his moiety to the riddle— “Having at the door nothing.” the sign of the Red man”— “You seem to have brought something to nothing “And being on the whole,” resumed the counsellor in- though, in the case of that honest man. He looks as if terrupting his friend in his turn, “a sort of place where he were just about to honour with his residence the Heart misfortune is happily confounded with guilt, where all of Mid-Lothian.” who are in wish to get out”— “You are mistaken—he is just delivered from it.—Our “And where none who have the good luck to be out, friend here looks for an explanation. Pray, Mr. Pattieson, wish to get in,” added his companion. have you been in Edinburgh?” “I conceive you, gentlemen,” replied I; “you mean the I answered in the affirmative. prison.” “Then you must have passed, occasionally at least, “The prison,” added the young lawyer— “You have though probably not so faithfully as I am doomed to hit it—the very reverend Tolbooth itself; and let me tell do, through a narrow intricate passage, leading out of you, you are obliged to us for describing it with so much the north-west corner of the Parliament Square, and modesty and brevity; for with whatever amplifications passing by a high and antique building with turrets and we might have chosen to decorate the subject, you lay iron grates, entirely at our mercy, since the Fathers Conscript of our

35 The Heart of Mid-Lothian city have decreed that the venerable edifice itself shall done to many of its inmates. Why should not the not remain in existence to confirm or to confute its.” Tolbooth have its ‘Last Speech, Confession, and Dying “Then the Tolbooth of Edinburgh is called the Heart Words?’ The old stones would be just as conscious of of Mid-Lothian?” said I. the honour as many a poor devil who has dangled like a “So termed and reputed, I assure you.” tassel at the west end of it, while the hawkers were shout- “I think,” said I, with the bashful diffidence with ing a confession the culprit had never heard of.” which a man lets slip a pun in presence of his superiors, “I am afraid,” said I, “if I might presume to give my “the metropolitan county may, in that case, be said to opinion, it would be a tale of unvaried sorrow and guilt.” have a sad heart.” “Not entirely, my friend,” said Hardie; “a prison is a “Right as my glove, Mr. Pattieson,” added Mr. Hardie; world within itself, and has its own business, griefs, and “and a close heart, and a hard heart—Keep it up, Jack.” joys, peculiar to its circle. Its inmates are sometimes “And a wicked heart, and a poor heart,” answered short-lived, but so are soldiers on service; they are poor Halkit, doing his best. relatively to the world without, but there are degrees of “And yet it may be called in some sort a strong heart, wealth and poverty among them, and so some are rela- and a high heart,” rejoined the advocate. “You see I can tively rich also. They cannot stir abroad, but neither put you both out of heart.” can the garrison of a besieged fort, or the crew of a ship “I have played all my hearts,” said the younger gentle- at sea; and they are not under a dispensation quite so man. desperate as either, for they may have as much food as “Then we’ll have another lead,” answered his compan- they have money to buy, and are not obliged to work, ion.— “And as to the old and condemned Tolbooth, what whether they have food or not.” pity the same honour cannot be done to it as has been “But what variety of incident,” said I (not without a

36 Sir Walter Scott secret view to my present task), “could possibly be derived from such a work as you are pleased to talk of?” Much have I feared, but am no more afraid, “Infinite,” replied the young advocate. “Whatever of When some chaste beauty by some wretch betrayed, guilt, crime, imposture, folly, unheard-of misfortunes, and Is drawn away with such distracted speed, unlooked-for change of fortune, can be found to chequer That she anticipates a dreadful deed. life, my Last Speech of the Tolbooth should illustrate Not so do I—Let solid walls impound with examples sufficient to gorge even the public’s all- The captive fair, and dig a moat around; devouring appetite for the wonderful and horrible. The Let there be brazen locks and bars of steel, inventor of fictitious narratives has to rack his brains for And keepers cruel, such as never feel; means to diversify his tale, and after all can hardly hit With not a single note the purse supply, upon characters or incidents which have not been used And when she begs, let men and maids deny; again and again, until they are familiar to the eye of the Be windows there from which she dare not fall, reader, so that the development, enle’vement, the desper- And help so distant, ’tis in vain to call; ate wound of which the hero never dies, the burning fe- Still means of freedom will some Power devise, ver from which the heroine is sure to recover, become a And from the baffled ruffian snatch his prize. mere matter of course. I join with my honest friend Crabbe, and have an unlucky propensity to hope, when “The end of uncertainty,” he concluded, “is the death hope is lost, and to rely upon the cork-jacket, which car- of interest; and hence it happens that no one now reads ries the heroes of romance safe through all the billows of novels.” affliction.” He then declaimed the following passage, “Hear him, ye gods!” returned his companion. “I as- rather with too much than too little emphasis:— sure you, Mr. Pattieson, you will hardly visit this learned

37 The Heart of Mid-Lothian gentleman, but you are likely to find the new novel most “And for such narratives,” I asked, “you suppose the in repute lying on his table,—snugly intrenched, how- History of the Prison of Edinburgh might afford ap- ever, beneath Stair’s Institutes, or an open volume of propriate materials?” Morrison’s Decisions.” “In a degree unusually ample, my dear sir,” said “Do I deny it?” said the hopeful jurisconsult, “or Hardie— “Fill your glass, however, in the meanwhile. wherefore should I, since it is well known these Delilahs Was it not for many years the place in which the Scot- seduce my wisers and my betters? May they not be found tish parliament met? Was it not James’s place of ref- lurking amidst the multiplied memorials of our most uge, when the mob, inflamed by a seditious preacher, distinguished counsel, and even peeping from under the broke, forth, on him with the cries of ‘The sword of the cushion of a judge’s arm-chair? Our seniors at the bar, Lord and of Gideon—bring forth the wicked Haman?’ within the bar, and even on the bench, read novels; and, Since that time how many hearts have throbbed within if not belied, some of them have written novels into the these walls, as the tolling of the neighbouring bell an- bargain. I only say, that I read from habit and from nounced to them how fast the sands of their life were indolence, not from real interest; that, like ancient Pis- ebbing; how many must have sunk at the sound—how tol devouring his leek, I read and swear till I get to the many were supported by stubborn pride and dogged end of the narrative. But not so in the real records of resolution—how many by the consolations of religion? human vagaries—not so in the State Trials, or in the Have there not been some, who, looking back on the Books of Adjournal, where every now and then you read motives of their crimes, were scarce able to understand new pages of the human heart, and turns of fortune far how they should have had such temptation as to seduce beyond what the boldest novelist ever attempted to pro- them from virtue; and have there not, perhaps, been duce from the coinage of his brain.” others, who, sensible of their innocence, were divided

38 Sir Walter Scott between indignation at the undeserved doom which they are precisely those to the detail of which we listen with were to undergo, consciousness that they had not de- thrilling interest. England has been much longer a highly served it, and racking anxiety to discover some way in civilised country; her subjects have been very strictly which they might yet vindicate themselves? Do you sup- amenable to laws administered without fear or favour, a pose any of these deep, powerful, and agitating feelings, complete division of labour has taken place among her can be recorded and perused without exciting a corre- subjects, and the very thieves and robbers form a dis- sponding depth of deep, powerful, and agitating inter- tinct class in society, subdivided among themselves ac- est?—Oh! do but wait till I publish the Causes Ce’le’bres cording to the subject of the depredations, and the mode of Caledonia, and you will find no want of a novel or a in which they carry them on, acting upon regular hab- tragedy for some time to come. The true thing will tri- its and principles, which can be calculated and antici- umph over the brightest inventions of the most ardent pated at Bow Street, Hatton Garden, or the Old Bailey. imagination. Magna est veritas, et praevalebit.” Our sister kingdom is like a cultivated field,—the farmer “I have understood,” said I, encouraged by the affa- expects that, in spite of all his care, a certain number bility of my rattling entertainer, “that less of this in- of weeds will rise with the corn, and can tell you before- terest must attach to Scottish jurisprudence than to that hand their names and appearance. But Scotland is like of any other country. The general morality of our people, one of her own Highland glens, and the moralist who their sober and prudent habits”— reads the records of her criminal jurisprudence, will find “Secure them,” said the barrister, “against any great as many curious anomalous facts in the history of mind, increase of professional thieves and depredators, but not as the botanist will detect rare specimens among her against wild and wayward starts of fancy and passion, dingles and cliffs.” producing crimes of an extraordinary description, which “And that’s all the good you have obtained from three

39 The Heart of Mid-Lothian perusals of the Commentaries on Scottish Criminal Ju- ingenium Scotorum, which our lawyers join in alleging risprudence?” said his companion. “I suppose the as a reason for the severity of some of our enactments. learned author very little thinks that the facts which When I come to treat of matters so mysterious, deep, his erudition and acuteness have accumulated for the and dangerous, as these circumstances have given rise illustration of legal doctrines, might be so arranged as to, the blood of each reader shall be curdled, and his to form a sort of appendix to the half-bound and slip- epidermis crisped into goose skin.—But, hist!—here shod volumes of the circulating library.” comes the landlord, with tidings, I suppose, that the “I’ll bet you a pint of claret,” said the elder lawyer, chaise is ready.” “that he will not feel sore at the comparison. But as we It was no such thing—the tidings bore, that no chaise say at the bar, ‘I beg I may not be interrupted;’ I have could be had that evening, for Sir Peter Plyem had car- much more to say, upon my Scottish collection of Causes ried forward my landlord’s two pairs of horses that Ce’le’bres. You will please recollect the scope and motive morning to the ancient royal borough of Bubbleburgh, given for the contrivance and execution of many ex- to look after his interest there. But as Bubbleburgh is traordinary and daring crimes, by the long civil dissen- only one of a set of five boroughs which club their shares sions of Scotland—by the hereditary jurisdictions, for a member of parliament, Sir Peter’s adversary had which, until 1748, rested the investigation of crises in judiciously watched his departure, in order to commence judges, ignorant, partial, or interested—by the habits a canvass in the no less royal borough of Bitem, which, of the gentry, shut up in their distant and solitary man- as all the world knows, lies at the very termination of sion-houses, nursing their revengeful Passions just to Sir Peter’s avenue, and has been held in leading-strings keep their blood from stagnating—not to mention that by him and his ancestors for time immemorial. Now Sir amiable national qualification, called the perfervidum Peter was thus placed in the situation of an ambitious

40 Sir Walter Scott monarch, who, after having commenced a daring inroad lected himself. “Poor Dunover, we must not forget him;” into his enemy’s territories, is suddenly recalled by an and the landlord was despatched in quest of the pauvre invasion of his own hereditary dominions. He was honteux, with an earnestly civil invitation to him for the obliged in consequence to return from the half-won bor- rest of the evening. I could not help asking the young gentle- ough of Bubbleburgh, to look after the half-lost bor- men if they knew the history of this poor man; and the ough of Bitem, and the two pairs of horses which had counsellor applied himself to his pocket to recover the carried him that morning to Bubbleburgh were now forc- memorial or brief from which he had stated his cause. ibly detained to transport him, his agent, his valet, his “He has been a candidate for our remedium misera- jester, and his hard-drinker, across the country to Bitem. bile,” said Mr. Hardie, “commonly called a cessio The cause of this detention, which to me was of as little bonorum. As there are divines who have doubted the eter- consequence as it may be to the reader, was important nity of future punishments, so the Scotch lawyers seem enough to my companions to reconcile them to the de- to have thought that the crime of poverty might be lay. Like eagles, they smelled the battle afar off, ordered atoned for by something short of perpetual imprison- a magnum of claret and beds at the Wallace, and en- ment. After a month’s confinement, you must know, a tered at full career into the Bubbleburgh and Bitem prisoner for debt is entitled, on a sufficient statement to politics, with all the probable “Petitions and complaints” our Supreme Court, setting forth the amount of his to which they were likely to give rise. funds, and the nature of his misfortunes, and surren- In the midst of an anxious, animated, and, to me, most dering all his effects to his creditors, to claim to be dis- unintelligible discussion, concerning provosts, bailies, dea- charged from prison.” cons, sets of boroughs, leets, town-clerks, burgesses resi- “I had heard,” I replied, “of such a humane regula- dent and non-resident, all of a sudden the lawyer recol- tion.”

41 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “Yes,” said Halkit, “and the beauty of it is, as the money—took a farm—(for conducting a farm, like driv- foreign fellow said, you may get the cessio, when the ing a gig, comes by nature)—late severe times—induced bonorums are all spent—But what, are you puzzling in to sign bills with a friend, for which he received no your pockets to seek your only memorial among old play- value—landlord sequestrates—creditors accept a com- bills, letters requesting a meeting of the Faculty, rules position—pursuer sets up a public-house—fails a sec- of the Speculative Society,* syllabus’ of lectures—all ond time—is incarcerated for a debt of ten pounds seven the miscellaneous contents of a young advocate’s pocket, shillings and sixpence—his debts amount to blank—his which contains everything but briefs and bank-notes? losses to blank—his funds to blank—leaving a balance Can you not state a case of cessio without your memo- of blank in his favour. There is no opposition; your lord- rial? Why, it is done every Saturday. The events follow ships will please grant commission to take his oath.” each other as regularly as clock-work, and one form of Hardie now renounced this ineffectual search, in which condescendence might suit every one of them.” there was perhaps a little affectation, and told us the “This is very unlike the variety of distress which this tale of poor Dunover’s distresses, with a tone in which a gentleman stated to fall under the consideration of your degree of feeling, which he seemed ashamed of as un- judges,” said I. professional, mingled with his attempts at wit, and did “True,” replied Halkit; “but Hardie spoke of crimi- him more honour. It was one of those tales which seem nal jurisprudence, and this business is purely civil. I to argue a sort of ill-luck or fatality attached to the could plead a cessio myself without the inspiring honours hero. A well-informed, industrious, and blameless, but of a gown and three-tailed periwig—Listen.—My cli- poor and bashful man, had in vain essayed all the usual ent was bred a journeyman weaver—made some little means by which others acquire independence, yet had never succeeded beyond the attainment of bare subsis- * A well-known debating club in Edinburgh. 42 Sir Walter Scott tence. During a brief gleam of hope, rather than of ac- tention and respect of the young men, who treated him tual prosperity, he had added a wife and family to his with great civility, and gradually engaged him in a con- cares, but the dawn was speedily overcast. Everything versation, which, much to my satisfaction, again turned retrograded with him towards the verge of the miry upon the Causes Ce’le’bres of Scotland. Imboldened by Slough of Despond, which yawns for insolvent debtors; the kindness with which he was treated, Mr. Dunover and after catching at each twig, and experiencing the began to contribute his share to the amusement of the protracted agony of feeling them one by one elude his evening. Jails, like other places, have their ancient tra- grasp, he actually sunk into the miry pit whence he had ditions, known only to the inhabitants, and handed down been extricated by the professional exertions of Hardie. from one set of the melancholy lodgers to the next who “And, I suppose, now you have dragged this poor devil occupy their cells. Some of these, which Dunover men- ashore, you will leave him half naked on the beach to tioned, were interesting, and served to illustrate the nar- provide for himself?” said Halkit. “Hark ye,”—and he ratives of remarkable trials, which Hardie had at his whispered something in his ear, of which the penetrat- finger-ends, and which his companion was also well ing and insinuating words, “Interest with my Lord,” skilled in. This sort of conversation passed away the alone reached mine. evening till the early hour when Mr. Dunover chose to “It is pessimi exempli,” said Hardie, laughing, “to pro- retire to rest, and I also retreated to take down memo- vide for a ruined client; but I was thinking of what you randums of what I had learned, in order to add another mention, provided it can be managed—But hush! here narrative to those which it had been my chief amuse- he comes.” ment to collect, and to write out in detail. The two young The recent relation of the poor man’s misfortunes had men ordered a broiled bone, Madeira negus, and a pack given him, I was pleased to observe, a claim to the at- of cards, and commenced a game at picquet.

43 The Heart of Mid-Lothian Next morning the travellers left Gandercleugh. I af- himself equally obliged to the accident, since it brings terwards learned from the papers that both have been upon him the following narrative, founded upon the con- since engaged in the great political cause of Bubbleburgh versation of the evening. and Bitem, a summary case, and entitled to particular despatch; but which, it is thought, nevertheless, may outlast the duration of the parliament to which the con- test refers. Mr. Halkit, as the newspapers informed me, acts as agent or solicitor; and Mr. Hardie opened for Sir Peter Plyem with singular ability, and to such good purpose, that I understand he has since had fewer play- bills and more briefs in his pocket. And both the young gentlemen deserve their good fortune; for I learned from Dunover, who called on me some weeks afterwards, and communicated the intelligence with tears in his eyes, that their interest had availed to obtain him a small office for the decent maintenance of his family; and that, after a train of constant and uninterrupted misfortune, he could trace a dawn of prosperity to his having the good fortune to be flung from the top of a mail-coach into the river Gander, in company with an advocate and a writer to the Signet. The reader will not perhaps deem

44 Sir Walter Scott

IN FORMER TIMES, England had her Tyburn, to which THE HEART OF the devoted victims of justice were conducted in solemn procession up what is now called Oxford Street. In MIDLOTHIAN Edinburgh, a large open street, or rather oblong square, surrounded by high houses, called the Grassmarket, was used for the same melancholy purpose. It was not ill chosen for such a scene, being of considerable extent, and therefore fit to accommodate a great number of CHAPTER FIRST spectators, such as are usually assembled by this melancholy spectacle. On the other hand, few of the houses which surround it were, even in early times, inhabited Whoe’er’s been at Paris must needs know the Gre’ve, by persons of fashion; so that those likely to be offended The fatal retreat of the unfortunate brave, or over deeply affected by such unpleasant exhibitions Where honour and justice most oddly contribute, To ease heroes’ pains by an halter and gibbet. were not in the way of having their quiet disturbed by them. The houses in the Grassmarket are, generally There death breaks the shackles which force had put on, speaking, of a mean description; yet the place is not And the hangman completes what the judge but began; There the squire of the poet, and knight of the post, without some features of grandeur, being overhung by Find their pains no more baulked, and their hopes no the southern side of the huge rock on which the Castle more crossed. stands, and by the moss-grown battlements and turreted walls of that ancient fortress. Prior. 45 The Heart of Mid-Lothian It was the custom, until within these thirty years or the convict are indeed shortened. He no longer stalks thereabouts, to use this esplanade for the scene of pub- between the attendant clergymen, dressed in his grave- lic executions. The fatal day was announced to the pub- clothes, through a considerable part of the city, looking lic by the appearance of a huge black gallows-tree to- like a moving and walking corpse, while yet an inhabit- wards the eastern end of the Grassmarket. This ill- ant of this world; but, as the ultimate purpose of pun- omened apparition was of great height, with a scaffold ishment has in view the prevention of crimes, it may at surrounding it, and a double ladder placed against it, least be doubted, whether, in abridging the melancholy for the ascent of the unhappy criminal and executioner. ceremony, we have not in part diminished that appall- As this apparatus was always arranged before dawn, it ing effect upon the spectators which is the useful end of seemed as if the gallows had grown out of the earth in all such inflictions, and in consideration of which alone, the course of one night, like the production of some unless in very particular cases, capital sentences can be foul demon; and I well remember the fright with which altogether justified. the schoolboys, when I was one of their number, used On the 7th day of September 1736, these ominous to regard these ominous signs of deadly preparation. preparations for execution were descried in the place we On the night after the execution the gallows again dis- have described, and at an early hour the space around appeared, and was conveyed in silence and darkness to began to be occupied by several groups, who gazed on the place where it was usually deposited, which was one the scaffold and gibbet with a stern and vindictive show of the vaults under the Parliament House, or courts of of satisfaction very seldom testified by the populace, justice. This mode of execution is now exchanged for whose good nature, in most cases, forgets the crime of one similar to that in front of Newgate,—with what the condemned person, and dwells only on his misery. beneficial effect is uncertain. The mental sufferings of But the act of which the expected culprit had been con-

46 Sir Walter Scott victed was of a description calculated nearly and closely as an unjust aggression upon their ancient liberties, to awaken and irritate the resentful feelings of the mul- made no scruple to elude them whenever it was possible titude. The tale is well known; yet it is necessary to re- to do so. capitulate its leading circumstances, for the better un- The county of Fife, bounded by two firths on the south derstanding what is to follow; and the narrative may and north, and by the sea on the east, and having a num- prove long, but I trust not uninteresting even to those ber of small seaports, was long famed for maintaining who have heard its general issue. At any rate, some de- successfully a contraband trade; and, as there were many tail is necessary, in order to render intelligible the subse- seafaring men residing there, who had been pirates and quent events of our narrative. buccaneers in their youth, there were not wanting a suf- Contraband trade, though it strikes at the root of le- ficient number of daring men to carry it on. Among gitimate government, by encroaching on its revenues,— these, a fellow called Andrew Wilson, originally a baker though it injures the fair trader, and debauches the mind in the village of Pathhead, was particularly obnoxious of those engaged in it,—is not usually looked upon, ei- to the revenue officers. He was possessed of great per- ther by the vulgar or by their betters, in a very heinous sonal strength, courage, and cunning,—was perfectly point of view. On the contrary, in those countries where acquainted with the coast, and capable of conducting it prevails, the cleverest, boldest, and most intelligent the most desperate enterprises. On several occasions he of the peasantry, are uniformly engaged in illicit trans- succeeded in baffling the pursuit and researches of the actions, and very often with the sanction of the farm- king’s officers; but he became so much the object of their ers and inferior gentry. Smuggling was almost universal suspicions and watchful attention, that at length he was in Scotland in the reigns of George I. and II.; for the totally ruined by repeated seizures. The man became people, unaccustomed to imposts, and regarding them desperate. He considered himself as robbed and plun-

47 The Heart of Mid-Lothian dered; and took it into his head that he had a right to window, and fled in his shirt, so that the plunderers, with make reprisals, as he could find opportunity. Where the much ease, possessed themselves of about two hundred heart is prepared for evil, opportunity is seldom long pounds of public money. The robbery was committed wanting. This Wilson learned that the Collector of the in a very audacious manner, for several persons were Customs at Kirkcaldy had come to Pittenweem, in the passing in the street at the time. But Robertson, repre- course of his official round of duty, with a considerable senting the noise they heard as a dispute or fray betwixt sum of public money in his custody. As the amount was the Collector and the people of the house, the worthy greatly within the value of the goods which had been citizens of Pittenweem felt themselves no way called on seized from him, Wilson felt no scruple of conscience in to interfere in behalf of the obnoxious revenue officer; resolving to reimburse himself for his losses, at the ex- so, satisfying themselves with this very superficial ac- pense of the Collector and the revenue. He associated count of the matter, like the Levite in the parable, they with himself one Robertson, and two other idle young passed on the opposite side of the way. An alarm was at men, whom, having been concerned in the same illicit length given, military were called in, the depredators trade, he persuaded to view the transaction in the same were pursued, the booty recovered, and Wilson and justifiable light in which he himself considered it. They Robertson tried and condemned to death, chiefly on the watched the motions of the Collector; they broke forc- evidence of an accomplice. ibly into the house where he lodged,—Wilson, with two Many thought that, in consideration of the men’s er- of his associates, entering the Collector’s apartment, roneous opinion of the nature of the action they had while Robertson, the fourth, kept watch at the door with committed, justice might have been satisfied with a less a drawn cutlass in his hand. The officer of the customs, forfeiture than that of two lives. On the other hand, conceiving his life in danger, escaped out of his bedroom from the audacity of the fact, a severe example was

48 Sir Walter Scott judged necessary; and such was the opinion of the Gov- panion for the consequences of his obstinacy; but it ap- ernment. When it became apparent that the sentence peared from the sequel, that Wilson’s mind was deeply of death was to be executed, files, and other implements impressed with the recollection that, but for him, his necessary for their escape, were transmitted secretly to comrade, over whose mind he exercised considerable in- the culprits by a friend from without. By these means fluence, would not have engaged in the criminal enter- they sawed a bar out of one of the prison-windows, and prise which had terminated thus fatally; and that now might have made their escape, but for the obstinacy of he had become his destroyer a second time, since, but Wilson, who, as he was daringly resolute, was doggedly for his obstinacy, Robertson might have effected his es- pertinacious of his opinion. His comrade, Robertson, a cape. Minds like Wilson’s, even when exercised in evil young and slender man, proposed to make the experi- practices, sometimes retain the power of thinking and ment of passing the foremost through the gap they had resolving with enthusiastic generosity. His whole made, and enlarging it from the outside, if necessary, to thoughts were now bent on the possibility of saving allow Wilson free passage. Wilson, however, insisted on Robertson’s life, without the least respect to his own. making the first experiment, and being a robust and The resolution which he adopted, and the manner in lusty man, he not only found it impossible to get through which he carried it into effect, were striking and un- betwixt the bars, but, by his struggles, he jammed him- usual. self so fast, that he was unable to draw his body back Adjacent to the tolbooth or city jail of Edinburgh, is again. In these circumstances discovery became unavoid- one of three churches into which the cathedral of St. able, and sufficient precautions were taken by the jailor Giles is now divided, called, from its vicinity, the to prevent any repetition of the same attempt. Tolbooth Church. It was the custom that criminals un- Robertson uttered not a word of reflection on his com- der sentence of death were brought to this church, with

49 The Heart of Mid-Lothian a sufficient guard, to hear and join in public worship on they must join would be that of the just, or of the un- the Sabbath before execution. It was supposed that the just; that the psalms they now heard must be exchanged, hearts of these unfortunate persons, however hardened in the space of two brief days, for eternal hallelujahs, before against feelings of devotion, could not but be or eternal lamentations; and that this fearful alterna- accessible to them upon uniting their thoughts and tive must depend upon the state to which they might be voices, for the last time, along with their fellow-mor- able to bring their minds before the moment of awful tals, in addressing their Creator. And to the rest of the preparation: that they should not despair on account congregation, it was thought it could not but be im- of the suddenness of the summons, but rather to feel pressive and affecting, to find their devotions mingling this comfort in their misery, that, though all who now with those, who, sent by the doom of an earthly tribu- lifted the voice, or bent the knee in conjunction with nal to appear where the whole earth is judged, might be them, lay under the same sentence of certain death, they considered as beings trembling on the verge of eternity. only had the advantage of knowing the precise moment The practice, however edifying, has been discontinued, at which it should be executed upon them. “Therefore,” in consequence of the incident we are about to detail. urged the good man, his voice trembling with emotion, The clergyman, whose duty it was to officiate in the “redeem the time, my unhappy brethren, which is yet Tolbooth Church, had concluded an affecting discourse, left; and remember, that, with the grace of Him to whom part of which was particularly directed to the unfortu- space and time are but as nothing, salvation may yet be nate men, Wilson and Robertson, who were in the pew assured, even in the pittance of delay which the laws of set apart for the persons in their unhappy situation, each your country afford you.” secured betwixt two soldiers of the city guard. The cler- Robertson was observed to weep at these words; but gyman had reminded them, that the next congregation Wilson seemed as one whose brain had not entirely re-

50 Sir Walter Scott ceived their meaning, or whose thoughts were deeply the grasp of the remaining soldier, threw himself over impressed with some different subject;—an expression the pew, mixed with the dispersing congregation, none so natural to a person in his situation, that it excited of whom felt inclined to stop a poor wretch taking his neither suspicion nor surprise. last chance for his life, gained the door of the church, The benediction was pronounced as usual, and the con- and was lost to all pursuit. gregation was dismissed, many lingering to indulge their The generous intrepidity which Wilson had displayed curiosity with a more fixed look at the two criminals, on this occasion augmented the feeling of compassion who now, as well as their guards, rose up, as if to depart which attended his fate. The public, where their own when the crowd should permit them. A murmur of com- prejudices are not concerned, are easily engaged on the passion was heard to pervade the spectators, the more side of disinterestedness and humanity, admired Wilson’s general, perhaps, on account of the alleviating circum- behaviour, and rejoiced in Robertson’s escape. This gen- stances of the case; when all at once, Wilson, who, as we eral feeling was so great, that it excited a vague report have already noticed, was a very strong man, seized two that Wilson would be rescued at the place of execution, of the soldiers, one with each hand, and calling at the either by the mob or by some of his old associates, or by same time to his companion, “Run, Geordie, run!” threw some second extraordinary and unexpected exertion of himself on a third, and fastened his teeth on the collar strength and courage on his own part. The magistrates of his coat. Robertson stood for a second as if thought it their duty to provide against the possibility thunderstruck, and unable to avail himself of the op- of disturbance. They ordered out, for protection of the portunity of escape; but the cry of “Run, run!” being execution of the sentence, the greater part of their own echoed from many around, whose feelings surprised them City Guard, under the command of Captain Porteous, into a very natural interest in his behalf, he shook off a man whose name became too memorable from the mel-

51 The Heart of Mid-Lothian ancholy circumstances of the day, and subsequent events. It may be necessary to say a word about this person, and the corps which he commanded. But the CHAPTER SECOND subject is of importance sufficient to deserve another chapter. And thou, great god of aquavitae! Wha sways the empire of this city (When fou we’re sometimes capernoity),

Be thou prepared, To save us frae that black banditti,

The City Guard!

Fergusson’s Daft Days.

CAPTAIN JOHN PORTEOUS, a name memorable in the traditions of Edinburgh, as well as in the records of criminal jurisprudence, was the son of a citizen of Edinburgh, who endeavoured to breed him up to his own mechanical trade of a tailor. The youth, however, had a wild and irreclaimable propensity to dissipation, which finally

52 Sir Walter Scott sent him to serve in the corps long maintained in the off duty. These men had the charge of preserving pub- service of the States of Holland, and called the Scotch lic order, repressing riots and street robberies, acting, in Dutch. Here he learned military discipline; and, return- short, as an armed police, and attending on all public ing afterwards, in the course of an idle and wandering occasions where confusion or popular disturbance might life, to his native city, his services were required by the be expected.* magistrates of Edinburgh in the disturbed year 1715, Poor Fergusson, whose irregularities sometimes led for disciplining their City Guard, in which he shortly him into unpleasant rencontres with these military con- afterwards received a captain’s commission. It was only servators of public order, and who mentions them so by his military skill and an alert and resolute character often that he may be termed their poet laureate,** thus as an officer of police, that he merited this promotion, admonishes his readers, warned doubtless by his own for he is said to have been a man of profligate habits, an experience:— unnatural son, and a brutal husband. He was, however, useful in his station, and his harsh and fierce habits ren- “Gude folk, as ye come frae the fair, dered him formidable to rioters or disturbers of the pub- Bide yont frae this black squad: lic peace. There’s nae sic savages elsewhere The corps in which he held his command is, or per- Allowed to wear cockad.” haps we should rather say was, a body of about one hundred and twenty soldiers divided into three compa- * The Lord Provost was ex-officio commander and colonel nies, and regularly armed, clothed, and embodied. They of the corps, which might be increased to three hundred men were chiefly veterans who enlisted in this cogs, having when the times required it. No other drum but theirs was allowed to sound on the High Street between the the benefit of working at their trades when they were Luckenbooths and the Netherbow. ** Robert Fergusson, the Scottish Poet, born 1750, died 1774. 53 The Heart of Mid-Lothian In fact, the soldiers of the City Guard, being, as we On all occasions when a holiday licensed some riot and have said, in general discharged veterans, who had irregularity, a skirmish with these veterans was a strength enough remaining for this municipal duty, and favourite recreation with the rabble of Edinburgh. These being, moreover, for the greater part, Highlanders, were pages may perhaps see the light when many have in fresh neither by birth, education, nor former habits, trained recollection such onsets as we allude to. But the vener- to endure with much patience the insults of the rabble, able corps, with whom the contention was held, may or the provoking petulance of truant schoolboys, and now be considered as totally extinct. Of late the gradual idle debauchees of all descriptions, with whom their oc- diminution of these civic soldiers reminds one of the cupation brought them into contact. On the contrary, abatement of King Lear’s hundred knights. The edicts the tempers of the poor old fellows were soured by the of each succeeding set of magistrates have, like those indignities with which the mob distinguished them on of Goneril and Regan, diminished this venerable band many occasions, and frequently might have required the with the similar question, “What need we five-and- soothing strains of the poet we have just quoted— twenty?—ten?—or five?” And it is now nearly come to, “What need one?” A spectre may indeed here and there “O soldiers! for your ain dear sakes, still be seen, of an old grey-headed and grey-bearded For Scotland’s love, the Land o’ Cakes, Highlander, with war-worn features, but bent double Gie not her bairns sic deadly paiks, by age; dressed in an old fashioned cocked-hat, bound Nor be sae rude, with white tape instead of silver lace; and in coat, waist- Wi’ firelock or Lochaber-axe, coat, and breeches, of a muddy-coloured red, bearing in As spill their bluid!” his withered hand an ancient weapon, called a Lochaber- axe; a long pole, namely, with an axe at the extremity,

54 Sir Walter Scott and a hook at the back of the hatchet.* John Dhu (the fiercest-looking fellow I ever saw), were, Such a phantom of former days still creeps, I have in my boyhood, the alternate terror and derision of the been informed, round the statue of Charles the Second, petulant brood of the High School, may, perhaps, only in the Parliament Square, as if the image of a Stuart come to light when all memory of the institution has were the last refuge for any memorial of our ancient faded away, and then serve as an illustration of Kay’s manners; and one or two others are supposed to glide caricatures, who has preserved the features of some of around the door of the guardhouse assigned to them in their heroes. In the preceding generation, when there the Luckenbooths, when their ancient refuge in the High was a perpetual alarm for the plots and activity of the Street was laid low.** Jacobites, some pains were taken by the magistrates of But the fate of manuscripts bequeathed to friends and Edinburgh to keep this corps, though composed always executors is so uncertain, that the narrative containing of such materials as we have noticed, in a more effective these frail memorials of the old Town Guard of state than was afterwards judged necessary, when their Edinburgh, who, with their grim and valiant corporal, most dangerous service was to skirmish with the rabble on the king’s birthday. They were, therefore, more the * This hook was to enable the bearer of the Lochaber-axe to scale a gateway, by grappling the top of the door, and swing- objects of hatred, and less that of scorn, than they were ing himself up by the staff of his weapon. afterwards accounted. ** This ancient corps is now entirely disbanded. Their last To Captain John Porteous, the honour of his command march to do duty at Hallowfair had something in it affecting. Their drums and fifes had been wont on better days to and of his corps seems to have been a matter of high play, on this joyous occasion, the lively tune of “Jockey to interest and importance. He was exceedingly incensed the fair;” but on his final occasion the afflicted veterans moved against Wilson for the affront which he construed him slowly to the dirge of to have put upon his soldiers, in the effort he made for “The last time I came ower the muir.” 55 The Heart of Mid-Lothian the liberation of his companion, and expressed himself lows and scaffold, with about eighty men, all the dis- most ardently on the subject. He was no less indignant posable force that could be spared for that duty. at the report, that there was an intention to rescue Wil- But the magistrates took farther precautions, which son himself from the gallows, and uttered many threats affected Porteous’s pride very deeply. They requested and imprecations upon that subject, which were after- the assistance of part of a regular infantry regiment, wards remembered to his disadvantage. In fact, if a good not to attend upon the execution, but to remain drawn deal of determination and promptitude rendered up on the principal street of the city, during the time Porteous, in one respect, fit to command guards designed that it went forward, in order to intimidate the multi- to suppress popular commotion, he seems, on the other, tude, in case they should be disposed to be unruly, with to have been disqualified for a charge so delicate, by a a display of force which could not be resisted without hot and surly temper, always too ready to come to blows desperation. It may sound ridiculous in our ears, con- and violence; a character void of principle; and a dispo- sidering the fallen state of this ancient civic corps, that sition to regard the rabble, who seldom failed to regale its officer should have felt punctiliously jealous of its him and his soldiers with some marks of their displea- honour. Yet so it was. Captain Porteous resented, as an sure, as declared enemies, upon whom it was natural indignity, the introducing the Welsh Fusileers within the and justifiable that he should seek opportunities of ven- city, and drawing them up in the street where no drums geance. Being, however, the most active and trustwor- but his own were allowed to be sounded without the spe- thy among the captains of the City Guard, he was the cial command or permission of the magistrates. As he person to whom the magistrates confided the command could not show his ill-humour to his patrons the magis- of the soldiers appointed to keep the peace at the time trates, it increased his indignation and his desire to be of Wilson’s execution. He was ordered to guard the gal- revenged on the unfortunate criminal Wilson, and all

56 Sir Walter Scott who favoured him. These internal emotions of jealousy criminal, was delivered to him by the keeper of the prison, and rage wrought a change on the man’s mien and bear- in order that he might be conducted to the place of ex- ing, visible to all who saw him on the fatal morning when ecution, Porteous, not satisfied with the usual precau- Wilson was appointed to suffer. Porteous’s ordinary tions to prevent escape, ordered him to be manacled. This appearance was rather favourable. He was about the might be justifiable from the character and bodily middle size, stout, and well made, having a military air, strength of the malefactor, as well as from the apprehen- and yet rather a gentle and mild countenance. His com- sions so generally entertained of an expected rescue. But plexion was brown, his face somewhat fretted with the the handcuffs which were produced being found too small sears of the smallpox, his eyes rather languid than keen for the wrists of a man so big-boned as Wilson, Porteous or fierce. On the present occasion, however, it seemed to proceeded with his own hands, and by great exertion of those who saw him as if he were agitated by some evil strength, to force them till they clasped together, to the demon. His step was irregular, his voice hollow and bro- exquisite torture of the unhappy criminal. Wilson remon- ken, his countenance pale, his eyes staring and wild, his strated against such barbarous usage, declaring that the speech imperfect and confused, and his whole appear- pain distracted his thoughts from the subjects of medi- ance so disordered, that many remarked he seemed to tation proper to his unhappy condition. be fey, a Scottish expression, meaning the state of those “It signifies little,” replied Captain Porteous; “your who are driven on to their impending fate by the strong pain will soon be at an end.” impulse of some irresistible necessity. “Your cruelty is great,” answered the sufferer. “You One part of his conduct was truly diabolical, if indeed know not how soon you yourself may have occasion to it has not been exaggerated by the general prejudice en- ask the mercy which you are now refusing to a fellow- tertained against his memory. When Wilson, the unhappy creature. May God forgive you!”

57 The Heart of Mid-Lothian These words, long afterwards quoted and remembered, the space that divided time from eternity. The devotions were all that passed between Porteous and his prisoner; proper and usual on such occasions were no sooner fin- but as they took air, and became known to the people, ished than he submitted to his fate, and the sentence of they greatly increased the popular compassion for Wil- the law was fulfilled. son, and excited a proportionate degree of indignation He had been suspended on the gibbet so long as to be against Porteous; against whom, as strict, and even vio- totally deprived of life, when at once, as if occasioned lent in the discharge of his unpopular office, the com- by some newly received impulse, there arose a tumult mon people had some real, and many imaginary causes among the multitude. Many stones were thrown at of complaint. Porteous and his guards; some mischief was done; and When the painful procession was completed, and Wil- the mob continued to press forward with whoops, son, with the escort, had arrived at the scaffold in the shrieks, howls, and exclamations. A young fellow, with Grassmarket, there appeared no signs of that attempt a sailor’s cap slouched over his face, sprung on the scaf- to rescue him which had occasioned such precautions. fold, and cut the rope by which the criminal was sus- The multitude, in general, looked on with deeper inter- pended. Others approached to carry off the body, ei- est than at ordinary executions; and there might be seen, ther to secure for it a decent grave, or to try, perhaps, on the countenances of many, a stern and indignant ex- some means of resuscitation. Captain Porteous was pression, like that with which the ancient Cameronians wrought, by this appearance of insurrection against his might be supposed to witness the execution of their authority, into a rage so headlong as made him forget, brethren, who glorified the Covenant on the same occa- that, the sentence having been fully executed, it was his sion, and at the same spot. But there was no attempt at duty not to engage in hostilities with the misguided violence. Wilson himself seemed disposed to hasten over multitude, but to draw off his men as fast as possible.

58 Sir Walter Scott He sprung from the scaffold, snatched a musket from Apparently by this time Captain Porteous had began one of his soldiers, commanded the party to give fire, to doubt the propriety of his own conduct, and the re- and, as several eye-witnesses concurred in swearing, set ception he met with from the magistrates was such as them the example, by discharging his piece, and shoot- to make him still more anxious to gloss it over. He de- ing a man dead on the spot. Several soldiers obeyed his nied that he had given orders to fire; he denied he had command or followed his example; six or seven persons fired with his own hand; he even produced the fusee were slain, and a great many were hurt and wounded. which he carried as an officer for examination; it was After this act of violence, the Captain proceeded to found still loaded. Of three cartridges which he was seen withdraw his men towards their guard-house in the High to put in his pouch that morning, two were still there; a Street. The mob were not so much intimidated as in- white handkerchief was thrust into the muzzle of the censed by what had been done. They pursued the sol- piece, and re-turned unsoiled or blackened. To the de- diers with execrations, accompanied by volleys of stones. fence founded on these circumstances it was answered, As they pressed on them, the rearmost soldiers turned, that Porteous had not used his own piece, but had been and again fired with fatal aim and execution. It is not seen to take one from a soldier. Among the many who accurately known whether Porteous commanded this had been killed and wounded by the unhappy fire, there second act of violence; but of course the odium of the were several of better rank; for even the humanity of whole transactions of the fatal day attached to him, such soldiers as fired over the heads of the mere rabble and to him alone. He arrived at the guard-house, dis- around the scaffold, proved in some instances fatal to missed his soldiers, and went to make his report to the persons who were stationed in windows, or observed the magistrates concerning the unfortunate events of the melancholy scene from a distance. The voice of public day. indignation was loud and general; and, ere men’s tem-

59 The Heart of Mid-Lothian pers had time to cool, the trial of Captain Porteous took exposed to some indignities. The verdict of the jury suf- place before the High Court of Justiciary. After a long ficiently shows how the evidence preponderated in their and patient hearing, the jury had the difficult duty of minds. It declared that John Porteous fired a gun among balancing the positive evidence of many persons, and the people assembled at the execution; that he gave or- those of respectability, who deposed positively to the ders to his soldiers to fire, by which many persons were prisoner’s commanding his soldiers to fire, and himself killed and wounded; but, at the same time, that the pris- firing his piece, of which some swore that they saw the oner and his guard had been wounded and beaten, by smoke and flash, and beheld a man drop at whom it was stones thrown at them by the multitude. Upon this ver- pointed, with the negative testimony of others, who, dict, the Lords of Justiciary passed sentence of death though well stationed for seeing what had passed, nei- against Captain John Porteous, adjudging him, in the ther heard Porteous give orders to fire, nor saw him fire common form, to be hanged on a gibbet at the common himself; but, on the contrary, averred that the first shot place of execution, on Wednesday, 8th September 1736, was fired by a soldier who stood close by him. A great and all his movable property to be forfeited to the king’s part of his defence was also founded on the turbulence use, according to the Scottish law in cases of wilful of the mob, which witnesses, according to their feelings, murder.* their predilections, and their opportunities of observation, represented differently; some describing as a formidable riot, what others represented as a trifling disturbance such as always used to take place on the like * The signatures affixed to the death-warrant of Captain occasions, when the executioner of the law, and the men Porteous were—Andrew Fletcher of Milton, Lord Justice- Clerk. Sir James Mackenzie, Lord Royston. David Erskine, commissioned to protect him in his task, were generally Lord Dun. Sir Walter Pringle, Lord Newhall. Sir Gilbert Elliot, Lord Minto. 60 Sir Walter Scott Street, that was not absolutely filled with spectators. The uncommon height and antique appearance of these CHAPTER THIRD houses, some of which were formerly the property of the Knights Templars, and the Knights of St. John, and still exhibit on their fronts and gables the iron cross of “The hour’s come, but not the man.”* these orders, gave additional effect to a scene in itself so striking. The area of the Grassmarket resembled a huge Kelpie. dark lake or sea of human heads, in the centre of which arose the fatal tree, tall, black, and ominous, from which dangled the deadly halter. Every object takes interest ON THE DAY when the unhappy Porteous was expected from its uses and associations, and the erect beam and to suffer the sentence of the law, the place of execution, empty noose, things so simple in themselves, became, extensive as it is, was crowded almost to suffocation. on such an occasion, objects of terror and of solemn There was not a window in all the lofty tenements around interest. it, or in the steep and crooked street called the Bow, by Amid so numerous an assembly there was scarcely a which the fatal procession was to descend from the High word spoken, save in whispers. The thirst of vengeance

* There is a tradition, that while a little stream was swollen was in some degree allayed by its supposed certainty; into a torrent by recent showers, the discontented voice of and even the populace, with deeper feeling than they the Water Spirit was heard to pronounce these words. At the are wont to entertain, suppressed all clamorous exulta- some moment a man, urged on by his fate, or, in Scottish language, fey, arrived at a gallop, and prepared to cross the tion, and prepared to enjoy the scene of retaliation in water. No remonstrance from the bystanders was of power triumph, silent and decent, though stern and relentless. to stop him—he plunged into the stream, and perished. 61 The Heart of Mid-Lothian It seemed as if the depth of their hatred to the unfortu- past for many minutes, yet the spectators observed no nate criminal scorned to display itself in anything re- symptom of his appearance. “Would they venture to sembling the more noisy current of their ordinary feel- defraud public justice?” was the question which men ings. Had a stranger consulted only the evidence of his began anxiously to ask at each other. The first answer ears, he might have supposed that so vast a multitude in every case was bold and positive,— “They dare not.” were assembled for some purpose which affected them But when the point was further canvassed, other opin- with the deepest sorrow, and stilled those noises which, ions were entertained, and various causes of doubt were on all ordinary occasions, arise from such a concourse; suggested. Porteous had been a favourite officer of the but if he had gazed upon their faces, he would have been magistracy of the city, which, being a numerous and instantly undeceived. The compressed lip, the bent brow, fluctuating body, requires for its support a degree of the stern and flashing eye of almost everyone on whom energy in its functionaries, which the individuals who he looked, conveyed the expression of men come to glut compose it cannot at all times alike be supposed to pos- their sight with triumphant revenge. It is probable that sess in their own persons. It was remembered, that in the appearance of the criminal might have somewhat the Information for Porteous (the paper, namely, in changed the temper of the populace in his favour, and which his case was stated to the Judges of the criminal that they might in the moment of death have forgiven court), he had been described by his counsel as the per- the man against whom their resentment had been so son on whom the magistrates chiefly relied in all emer- fiercely heated. It had, however, been destined, that the gencies of uncommon difficulty. It was argued, too, that mutability of their sentiments was not to be exposed to his conduct, on the unhappy occasion of Wilson’s ex- this trial. ecution, was capable of being attributed to an impru- The usual hour for producing the criminal had been dent excess of zeal in the execution of his duty, a mo-

62 Sir Walter Scott tive for which those under whose authority he acted that what to the relatives of the sufferers appeared a might be supposed to have great sympathy. And as these wanton and unprovoked massacre, should be otherwise considerations might move the magistrates to make a viewed in the cabinet of St. James’s. It might be there favourable representation of Porteous’s case, there were supposed, that upon the whole matter, Captain Porteous not wanting others in the higher departments of Gov- was in the exercise of a trust delegated to him by the ernment, which would make such suggestions favourably lawful civil authority; that he had been assaulted by listened to. the populace, and several of his men hurt; and that, in The mob of Edinburgh, when thoroughly excited, had finally repelling force by force, his conduct could be fairly been at all times one of the fiercest which could be found imputed to no other motive than self-defence in the dis- in Europe; and of late years they had risen repeatedly charge of his duty. against the Government, and sometimes not without These considerations, of themselves very powerful, in- temporary success. They were conscious, therefore, that duced the spectators to apprehend the possibility of a they were no favourites with the rulers of the period, reprieve; and to the various causes which might interest and that, if Captain Porteous’s violence was not alto- the rulers in his favour, the lower part of the rabble added gether regarded as good service, it might certainly be one which was peculiarly well adapted to their compre- thought, that to visit it with a capital punishment would hension. It was averred, in order to increase the odium render it both delicate and dangerous for future offic- against Porteous, that while he repressed with the ut- ers, in the same circumstances, to act with effect in re- most severity the slightest excesses of the poor, he not pressing tumults. There is also a natural feeling, on the only overlooked the license of the young nobles and gen- part of all members of Government, for the general try, but was very willing to lend them the countenance maintenance of authority; and it seemed not unlikely, of his official authority, in execution of such loose pranks

63 The Heart of Mid-Lothian as it was chiefly his duty to have restrained. This suspi- the magistrates had almost hesitated to communicate cion, which was perhaps much exaggerated, made a deep to them, were at length announced, and spread among impression on the minds of the populace; and when sev- the spectators with a rapidity like lightning. A reprieve eral of the higher rank joined in a petition, recommend- from the Secretary of State’s office, under the hand of ing Porteous to the mercy of the Crown, it was gener- his Grace the Duke of Newcastle, had arrived, intimat- ally supposed he owed their favour not to any convic- ing the pleasure of Queen Caroline (regent of the king- tion of the hardship of his case, but to the fear of losing dom during the absence of George II. on the Continent), a convenient accomplice in their debaucheries. It is that the execution of the sentence of death pronounced scarcely necessary to say how much this suspicion aug- against John Porteous, late Captain-Lieutenant of the mented the people’s detestation of this obnoxious crimi- City Guard of Edinburgh, present prisoner in the nal, as well as their fear of his escaping the sentence Tolbooth of that city, be respited for six weeks from the pronounced against him. time appointed for his execution. While these arguments were stated and replied to, and The assembled spectators of almost all degrees, whose canvassed and supported, the hitherto silent expecta- minds had been wound up to the pitch which we have tion of the people became changed into that deep and described, uttered a groan, or rather a roar of indigna- agitating murmur, which is sent forth by the ocean be- tion and disappointed revenge, similar to that of a tiger fore the tempest begins to howl. The crowded populace, from whom his meal has been rent by his keeper when as if their motions had corresponded with the unsettled he was just about to devour it. This fierce exclamation state of their minds, fluctuated to and fro without any seemed to forbode some immediate explosion of popu- visible cause of impulse, like the agitation of the wa- lar resentment, and, in fact, such had been expected by ters, called by sailors the ground-swell. The news, which the magistrates, and the necessary measures had been

64 Sir Walter Scott taken to repress it. But the shout was not repeated, nor took advantage of a trifling tumult, inseparable from did any sudden tumult ensue, such as it appeared to such occasions, to shed the blood of twenty of his fel- announce. The populace seemed to be ashamed of hav- low-citizens, is deemed a fitting object for the exercise ing expressed their disappointment in a vain clamour, of the royal prerogative of mercy. Is this to be borne?— and the sound changed, not into the silence which had would our fathers have borne it? Are not we, like them, preceded the arrival of these stunning news, but into Scotsmen and burghers of Edinburgh?” stifled mutterings, which each group maintained among The officers of justice began now to remove the scaf- themselves, and which were blended into one deep and fold, and other preparations which had been made for hoarse murmur which floated above the assembly. the execution, in hopes, by doing so, to accelerate the Yet still, though all expectation of the execution was dispersion of the multitude. The measure had the de- over, the mob remained assembled, stationary, as it were, sired effect; for no sooner had the fatal tree been unfixed through very resentment, gazing on the preparations from the large stone pedestal or socket in which it was for death, which had now been made in vain, and stimu- secured, and sunk slowly down upon the wain intended lating their feelings, by recalling the various claims which to remove it to the place where it was usually deposited, Wilson might have had on royal mercy, from the mis- than the populace, after giving vent to their feelings in taken motives on which he acted, as well as from the a second shout of rage and mortification, began slowly generosity he had displayed towards his accomplice. to disperse to their usual abodes and occupations. “This man,” they said,— “the brave, the resolute, the The windows were in like manner gradually deserted, generous, was executed to death without mercy for steal- and groups of the more decent class of citizens formed ing a purse of gold, which in some sense he might con- themselves, as if waiting to return homewards when the sider as a fair reprisal; while the profligate satellite, who streets should be cleared of the rabble. Contrary to what

65 The Heart of Mid-Lothian is frequently the case, this description of persons agreed most violently against the conduct of Government. in general with the sentiments of their inferiors, and These active agents had the appearance of men from considered the cause as common to all ranks. Indeed, as the country, and were generally supposed to be old we have already noticed, it was by no means amongst friends and confederates of Wilson, whose minds were the lowest class of the spectators, or those most likely of course highly excited against Porteous. to be engaged in the riot at Wilson’s execution, that the If, however, it was the intention of these men to stir fatal fire of Porteous’s soldiers had taken effect. Several the multitude to any sudden act of mutiny, it seemed persons were killed who were looking out at windows at for the time to be fruitless. The rabble, as well as the the scene, who could not of course belong to the rioters, more decent part of the assembly, dispersed, and went and were persons of decent rank and condition. The home peaceably; and it was only by observing the moody burghers, therefore, resenting the loss which had fallen discontent on their brows, or catching the tenor of the on their own body, and proud and tenacious of their conversation they held with each other, that a stranger rights, as the citizens of Edinburgh have at all times could estimate the state of their minds. We will give the been, were greatly exasperated at the unexpected re- reader this advantage, by associating ourselves with one spite of Captain Porteous. of the numerous groups who were painfully ascending It was noticed at the time, and afterwards more par- the steep declivity of the West Bow, to return to their ticularly remembered, that, while the mob were in the dwellings in the Lawnmarket. act of dispersing, several individuals were seen busily “An unco thing this, Mrs. Howden,” said old Peter passing from one place and one group of people to an- Plumdamas to his neighbour the rouping-wife, or sales- other, remaining long with none, but whispering for a woman, as he offered her his arm to assist her in the little time with those who appeared to be declaiming toilsome ascent, “to see the grit folk at Lunnon set their

66 Sir Walter Scott face against law and gospel, and let loose sic a reprobate “Ye may say that—Miss Damahoy, and I ken o’ them as Porteous upon a peaceable town!” that hae gotten raisins frae Lunnon by forpits at ance,” “And to think o’ the weary walk they hae gien us,” responded Plumdamas; “and then sic an host of idle answered Mrs. Howden, with a groan; “and sic a com- English gaugers and excisemen as hae come down to fortable window as I had gotten, too, just within a vex and torment us, that an honest man canna fetch penny-stane-cast of the scaffold—I could hae heard sae muckle as a bit anker o’ brandy frae Leith to the every word the minister said—and to pay twalpennies Lawnmarket, but he’s like to be rubbit o’ the very gudes for my stand, and a’ for naething!” he’s bought and paid for.—Weel, I winna justify An- “I am judging,” said Mr. Plumdamas, “that this re- drew Wilson for pitting hands on what wasna his; but if prieve wadna stand gude in the auld Scots law, when he took nae mair than his ain, there’s an awfu’ differ- the kingdom was a kingdom.” ence between that and the fact this man stands for.” “I dinna ken muckle about the law,” answered Mrs. “If ye speak about the law,” said Mrs. Howden, “here Howden; “but I ken, when we had a king, and a chan- comes Mr. Saddletree, that can settle it as weel as ony cellor, and parliament men o’ our ain, we could aye peeble on the bench.” them wi’ stanes when they werena gude bairns—But The party she mentioned, a grave elderly person, with naebody’s nails can reach the length o’ Lunnon.” a superb periwig, dressed in a decent suit of sad-coloured “Weary on Lunnon, and a’ that e’er came out o’t!” clothes, came up as she spoke, and courteously gave his said Miss Grizel Damahoy, an ancient seamstress; “they arm to Miss Grizel Damahoy. hae taen away our parliament, and they hae oppressed It may be necessary to mention, that Mr. Bartoline our trade. Our gentles will hardly allow that a Scots Saddletree kept an excellent and highly-esteemed shop needle can sew ruffles on a sark, or lace on an owerlay.” for harness, saddles, &c. &c., at the sign of the Golden

67 The Heart of Mid-Lothian Nag, at the head of Bess Wynd.* siderable gift of words, which he mistook for eloquence, His genius, however (as he himself and most of his and conferred more liberally upon the society in which neighbours conceived), lay towards the weightier mat- he lived than was at all times gracious and acceptable, ters of the law, and he failed not to give frequent atten- there went forth a saying, with which wags used some- dance upon the pleadings and arguments of the lawyers times to interrupt his rhetoric, that, as he had a golden and judges in the neighbouring square, where, to say nag at his door, so he had a grey mare in his shop. This the truth, he was oftener to be found than would have reproach induced Mr. Saddletree, on all occasions, to consisted with his own emolument; but that his wife, an assume rather a haughty and stately tone towards his active painstaking person, could, in his absence, make good woman, a circumstance by which she seemed very an admirable shift to please the customers and scold the little affected, unless he attempted to exercise any real journeymen. This good lady was in the habit of letting authority, when she never failed to fly into open rebel- her husband take his way, and go on improving his stock lion. But such extremes Bartoline seldom provoked; for, of legal knowledge without interruption; but, as if in like the gentle King Jamie, he was fonder of talking of requital, she insisted upon having her own will in the authority than really exercising it. This turn of mind domestic and commercial departments which he aban- was, on the whole, lucky for him; since his substance doned to her. Now, as Bartoline Saddletree had a con- was increased without any trouble on his part, or any interruption of his favourite studies. * Maitland calls it Best’s Wynd, and later writers Beth’s Wynd. As the name implies, it was an open thoroughfare or alley lead- This word in explanation has been thrown in to the ing from the Lawnmarket, and extended in a direct line be- reader, while Saddletree was laying down, with great tween the old Tolbooth to near the head of the Cowgate. It precision, the law upon Porteous’s case, by which he was partly destroyed by fire in 1786, and was totally removed in 1809, preparatory to the building of the new libraries of arrived at this conclusion, that, if Porteous had fired the Faculty of Advocates and writers to the Signet. 68 Sir Walter Scott five minutes sooner, before Wilson was cut down, he “Quivis—quivis, Mr. Saddletree, craving your pardon,” would have been versans in licito; engaged, that is, in a said (with a prolonged emphasis on the first syllable) lawful act, and only liable to be punished propter Mr. Butler, the deputy-schoolmaster of a parish near excessum, or for lack of discretion, which might have Edinburgh, who at that moment came up behind them mitigated the punishment to poena ordinaria. as the false Latin was uttered. “Discretion!” echoed Mrs. Howden, on whom, it may “What signifies interrupting me, Mr. Butler?—but I well be supposed, the fineness of this distinction was am glad to see ye notwithstanding—I speak after Coun- entirely thrown away,— “whan had Jock Porteous ei- sellor Crossmyloof, and he said cuivis.” ther grace, discretion, or gude manners?—I mind when “If Counsellor Crossmyloof used the dative for the his father” nominative, I would have crossed his loof with a tight “But, Mrs. Howden,” said Saddletree— leathern strap, Mr. Saddletree; there is not a boy on the “And I,” said Miss Damahoy, “mind when his mother” booby form but should have been scourged for such a “Miss Damahoy,” entreated the interrupted orator solecism in grammar.” “And I,” said Plumdamas, “mind when his wife” “I speak Latin like a lawyer, Mr. Butler, and not like a “Mr. Plumdamas—Mrs. Howden—Miss Damahoy,” schoolmaster,” retorted Saddletree. again implored the orator,— “Mind the distinction, as “Scarce like a schoolboy, I think,” rejoined Butler. Counsellor Crossmyloof says— ‘I,’ says he, ‘take a dis- “It matters little,” said Bartoline; “all I mean to say tinction.’ Now, the body of the criminal being cut down, is, that Porteous has become liable to the poena extra and the execution ended, Porteous was no longer offi- ordinem, or capital punishment—which is to say, in plain cial; the act which he came to protect and guard, being Scotch, the gallows—simply because he did not fire when done and ended, he was no better than cuivis ex populo.” he was in office, but waited till the body was cut down,

69 The Heart of Mid-Lothian the execution whilk he had in charge to guard imple- tions about their saddles, and curpels, and holsters and mented, and he himself exonered of the public trust horse-furniture, and what they’ll cost, and whan they’ll imposed on him.” be ready—a wheen galloping geese—my wife may serve “But, Mr. Saddletree,” said Plumdamas, “do ye really the like o’ them.” think John Porteous’s case wad hae been better if he “And so might she, in her day, hae served the best lord had begun firing before ony stanes were flung at a’?” in the land, for as little as ye think o’ her, Mr. Saddletree,” “Indeed do I, neighbour Plumdamas,” replied said Mrs. Howden, somewhat indignant at the contemp- Bartoline, confidently, “he being then in point of trust tuous way in which her gossip was mentioned; “when and in point of power, the execution being but inchoat, she and I were twa gilpies, we little thought to hae sitten or, at least, not implemented, or finally ended; but after doun wi’ the like o’ my auld Davie Howden, or you ei- Wilson was cut down it was a’ ower—he was clean ther, Mr. Saddletree.” exauctorate, and had nae mair ado but to get awa wi’ While Saddletree, who was not bright at a reply, was his guard up this West Bow as fast as if there had been cudgelling his brains for an answer to this homethrust, a caption after him—And this is law, for I heard it laid Miss Damahoy broke in on him. down by Lord Vincovincentem.” “And as for the lords of state,” said Miss Damahoy, “Vincovincentem?—Is he a lord of state, or a lord of “ye suld mind the riding o’ the parliament, Mr. seat?” inquired Mrs. Howden.* Saddletree, in the gude auld time before the Union,—a “A lord of seat—a lord of session.—I fash mysell little year’s rent o’ mony a gude estate gaed for horse-graith wi’ lords o’ state; they vex me wi’ a wheen idle ques- and harnessing, forby broidered robes and foot-mantles, that wad hae stude by their lane wi’ gold brocade, and * A nobleman was called a Lord of State. The Senators of the College of Justice were termed Lords of Seat, or of the that were muckle in my ain line.” Session. 70 Sir Walter Scott “Ay, and then the lusty banqueting, with sweetmeats “Report says,” answered Butler, “that such a circum- and comfits wet and dry, and dried fruits of divers sorts,” stance would not have distressed her majesty beyond said Plumdamas. “But Scotland was Scotland in these endurance.” days.” “Aweel,” said Mrs. Howden, “the sum o’ the matter is, “I’ll tell ye what it is, neighbours,” said Mrs. Howden, that, were I a man, I wad hae amends o’ Jock Porteous, “I’ll ne’er believe Scotland is Scotland ony mair, if our be the upshot what like o’t, if a’ the carles and carlines kindly Scots sit doun with the affront they hae gien us in England had sworn to the nay-say.” this day. It’s not only the blude that is shed, but the “I would claw down the Tolbooth door wi’ my nails,” blude that might hae been shed, that’s required at our said Miss Grizel, “but I wad be at him.” hands; there was my daughter’s wean, little Eppie “Ye may be very right, ladies,” said Butler, “but I Daidle—my oe, ye ken, Miss Grizel—had played the tru- would not advise you to speak so loud.” ant frae the school, as bairns will do, ye ken, Mr. But- “Speak!” exclaimed both the ladies together, “there ler?” will be naething else spoken about frae the Weigh-house “And for which,” interjected Mr. Butler, “they should to the Water-gate, till this is either ended or mended.” be soundly scourged by their well-wishers.” The females now departed to their respective places “And had just cruppen to the gallows’ foot to see the of abode. Plumdamas joined the other two gentlemen hanging, as was natural for a wean; and what for in drinking their meridian (a bumper-dram of brandy), mightna she hae been shot as weel as the rest o’ them, as they passed the well-known low-browed shop in the and where wad we a’ hae been then? I wonder how Queen Lawnmarket, where they were wont to take that refresh- Carline (if her name be Carline) wad hae liked to hae ment. Mr. Plumdamas then departed towards his shop, had ane o’ her ain bairns in sic a venture?” and Mr. Butler, who happened to have some particular

71 The Heart of Mid-Lothian occasion for the rein of an old bridle (the truants of that busy day could have anticipated its application), walked down the Lawnmarket with Mr. Saddletree, each CHAPTER FOURTH talking as he could get a word thrust in, the one on the laws of Scotland, the other on those of syntax, and neither listening to a word which his companion uttered. Elswhair he colde right weel lay down the law, But in his house was meek as is a daw.

Davie Lindsay.

“THERE HAS BEEN Jock Driver the carrier here, speering about his new graith,” said Mrs. Saddletree to her husband, as he crossed his threshold, not with the purpose, by any means, of consulting him upon his own affairs, but merely to intimate, by a gentle recapitulation, how much duty she had gone through in his absence. “Weel,” replied Bartoline, and deigned not a word more. “And the laird of Girdingburst has had his running footman here, and ca’d himsell (he’s a civil pleasant young gentleman), to see when the broidered saddle-

72 Sir Walter Scott cloth for his sorrel horse will be ready, for he wants it of consequence, “dinna deave me wi’ your nonsense; I agane the Kelso races.” was under the necessity of being elsewhere—non om- “Weel, aweel,” replied Bartoline, as laconically as be- nia—as Mr. Crossmyloof said, when he was called by fore. two macers at once—non omnia possumus—pessimus— “And his lordship, the Earl of Blazonbury, Lord Flash possimis—I ken our law-latin offends Mr. Butler’s ears, and Flame, is like to be clean daft, that the harness for but it means, Naebody, an it were the Lord President the six Flanders mears, wi’ the crests, coronets, hous- himsell, can do twa turns at ance.” ings, and mountings conform, are no sent hame accord- “Very right, Mr. Saddletree,” answered his careful ing to promise gien.” helpmate, with a sarcastic smile; “and nae doubt it’s a “Weel, weel, weel—weel, weel, gudewife,” said decent thing to leave your wife to look after young Saddletree, “if he gangs daft, we’ll hae him cognosced— gentlemen’s saddles and bridles, when ye gang to see a it’s a’ very weel.” man, that never did ye nae ill, raxing a halter.” “It’s weel that ye think sae, Mr. Saddletree,” answered “Woman,” said Saddletree, assuming an elevated tone, his helpmate, rather nettled at the indifference with to which the meridian had somewhat contributed, “de- which her report was received; “there’s mony ane wad sist,—I say forbear, from intromitting with affairs thou hae thought themselves affronted, if sae mony custom- canst not understand. D’ye think I was born to sit here ers had ca’d and naebody to answer them but women- brogging an elshin through bend-leather, when sic men folk; for a’ the lads were aff, as soon as your back was as Duncan Forbes, and that other Arniston chield there, turned, to see Porteous hanged, that might be counted without muckle greater parts, if the close-head speak upon; and sae, you no being at hame.” true, than mysell maun be presidents and king’s advo- “Houts, Mrs. Saddletree,” said Bartoline, with an air cates, nae doubt, and wha but they? Whereas, were

73 The Heart of Mid-Lothian favour equally distribute, as in the days of the wight import our lawyers from Holland.” Wallace.” “It’s ower true, Mr. Butler,” answered Bartoline, with “I ken naething we wad hae gotten by the wight a sigh; “if I had had the luck—or rather, if my father Wallace,” said Mrs. Saddletree, “unless, as I hae heard had had the sense to send me to Leyden and Utrecht to the auld folk tell, they fought in thae days wi’ bend- learn the Substitutes and Pandex.” leather guns, and then it’s a chance but what, if he had “You mean the Institutes—Justinian’s Institutes, Mr. bought them, he might have forgot to pay for them. And Saddletree?” said Butler. as for the greatness of your parts, Bartley, the folk in “Institutes and substitutes are synonymous words, Mr. the close-head* maun ken mair about them than I do, Butler, and used indifferently as such in deeds of tailzie, if they make sic a report of them.” as you may see in Balfour’s Practiques, or Dallas of St. “I tell ye, woman,” said Saddletree, in high dudgeon, Martin’s Styles. I understand these things pretty weel, “that ye ken naething about these matters. In Sir Will- I thank God but I own I should have studied in Hol- iam Wallace’s days there was nae man pinned down to land.” sic a slavish wark as a saddler’s, for they got ony leather “To comfort you, you might not have been farther for- graith that they had use for ready-made out of Hol- ward than you are now, Mr. Saddletree,” replied Mr. land.” Butler; “for our Scottish advocates are an aristocratic “Well,” said Butler, who was, like many of his profes- race. Their brass is of the right Corinthian quality, and sion, something of a humorist and dry joker, “if that be Non cuivis contigit adire Corinthum—Aha, Mr. the case, Mr. Saddletree, I think we have changed for Saddletree?” the better; since we make our own harness, and only “And aha, Mr. Butler,” rejoined Bartoline, upon whom, as may be well supposed, the jest was lost, and all but * Close-head, the entrance of a blind alley. 74 Sir Walter Scott the sound of the words, “ye said a gliff syne it was quivis, “I ken what a tutor dative is,” said Saddletree, “readily and now I heard ye say cuivis with my ain ears, as plain enough.” as ever I heard a word at the fore-bar.” “The dative case,” resumed the grammarian, “is that “Give me your patience, Mr. Saddletree, and I’ll ex- in which anything is given or assigned as properly be- plain the discrepancy in three words,” said Butler, as longing to a person or thing—You cannot deny that, I pedantic in his own department, though with infinitely am sure.” more judgment and learning, as Bartoline was in his “I am sure I’ll no grant it, though,” said Saddletree. self-assumed profession of the law— “Give me your “Then, what the deevil d’ye take the nominative and patience for a moment—You’ll grant that the nomina- the dative cases to be?” said Butler, hastily, and sur- tive case is that by which a person or thing is nominated prised at once out of his decency of expression and ac- or designed, and which may be called the primary case, curacy of pronunciation. all others being formed from it by alterations of the ter- “I’ll tell you that at leisure, Mr. Butler,” said mination in the learned languages, and by prepositions Saddletree, with a very knowing look; “I’ll take a day in our modern Babylonian jargons—You’ll grant me to see and answer every article of your condescendence, that, I suppose, Mr. Saddletree?” and then I’ll hold you to confess or deny as accords.” “I dinna ken whether I will or no—ad avisandum, ye “Come, come, Mr. Saddletree,” said his wife, “we’ll hae ken—naebody should be in a hurry to make admissions, nae confessions and condescendences here; let them deal either in point of law, or in point of fact,” said in thae sort o’ wares that are paid for them—they suit Saddletree, looking, or endeavouring to look, as if he the like o’ us as all as a demipique saddle would suit a understood what was said. draught ox.” “And the dative case,” continued Butler “Aha!” said Mr. Butler, “Optat ephippia bos piger, noth-

75 The Heart of Mid-Lothian ing new under the sun—But it was a fair hit of Mrs. they’ll ne’er get through their wark—Sae I miss Effie Saddletree, however.” daily.” “And it wad far better become ye, Mr. Saddletree,” “De die in diem,” added Saddletree. continued his helpmate, “since ye say ye hae skeel o’ the “I think,” said Butler, after a good deal of hesitation, law, to try if ye can do onything for Effie Deans, puir “I have seen the girl in the shop—a modest-looking, fair- thing, that’s lying up in the tolbooth yonder, cauld, and haired girl?” hungry, and comfortless—A servant lass of ours, Mr. “Ay, ay, that’s just puir Effie,” said her mistress. “How Butler, and as innocent a lass, to my thinking, and as she was abandoned to hersell, or whether she was usefu’ in the shop—When Mr. Saddletree gangs out,— sackless o’ the sinful deed, God in Heaven knows; but if and ye’re aware he’s seldom at hame when there’s ony she’s been guilty, she’s been sair tempted, and I wad o’ the plea-houses open,—poor Effie used to help me to amaist take my Bible-aith she hasna been hersell at the tumble the bundles o’ barkened leather up and down, time.” and range out the gudes, and suit a’ body’s humours— Butler had by this time become much agitated; he fidg- And troth, she could aye please the customers wi’ her eted up and down the shop, and showed the greatest answers, for she was aye civil, and a bonnier lass wasna agitation that a person of such strict decorum could be in Auld Reekie. And when folk were hasty and unrea- supposed to give way to. “Was not this girl,” he said, sonable, she could serve them better than me, that am “the daughter of David Deans, that had the parks at no sae young as I hae been, Mr. Butler, and a wee bit St. Leonard’s taken? and has she not a sister?” short in the temper into the bargain. For when there’s “In troth has she,—puir Jeanie Deans, ten years aulder ower mony folks crying on me at anes, and nane but ae than hersell; she was here greeting a wee while syne tongue to answer them, folk maun speak hastily, or about her tittie. And what could I say to her, but that

76 Sir Walter Scott she behoved to come and speak to Mr. Saddletree when the truth o’ her situation out o’ her, I’se warrant ye— he was at hame? It wasna that I thought Mr. Saddletree But we a’ think her sister maun be able to speak some- could do her or ony ither body muckle good or ill, but it thing to clear her.” wad aye serve to keep the puir thing’s heart up for a wee “The haill Parliament House,” said Saddletree, “was while; and let sorrow come when sorrow maun.” speaking o’ naething else, till this job o’ Porteous’s put “Ye’re mistaen though, gudewife,” said Saddletree it out o’ head—It’s a beautiful point of presumptive scornfully, “for I could hae gien her great satisfaction; I murder, and there’s been nane like it in the Justiciar could hae proved to her that her sister was indicted upon Court since the case of Luckie Smith the howdie, that the statute saxteen hundred and ninety, chapter one— suffered in the year saxteen hundred and seventy-nine.” For the mair ready prevention of child-murder—for con- “But what’s the matter wi’ you, Mr. Butler?” said the cealing her pregnancy, and giving no account of the child good woman; “ye are looking as white as a sheet; will ye which she had borne.” tak a dram?” “I hope,” said Butler,— “I trust in a gracious God, “By no means,” said Butler, compelling himself to that she can clear herself.” speak. “I walked in from Dumfries yesterday, and this “And sae do I, Mr. Butler,” replied Mrs. Saddletree. “I is a warm day.” am sure I wad hae answered for her as my ain daughter; “Sit down,” said Mrs. Saddletree, laying hands on him but wae’s my heart, I had been tender a’ the simmer, kindly, “and rest ye—yell kill yoursell, man, at that and scarce ower the door o’ my room for twal weeks. rate.—And are we to wish you joy o’ getting the scule, And as for Mr. Saddletree, he might be in a lying-in hos- Mr. Butler?” pital, and ne’er find out what the women cam there for. “Yes—no—I do not know,” answered the young man Sae I could see little or naething o’ her, or I wad hae had vaguely. But Mrs. Saddletree kept him to point, partly

77 The Heart of Mid-Lothian out of real interest, partly from curiosity. pagan Seneca could see an advantage in affliction, The “Ye dinna ken whether ye are to get the free scule o’ Heathens had their philosophy, and the Jews their rev- Dumfries or no, after hinging on and teaching it a’ the elation, Mrs. Saddletree, and they endured their dis- simmer?” tresses in their day. Christians have a better dispensa- “No, Mrs. Saddletree—I am not to have it,” replied tion than either—but doubtless—” Butler, more collectedly. “The Laird of Black-at-the-Bane He stopped and sighed. had a natural son bred to the kirk, that the Presbytery “I ken what ye mean,” said Mrs. Saddletree, looking could not be prevailed upon to license; and so.” toward her husband; “there’s whiles we lose patience in “Ay, ye need say nae mair about it; if there was a laird spite of baith book and Bible—But ye are no gaun awa, that had a puir kinsman or a bastard that it wad suit, and looking sae poorly—ye’ll stay and take some kale there’s enough said.—And ye’re e’en come back to wi’ us?” Liberton to wait for dead men’s shoon?—and for as frail Mr. Saddletree laid aside Balfour’s Practiques (his as Mr. Whackbairn is, he may live as lang as you, that favourite study, and much good may it do him), to join are his assistant and successor.” in his wife’s hospitable importunity. But the teacher “Very like,” replied Butler, with a sigh; “I do not know declined all entreaty, and took his leave upon the spot. if I should wish it otherwise.” “There’s something in a’ this,” said Mrs. Saddletree, “Nae doubt, it’s a very vexing thing,” continued the looking after him as he walked up the street; “I wonder good lady, “to be in that dependent station; and you what makes Mr. Butler sae distressed about Effie’s mis- that hae right and title to sae muckle better, I wonder fortune—there was nae acquaintance atween them that how ye bear these crosses.” ever I saw or heard of; but they were neighbours when “Quos diligit castigat,” answered Butler; “even the David Deans was on the Laird o’ Dumbiedikes’ land.

78 Sir Walter Scott Mr. Butler wad ken her father, or some o’ her folk.—Get rem versam, for I am not aware if Willie has ony effects up, Mr. Saddletree—ye have set yoursell down on the whereof to assume the administration.” very brecham that wants stitching—and here’s little He concluded this sentence with a self-important Willie, the prentice.—Ye little rin-there-out deil that ye cough, as one who has laid down the law in an indisput- are, what takes you raking through the gutters to see able manner. folk hangit?—how wad ye like when it comes to be your “Effects!” said Mrs. Saddletree, “what effects has the ain chance, as I winna ensure ye, if ye dinna mend your puir wean?—he was in rags when his mother died; and manners?—And what are ye maundering and greeting the blue polonie that Effie made for him out of an auld for, as if a word were breaking your banes?—Gang in mantle of my ain, was the first decent dress the bairn by, and be a better bairn another time, and tell Peggy ever had on. Poor Effie! can ye tell me now really, wi’ a’ to gie ye a bicker o’ broth, for ye’ll be as gleg as a gled, your law, will her life be in danger, Mr. Saddletree, when I’se warrant ye.—It’s a fatherless bairn, Mr. Saddletree, they arena able to prove that ever there was a bairn ava?” and motherless, whilk in some cases may be waur, and “Whoy,” said Mr. Saddletree, delighted at having for ane would take care o’ him if they could—it’s a Chris- once in his life seen his wife’s attention arrested by a tian duty.” topic of legal discussion—“Whoy, there are two sorts “Very true, gudewife,” said Saddletree in reply, “we of murdrum or murdragium, or what you populariter et are in loco parentis to him during his years of pupillarity, vulgariser call murther. I mean there are many sorts; for and I hae had thoughts of applying to the Court for a there’s your murthrum per vigilias et insidias, and your commission as factor loco tutoris, seeing there is nae tu- murthrum under trust.” tor nominate, and the tutor-at-law declines to act; but “I am sure,” replied his moiety, “that murther by trust only I fear the expense of the procedure wad not be in is the way that the gentry murther us merchants, and

79 The Heart of Mid-Lothian whiles make us shut the booth up—but that has ther progress of the conversation, which was otherwise naething to do wi’ Effie’s misfortune.” like to take a turn much less favourable to the science “The case of Effie (or Euphemia) Deans,” resumed of jurisprudence and its professors, than Mr. Bartoline Saddletree, “is one of those cases of murder presump- Saddletree, the fond admirer of both, had at its open- tive, that is, a murder of the law’s inferring or construc- ing anticipated. tion, being derived from certain indicia or grounds of suspicion.” “So that,” said the good woman, “unless poor Effie has communicated her situation, she’ll be hanged by the neck, if the bairn was still-born, or if it be alive at this moment?” “Assuredly,” said Saddletree, “it being a statute made by our Sovereign Lord and Lady, to prevent the horrid delict of bringing forth children in secret—The crime is rather a favourite of the law, this species of murther being one of its ain creation.” “Then, if the law makes murders,” said Mrs. Saddletree, “the law should be hanged for them; or if they wad hang a lawyer instead, the country wad find nae faut.” A summons to their frugal dinner interrupted the far-

80 Sir Walter Scott on the subject of Porteous, and engaged busily in at- CHAPTER FIFTH tacking or defending the measures of Government in reprieving him; and the ardour of dispute had excited such universal thirst, that half the young lawyers and But up then raise all Edinburgh. writers, together with their very clerks, the class whom They all rose up by thousands three. Butler was looking after, had adjourned the debate to some favourite tavern. It was computed by an experi- Johnnie Armstrang’s Goodnight. enced arithmetician, that there was as much twopenny ale consumed on the discussion as would have floated a first-rate man-of-war. BUTLER, on his departure from the sign of the Golden Butler wandered about until it was dusk, resolving to Nag, went in quest of a friend of his connected with the take that opportunity of visiting the unfortunate young law, of whom he wished to make particular inquiries woman, when his doing so might be least observed; for he concerning the circumstances in which the unfortunate had his own reasons for avoiding the remarks of Mrs. young woman mentioned in the last chapter was placed, Saddletree, whose shop-door opened at no great distance having, as the reader has probably already conjectured, from that of the jail, though on the opposite or south reasons much deeper than those dictated by mere hu- side of the street, and a little higher up. He passed, there- manity for interesting himself in her fate. He found the fore, through the narrow and partly covered passage lead- person he sought absent from home, and was equally ing from the north-west end of the Parliament Square. unfortunate in one or two other calls which he made He stood now before the Gothic entrance of the an- upon acquaintances whom he hoped to interest in her cient prison, which, as is well known to all men, rears its story. But everybody was, for the moment, stark-mad

81 The Heart of Mid-Lothian ancient front in the very middle of the High Street, form- bies, and Dutch toys, arranged in artful and gay confu- ing, as it were, the termination to a huge pile of build- sion; yet half-scared by the cross looks of the withered ings called the Luckenbooths, which, for some incon- pantaloon, or spectacled old lady, by whom these tempt- ceivable reason, our ancestors had jammed into the midst ing stores are watched and superintended. But, in the of the principal street of the town, leaving for passage a times we write of, the hosiers, the glovers, the hatters, narrow street on the north; and on the south, into which the mercers, the milliners, and all who dealt in the mis- the prison opens, a narrow crooked lane, winding be- cellaneous wares now termed haberdasher’s goods, were twixt the high and sombre walls of the Tolbooth and to be found in this narrow alley. the adjacent houses on the one side, and the butresses To return from our digression. Butler found the outer and projections of the old Cathedral upon the other. To turnkey, a tall thin old man, with long silver hair, in the give some gaiety to this sombre passage (well known by act of locking the outward door of the jail. He addressed the name of the Krames), a number of little booths, or himself to this person, and asked admittance to Effie shops, after the fashion of cobblers’ stalls, are plastered, Deans, confined upon accusation of child-murder. The as it were, against the Gothic projections and abutments, turnkey looked at him earnestly, and, civilly touching so that it seemed as if the traders had occupied with his hat out of respect to Butler’s black coat and clerical nests, bearing the same proportion to the building, ev- appearance, replied, “It was impossible any one could ery buttress and coign of vantage, as the martlett did be admitted at present.” in Macbeth’s Castle. Of later years these booths have “You shut up earlier than usual, probably on account degenerated into mere toy-shops, where the little loiter- of Captain Porteous’s affair?” said Butler. ers chiefly interested in such wares are tempted to lin- The turnkey, with the true mystery of a person in of- ger, enchanted by the rich display of hobby-horses, ba- fice, gave two grave nods, and withdrawing from the

82 Sir Walter Scott wards a ponderous key of about two feet in length, he half to the southward of Edinburgh. The metropolis proceeded to shut a strong plate of steel, which folded was at this time surrounded by a high wall, with battle- down above the keyhole, and was secured by a steel ments and flanking projections at some intervals, and spring and catch. Butler stood still instinctively while the access was through gates, called in the Scottish lan- the door was made fast, and then looking at his watch, guage ports, which were regularly shut at night. A small walked briskly up the street, muttering to himself, al- fee to the keepers would indeed procure egress and in- most unconsciously— gress at any time, through a wicket left for that purpose in the large gate; but it was of some importance, to a Porta adversa, ingens, solidoque adamante columnae; man so poor as Butler, to avoid even this slight pecuni- Vis ut nulla virum, non ipsi exscindere ferro ary mulct; and fearing the hour of shutting the gates Coelicolae valeant—Stat ferrea turris ad auras—etc.* might be near, he made for that to which he found himself nearest, although, by doing so, he somewhat length- Dryden’s Virgil, Book vi. ened his walk homewards. Bristo Port was that by which his direct road lay, but the West Port, which leads out Having wasted half-an-hour more in a second fruit- of the Grassmarket, was the nearest of the city gates to less attempt to find his legal friend and adviser, he the place where he found himself, and to that, there- thought it time to leave the city and return to his place fore, he directed his course. He reached the port in ample of residence, in a small village about two miles and a time to pass the circuit of the walls, and entered a suburb called Portsburgh, chiefly inhabited by the lower * Wide is the fronting gate, and, raised on high,/ With ada- order of citizens and mechanics. Here he was unexpect- mantine columns threats the sky;/ Vain is the force of man, and Heaven’s as vain,/ To crush the pillars which the pile edly interrupted. sustain:/ Sublime on these a tower of steel is reard. 83 The Heart of Mid-Lothian He had not gone far from the gate before he heard the “But to what purpose or end, gentlemen?” said But- sound of a drum, and, to his great surprise, met a num- ler. “I hope you will be so civil as to explain that to me.” ber of persons, sufficient to occupy the whole front of “You shall know that in good time. Come along—for the street, and form a considerable mass behind, mov- come you must, by force or fair means; and I warn you ing with great speed towards the gate he had just come to look neither to the right hand nor the left, and to from, and having in front of them a drum beating to take no notice of any man’s face, but consider all that is arms. While he considered how he should escape a party, passing before you as a dream.” assembled, as it might be presumed, for no lawful pur- “I would it were a dream I could awaken from,” said pose, they came full on him and stopped him. Butler to himself; but having no means to oppose the vio- “Are you a clergyman?” one questioned him. lence with which he was threatened, he was compelled to Butler replied that “he was in orders, but was not a turn round and march in front of the rioters, two men placed minister.” partly supporting and partly holding him. During this “It’s Mr. Butler from Liberton,” said a voice from be- parley the insurgents had made themselves masters of hind, “he’ll discharge the duty as weel as ony man.” the West Port, rushing upon the Waiters (so the people “You must turn back with us, sir,” said the first were called who had the charge of the gates), and pos- speaker, in a tone civil but peremptory. sessing themselves of the keys. They bolted and barred “For what purpose, gentlemen?” said Mr. Butler. “I live the folding doors, and commanded the person, whose duty at some distance from town—the roads are unsafe by it usually was, to secure the wicket, of which they did night—you will do me a serious injury by stopping me.” not understand the fastenings. The man, terrified at an “You shall be sent safely home—no man shall touch a hair incident so totally unexpected, was unable to perform of your head—but you must and shall come along with us.” his usual office, and gave the matter up, after several at-

84 Sir Walter Scott tempts. The rioters, who seemed to have come prepared The rioters left a small party to observe the West Port, for every emergency, called for torches, by the light of and directed the Waiters, as they valued their lives, to which they nailed up the wicket with long nails, which, it remain within their lodge, and make no attempt for that seemed probable, they had provided on purpose. night to repossess themselves of the gate. They then While this was going on, Butler could not, even if he moved with rapidity along the low street called the had been willing, avoid making remarks on the individu- Cowgate, the mob of the city everywhere rising at the als who seemed to lead this singular mob. The torch- sound of their drum, and joining them. When the mul- light, while it fell on their forms and left him in the shade, titude arrived at the Cowgate Port, they secured it with gave him an opportunity to do so without their observ- as little opposition as the former, made it fast, and left a ing him. Several of those who seemed most active were small party to observe it. It was afterwards remarked, dressed in sailors’ jackets, trousers, and sea-caps; oth- as a striking instance of prudence and precaution, sin- ers in large loose-bodied greatcoats, and slouched hats; gularly combined with audacity, that the parties left to and there were several who, judging from their dress, guard those gates did not remain stationary on their should have been called women, whose rough deep posts, but flitted to and fro, keeping so near the gates as voices, uncommon size, and masculine, deportment and to see that no efforts were made to open them, yet not mode of walking, forbade them being so interpreted. remaining so long as to have their persons closely ob- They moved as if by some well-concerted plan of ar- served. The mob, at first only about one hundred strong, rangement. They had signals by which they knew, and now amounted to thousands, and were increasing every nicknames by which they distinguished each other. But- moment. They divided themselves so as to ascend with ler remarked, that the name of Wildfire was used among more speed the various narrow lanes which lead up from them, to which one stout Amazon seemed to reply. the Cowgate to the High Street; and still beating to arms

85 The Heart of Mid-Lothian as they went, an calling on all true Scotsmen to join long, low, ugly building (removed in 1787), which to a them, they now filled the principal street of the city. fanciful imagination might have suggested the idea of a The Netherbow Port might be called the Temple Bar long black snail crawling up the middle of the High of Edinburgh, as, intersecting the High Street at its ter- Street, and deforming its beautiful esplanade. This for- mination, it divided Edinburgh, properly so called, from midable insurrection had been so unexpected, that there the suburb named the Canongate, as Temple Bar sepa- were no more than the ordinary sergeant’s guard of the rates London from Westminster. It was of the utmost city-corps upon duty; even these were without any sup- importance to the rioters to possess themselves of this ply of powder and ball; and sensible enough what had pass, because there was quartered in the Canongate at raised the storm, and which way it was rolling, could that time a regiment of infantry, commanded by Colo- hardly be supposed very desirous to expose themselves nel Moyle, which might have occupied the city by ad- by a valiant defence to the animosity of so numerous vancing through this gate, and would possess the power and desperate a mob, to whom they were on the present of totally defeating their purpose. The leaders there- occasion much more than usually obnoxious. fore hastened to the Netherbow Port, which they se- There was a sentinel upon guard, who (that one town- cured in the same manner, and with as little trouble, as guard soldier might do his duty on that eventful evening) the other gates, leaving a party to watch it, strong in presented his piece, and desired the foremost of the ri- proportion to the importance of the post. oters to stand off. The young Amazon, whom Butler The next object of these hardy insurgents was at once had observed particularly active, sprung upon the sol- to disarm the City Guard, and to procure arms for them- dier, seized his musket, and after a struggle succeeded in selves; for scarce any weapons but staves and bludgeons wrenching it from him, and throwing him down on the had been yet seen among them. The Guard-house was a causeway. One or two soldiers, who endeavoured to turn

86 Sir Walter Scott out to the support of their sentinel, were in the same mate object of their rising, as being that which all knew, manner seized and disarmed, and the mob without dif- but none expressed. Now, however, having accomplished ficulty possessed themselves of the Guard-house, dis- all the preliminary parts of their design, they raised a arming and turning out of doors the rest of the men on tremendous shout of “Porteous! Porteous! To the duty. It was remarked, that, notwithstanding the city Tolbooth! To the Tolbooth!” soldiers had been the instruments of the slaughter which this riot was designed to revenge, no ill usage or even insult was offered to them. It seemed as if the vengeance of the people disdained to stoop at any head meaner than that which they considered as the source and origin of their injuries. On possessing themselves of the guard, the first act of the multitude was to destroy the drums, by which they supposed an alarm might be conveyed to the garrison in the castle; for the same reason they now silenced their own, which was beaten by a young fellow, son to the drummer of Portsburgh, whom they had forced upon They proceeded with the same prudence when the ob- that service. Their next business was to distribute among ject seemed to be nearly in their grasp, as they had done the boldest of the rioters the guns, bayonets, partisans, hitherto when success was more dubious. A strong party halberts, and battle or Lochaber axes. Until this period of the rioters, drawn up in front of the Luckenbooths, the principal rioters had preserved silence on the ulti- and facing down the street, prevented all access from

87 The Heart of Mid-Lothian the eastward, and the west end of the defile formed by authorities, and having the fate of Porteous before his the Luckenbooths was secured in the same manner; so eyes as an example of the severe construction put by a that the Tolbooth was completely surrounded, and those jury on the proceedings of military men acting on their who undertook the task of breaking it open effectually own responsibility, declined to encounter the risk to which secured against the risk of interruption. the Provost’s verbal communication invited him. The magistrates, in the meanwhile, had taken the alarm, More than one messenger was despatched by different and assembled in a tavern, with the purpose of raising ways to the Castle, to require the commanding officer some strength to subdue the rioters. The deacons, or presi- to march down his troops, to fire a few cannon-shot, or dents of the trades, were applied to, but declared there even to throw a shell among the mob, for the purpose of was little chance of their authority being respected by clearing the streets. But so strict and watchful were the the craftsmen, where it was the object to save a man so various patrols whom the rioters had established in dif- obnoxious. Mr. Lindsay, member of parliament for the ferent parts of the streets, that none of the emissaries city, volunteered the perilous task of carrying a verbal of the magistrates could reach the gate of the Castle. message, from the Lord Provost to Colonel Moyle, the They were, however, turned back without either injury commander of the regiment lying in the Canongate, re- or insult, and with nothing more of menace than was questing him to force the Netherbow Port, and enter the necessary to deter them from again attempting to ac- city to put down the tumult. But Mr. Lindsay declined to complish their errand. charge himself with any written order, which, if found The same vigilance was used to prevent everybody of on his person by an enraged mob, might have cost him the higher, and those which, in this case, might be deemed his life; and the issue, of the application was, that Colo- the more suspicious orders of society, from appearing in nel Moyle having no written requisition from the civil the street, and observing the movements, or distinguish-

88 Sir Walter Scott ing the persons, of the rioters. Every person in the garb Persons are yet living who remember to have heard of a gentleman was stopped by small parties of two or from the mouths of ladies thus interrupted on their jour- three of the mob, who partly exhorted, partly required ney in the manner we have described, that they were of them, that they should return to the place from whence escorted to their lodgings by the young men who stopped they came. Many a quadrille table was spoilt that memo- them, and even handed out of their chairs, with a polite rable evening; for the sedan chairs of ladies; even of the attention far beyond what was consistent with their highest rank, were interrupted in their passage from one dress, which was apparently that of journeymen me- point to another, in spite of the laced footmen and blaz- chanics.* ing flambeaux. This was uniformly done with a defer- It seemed as if the conspirators, like those who assas- ence and attention to the feelings of the terrified females, sinated Cardinal Beatoun in former days, had enter- which could hardly have been expected from the videttes tained the opinion, that the work about which they went of a mob so desperate. Those who stopped the chair usu- was a judgment of Heaven, which, though unsanctioned ally made the excuse, that there was much disturbance by the usual authorities, ought to be proceeded in with on the streets, and that it was absolutely necessary for order and gravity. the lady’s safety that the chair should turn back. They While their outposts continued thus vigilant, and suf- offered themselves to escort the vehicles which they had fered themselves neither from fear nor curiosity to ne- thus interrupted in their progress, from the apprehen- * A near relation of the author’s used to tell of having been sion, probably, that some of those who had casually united stopped by the rioters, and escorted home in the manner de- themselves to the riot might disgrace their systematic and scribed. On reaching her own home one of her attendants, in determined plan of vengeance, by those acts of general the appearance a baxter, a baker’s lad, handed her out of her chair, and took leave with a bow, which, in the lady’s opin- insult and license which are common on similar occasions. ion, argued breeding that could hardly be learned at the oven’s mouth. 89 The Heart of Mid-Lothian glect that part of the duty assigned to them, and while near, indeed, that he was almost deafened by the un- the main guards to the east and west secured them ceasing clang of the heavy fore-hammers against the against interruption, a select body of the rioters thun- iron-bound portal of the prison. He began to entertain dered at the door of the jail, and demanded instant ad- hopes, as the task seemed protracted, that the populace mission. No one answered, for the outer keeper had pru- might give it over in despair, or that some rescue might dently made his escape with the keys at the commence- arrive to disperse them. There was a moment at which ment of the riot, and was nowhere to be found. The door the latter seemed probable. was instantly assailed with sledge-hammers, iron crows, The magistrates, having assembled their officers, and and the coulters of ploughs, ready provided for the pur- some of the citizens who were willing to hazard them- pose, with which they prized, heaved, and battered for selves for the public tranquillity, now sallied forth from some time with little effect; for the door, besides being the tavern where they held their sitting, and approached of double oak planks, clenched, both endlong and the point of danger. Their officers went before them with athwart, with broad-headed nails, was so hung and se- links and torches, with a herald to read the riot-act, if cured as to yield to no means of forcing, without the necessary. They easily drove before them the outposts expenditure of much time. The rioters, however, ap- and videttes of the rioters; but when they approached peared determined to gain admittance. Gang after gang the line of guard which the mob, or rather, we should relieved each other at the exercise, for, of course, only a say, the conspirators, had drawn across the street in the few could work at once; but gang after gang retired, front of the Luckenbooths, they were received with an exhausted with their violent exertions, without making unintermitted volley of stones, and, on their nearer ap- much progress in forcing the prison door. Butler had proach, the pikes, bayonets, and Lochaber-axes, of been led up near to this the principal scene of action; so which the populace had possessed themselves, were pre-

90 Sir Walter Scott sented against them. One of their ordinary officers, a the garrison in the Castle. It was circulated among the strong resolute fellow, went forward, seized a rioter, and rioters, that the troops would march down to disperse took from him a musket; but, being unsupported, he them, unless they could execute their purpose without was instantly thrown on his back in the street, and dis- loss of time; or that, even without quitting the fortress, armed in his turn. The officer was too happy to be per- the garrison might obtain the same end by throwing a mitted to rise and run away without receiving any far- bomb or two upon the street. ther injury; which afforded another remarkable instance Urged by such motives for apprehension, they eagerly of the mode in which these men had united a sort of relieved each other at the labour of assailing the moderation towards all others, with the most inflexible Tolbooth door: yet such was its strength, that it still inveteracy against the object of their resentment. The defied their efforts. At length, a voice was heard to pro- magistrates, after vain attempts to make themselves nounce the words, “Try it with fire.” The rioters, with heard and obeyed, possessing no means of enforcing their an unanimous shout, called for combustibles, and as all authority, were constrained to abandon the field to the their wishes seemed to be instantly supplied, they were rioters, and retreat in all speed from the showers of mis- soon in possession of two or three empty tar-barrels. A siles that whistled around their ears. huge red glaring bonfire speedily arose close to the door The passive resistance of the Tolbooth gate promised of the prison, sending up a tall column of smoke and to do more to baffle the purpose of the mob than the flame against its antique turrets and strongly-grated active interference of the magistrates. The heavy sledge- windows, and illuminating the ferocious and wild ges- hammers continued to din against it without intermis- tures of the rioters, who surrounded the place, as well sion, and with a noise which, echoed from the lofty build- as the pale and anxious groups of those, who, from win- ings around the spot, seemed enough to have alarmed dows in the vicinage, watched the progress of this alarm-

91 The Heart of Mid-Lothian ing scene. The mob fed the fire with whatever they could find fit for the purpose. The flames roared and crackled among the heaps of nourishment piled on the fire, and CHAPTER SIXTH a terrible shout soon announced that the door had kindled, and was in the act of being destroyed. The fire was suffered to decay, but, long ere it was quite extin- The evil you teach us, We will execute; and it shall go hard, but we will guished, the most forward of the rioters rushed, in their Better the instruction. impatience, one after another, over its yet smouldering remains. Thick showers of sparkles rose high in the air, Merchant of Venice. as man after man bounded over the glowing embers, and disturbed them in their passage. It was now obvious to

Butler, and all others who were present, that the rioters THE UNHAPPY OBJECT of this remarkable disturbance had would be instantly in possession of their victim, and been that day delivered from the apprehension of pub- have it in their power to work their pleasure upon him, lic execution, and his joy was the greater, as he had some whatever that might be.* reason to question whether Government would have run the risk of unpopularity by interfering in his favour, after he had been legally convicted by the verdict of a jury, of a crime so very obnoxious. Relieved from this doubtful state of mind, his heart was merry within him, and he thought, in the emphatic words of Scripture on a similar occasion, that surely the bitterness of death was * Note C. The Old Tolbooth. 92 Sir Walter Scott past. Some of his friends, however, who had watched It was, therefore, in the hour of unalloyed mirth, when the manner and behaviour of the crowd when they were this unfortunate wretch was “full of bread,” hot with made acquainted with the reprieve, were of a different wine, and high in mistimed and ill-grounded confidence, opinion. They augured, from the unusual sternness and and alas! with all his sins full blown, when the first dis- silence with which they bore their disappointment, that tant’ shouts of the rioters mingled with the song of the populace nourished some scheme of sudden and des- merriment and intemperance. The hurried call of the perate vengeance; and they advised Porteous to lose no jailor to the guests, requiring them instantly to depart, time in petitioning the proper authorities, that he might and his yet more hasty intimation that a dreadful and be conveyed to the Castle under a sufficient guard, to determined mob had possessed themselves of the city remain there in security until his ultimate fate should gates and guard-house, were the first explanation of be determined. Habituated, however, by his office, to these fearful clamours. overawe the rabble of the city, Porteous could not sus- Porteous might, however, have eluded the fury from pect them of an attempt so audacious as to storm a which the force of authority could not protect him, had strong and defensible prison; and, despising the advice he thought of slipping on some disguise, and leaving by which he might have been saved, he spent the after- the prison along with his guests. It is probable that the noon of the eventful day in giving an entertainment to jailor might have connived at his escape, or even that in some friends who visited him in jail, several of whom, the hurry of this alarming contingency, he might not by the indulgence of the Captain of the Tolbooth, with have observed it. But Porteous and his friends alike whom he had an old intimacy, arising from their official wanted presence of mind to suggest or execute such a connection, were even permitted to remain to supper plan of escape. The former hastily fled from a place with him, though contrary to the rules of the jail. where their own safety seemed compromised, and the

93 The Heart of Mid-Lothian latter, in a state resembling stupefaction, awaited in his however, which impeded his farther progress, served to apartment the termination of the enterprise of the ri- support him in the situation which he had gained, and oters. The cessation of the clang of the instruments with he seized them with the tenacious grasp of one who es- which they had at first attempted to force the door, gave teemed himself clinging to his last hope of existence. him momentary relief. The flattering hopes, that the The lurid light which had filled the apartment, lowered military had marched into the city, either from the Castle and died away; the sound of shouts was heard within or from the suburbs, and that the rioters were intimi- the walls, and on the narrow and winding stair, which, dated, and dispersing, were soon destroyed by the broad eased within one of the turrets, gave access to the upper and glaring light of the flames, which, illuminating apartments of the prison. The huzza of the rioters was through the grated window every corner of his apart- answered by a shout wild and desperate as their own, ment, plainly showed that the mob, determined on their the cry, namely, of the imprisoned felons, who, expect- fatal purpose, had adopted a means of forcing entrance ing to be liberated in the general confusion, welcomed equally desperate and certain. the mob as their deliverers. By some of these the apart- The sudden glare of light suggested to the stupified ment of Porteous was pointed out to his enemies. The and astonished object of popular hatred the possibility obstacle of the lock and bolts was soon overcome, and of concealment or escape. To rush to the chimney, to from his hiding place the unfortunate man heard his ascend it at the risk of suffocation, were the only means enemies search every corner of the apartment, with which seemed to have occurred to him; but his progress oaths and maledictions, which would but shock the was speedily stopped by one of those iron gratings, which reader if we recorded them, but which served to prove, are, for the sake of security, usually placed across the could it have admitted of doubt, the settled purpose of vents of buildings designed for imprisonment. The bars, soul with which they sought his destruction.

94 Sir Walter Scott A place of concealment so obvious to suspicion and “What time did he give better folk for preparing their scrutiny as that which Porteous had chosen, could not account?” answered several voices. “Let us mete to him long screen him from detection. He was dragged from with the same measure he measured to them.” his lurking-place, with a violence which seemed to ar- But the opinion of the spokesman better suited the gue an intention to put him to death on the spot. More temper of those he addressed, a temper rather stubborn than one weapon was directed towards him, when one than impetuous, sedate though ferocious, and desirous of the rioters, the same whose female disguise had been of colouring their cruel and revengeful action with a particularly noticed by Butler, interfered in an authori- show of justice and moderation. tative tone. “Are ye mad?” he said, “or would ye ex- For an instant this man quitted the prisoner, whom ecute an act of justice as if it were a crime and a cru- he consigned to a selected guard, with instructions to elty? This sacrifice will lose half its savour if we do not permit him to give his money and property to whomso- offer it at the very horns of the altar. We will have him ever he pleased. A person confined in the jail for debt die where a murderer should die, on the common gib- received this last deposit from the trembling hand of bet—We will have him die where he spilled the blood of the victim, who was at the same time permitted to make so many innocents!” some other brief arrangements to meet his approaching A loud shout of applause followed the proposal, and fate. The felons, and all others who, wished to leave the the cry, “To the gallows with the murderer!—to the jail, were now at full liberty to do so; not that their lib- Grassmarket with him!” echoed on all hands. eration made any part of the settled purpose of the ri- “Let no man hurt him,” continued the speaker; “let oters, but it followed as almost a necessary consequence him make his peace with God, if he can; we will not kill of forcing the jail doors. With wild cries of jubilee they both his soul and body.” joined the mob, or disappeared among the narrow lanes

95 The Heart of Mid-Lothian to seek out the hidden receptacles of vice and infamy, him an eye of mingled fear, affection, and upbraiding, where they were accustomed to lurk and conceal them- all contending with a sort of stupified surprise. He again selves from justice. repeated, “Flee, Effie, flee! for the sake of all that’s good Two persons, a man about fifty years old and a girl and dear to you!” Again she gazed on him, but was un- about eighteen, were all who continued within the fatal able to answer. A loud noise was now heard, and the walls, excepting two or three debtors, who probably saw name of Madge Wildfire was repeatedly called from the no advantage in attempting their escape. The persons bottom of the staircase. we have mentioned remained in the strong room of the “I am coming,—I am coming,” said the person who prison, now deserted by all others. One of their late com- answered to that appellative; and then reiterating hast- panions in misfortune called out to the man to make his ily, “For God’s sake—for your own sake—for my sake, escape, in the tone of an acquaintance. “Rin for it, flee, or they’ll take your life!” he left the strong room. Ratcliffe—the road’s clear.” The girl gazed after him for a moment, and then, “It may be sae, Willie,” answered Ratcliffe, compos- faintly muttering, “Better tyne life, since tint is gude edly, “but I have taen a fancy to leave aff trade, and set fame,” she sunk her head upon her hand, and remained, up for an honest man.” seemingly, unconscious as a statue of the noise and tu- “Stay there, and be hanged, then, for a donnard auld mult which passed around her. deevil!” said the other, and ran down the prison stair. That tumult was now transferred from the inside to The person in female attire whom we have distin- the outside of the Tolbooth. The mob had brought their guished as one of the most active rioters, was about the destined victim forth, and were about to conduct him same time at the ear of the young woman. “Flee, Effie, to the common place of execution, which they had fixed flee!” was all he had time to whisper. She turned towards as the scene of his death. The leader, whom they distin-

96 Sir Walter Scott guished by the name of Madge Wildfire, had been sum- away the life of a human creature, however deserving moned to assist at the procession by the impatient shouts he may be of death. If it is murder even in a lawful of his confederates. magistrate to execute an offender otherwise than in the “I will insure you five hundred pounds,” said the un- place, time, and manner which the judges’ sentence pre- happy man, grasping Wildfire’s hand,— “five hundred scribes, what must it be in you, who have no warrant pounds for to save my life.” for interference but your own wills? In the name of Him The other answered in the same undertone, and re- who is all mercy, show mercy to this unhappy man, and turning his grasp with one equally convulsive, “Five hun- do not dip your hands in his blood, nor rush into the dredweight of coined gold should not save you.—Re- very crime which you are desirous of avenging!” member Wilson!” “Cut your sermon short—you are not in your pulpit,” A deep pause of a minute ensued, when Wildfire added, answered one of the rioters. in a more composed tone, “Make your peace with “If we hear more of your clavers,” said another, “we Heaven.—Where is the clergyman?” are like to hang you up beside him.” Butler, who in great terror and anxiety, had been de- “Peace—hush!” said Wildfire. “Do the good man no tained within a few yards of the Tolbooth door, to wait harm—he discharges his conscience, and I like him the the event of the search after Porteous, was now brought better.” forward, and commanded to walk by the prisoner’s side, He then addressed Butler. “Now, sir, we have patiently and to prepare him for immediate death. His answer heard you, and we just wish you to understand, in the was a supplication that the rioters would consider what way of answer, that you may as well argue to the ashlar- they did. “You are neither judges nor jury,” said he. “You work and iron stanchels of the Tolbooth as think to cannot have, by the laws of God or man, power to take change our purpose—Blood must have blood. We have

97 The Heart of Mid-Lothian sworn to each other by the deepest oaths ever were in a faltering voice. “O turn to Him, in whose eyes time pledged, that Porteous shall die the death he deserves and space have no existence, and to whom a few min- so richly; therefore, speak no more to us, but prepare utes are as a lifetime, and a lifetime as a minute.” him for death as well as the briefness of his change will “I believe I know what you would say,” answered permit.” Porteous sullenly. “I was bred a soldier; if they will They had suffered the unfortunate Porteous to put on murder me without time, let my sins as well as my blood his night-gown and slippers, as he had thrown off his lie at their door.” coat and shoes, in order to facilitate his attempted es- “Who was it,” said the stern voice of Wildfire, “that cape up the chimney. In this garb he was now mounted said to Wilson at this very spot, when he could not pray, on the hands of two of the rioters, clasped together, so owing to the galling as to form what is called in Scotland, “The King’s Cush- agony of his fetters, that ion.” Butler was placed close to his side, and repeatedly his pains would soon be urged to perform a duty always the most painful which over?—I say to you to can be imposed on a clergyman deserving of the name, take your own tale and now rendered more so by the peculiar and horrid home; and if you cannot circumstances of the criminal’s case. Porteous at first profit by the good man’s uttered some supplications for mercy, but when he found lessons, blame not them that there was no chance that these would be attended that are still more mer- to, his military education, and the natural stubborn- ciful to you than you ness of his disposition, combined to support his spirits. were to others.” “Are you prepared for this dreadful end?” said Butler, The procession now

98 Sir Walter Scott moved forward with a slow and determined pace. It was resentment dropped one of his slippers, they stopped, enlightened by many blazing, links and torches; for the sought for it, and replaced it upon his foot with great actors of this work were so far from affecting any se- deliberation.* crecy on the occasion, that they seemed even to court As they descended the Bow towards the fatal spot observation. Their principal leaders kept close to the where they designed to complete their purpose, it was person of the prisoner, whose pallid yet stubborn fea- suggested that there should be a rope kept in readiness. tures were seen distinctly by the torch-light, as his per- For this purpose the booth of a man who dealt in cord- son was raised considerably above the concourse which age was forced open, a coil of rope fit for their purpose thronged around him. Those who bore swords, muskets, was selected to serve as a halter, and the dealer next and battle-axes, marched on each side, as if forming a morning found that a guinea had been left on his counter regular guard to the procession. The windows, as they in exchange; so anxious were the perpetrators of this went along, were filled with the inhabitants, whose slum- daring action to show that they meditated not the slight- bers had been broken by this unusual disturbance. Some est wrong or infraction of law, excepting so far as of the spectators muttered accents of encouragement; Porteous was himself concerned. but in general they were so much appalled by a sight so Leading, or carrying along with them, in this deter- strange and audacious, that they looked on with a sort mined and regular manner, the object of their vengeance, of stupified astonishment. No one offered, by act or they at length reached the place of common execution, word, the slightest interruption. the scene of his crime, and destined spot of his suffer- The rioters, on their part, continued to act with the same air of deliberate confidence and security which had * This little incident, characteristic of the extreme composure of this extraordinary mob, was witnessed by a lady, who, marked all their proceedings. When the object of their disturbed like others from her slumbers, had gone to the window. It was told to the Author by the lady’s daughter. 99 The Heart of Mid-Lothian ings. Several of the rioters (if they should not rather be ous disregard to his own safety— “what hath consti- described as conspirators) endeavoured to remove the tuted you his judges?” stone which filled up the socket in which the end of the “We are not his judges,” replied the same person; “he fatal tree was sunk when it was erected for its fatal pur- has been already judged and condemned by lawful au- pose; others sought for the means of constructing a tem- thority. We are those whom Heaven, and our righteous porary gibbet, the place in which the gallows itself was anger, have stirred up to execute judgment, when a cor- deposited being reported too secure to be forced, with- rupt Government would have protected a murderer.” out much loss of time. Butler endeavoured to avail him- “I am none,” said the unfortunate Porteous; “that self of the delay afforded by these circumstances, to turn which you charge upon me fell out in self-defence, in the the people from their desperate design. “For God’s sake,” lawful exercise of my duty.” he exclaimed, “remember it is the image of your Cre- “Away with him—away with him!” was the general ator which you are about to deface in the person of this cry. unfortunate man! Wretched as he is, and wicked as he “Why do you trifle away time in making a gallows?— may be, he has a share in every promise of Scripture, that dyester’s pole is good enough for the homicide.” and you cannot destroy him in impenitence without blot- The unhappy man was forced to his fate with remorse- ting his name from the Book of Life—Do not destroy less rapidity. Butler, separated from him by the press, soul and body; give time for preparation.” escaped the last horrors of his struggles. Unnoticed by “What time had they,” returned a stern voice, “whom those who had hitherto detained him as a prisoner,—he he murdered on this very spot?—The laws both of God fled from the fatal spot, without much caring in what and man call for his death.” direction his course lay. A loud shout proclaimed the “But what, my friends,” insisted Butler, with a gener- stern delight with which the agents of this deed regarded

100 Sir Walter Scott its completion. Butler, then, at the opening into the low Opening then the wicket of the main gate, the keep- street called the Cowgate, cast back a terrified glance, ers suffered Butler to depart, who hastened to carry his and, by the red and dusky light of the torches, he could horror and fear beyond the walls of Edinburgh. His first discern a figure wavering and struggling as it hung sus- purpose was instantly to take the road homeward; but pended above the heads of the multitude, and could even other fears and cares, connected with the news he had observe men striking at it with their Lochaber-axes and learned in that remarkable day, induced him to linger in partisans. The sight was of a nature to double his hor- the neighbourhood of Edinburgh until daybreak. More ror, and to add wings to his flight. than one group of persons passed him as he was whiling The street down which the fugitive ran opens to one of away the hours of darkness that yet remained, whom, the eastern ports or gates of the city. Butler did not stop from the stifled tones of their discourse, the unwonted till he reached it, but found it still shut. He waited nearly hour when they travelled, and the hasty pace at which an hour, walking up and down in inexpressible perturba- they walked, he conjectured to have been engaged in tion of mind. At length he ventured to call out, and rouse the late fatal transaction. the attention of the terrified keepers of the gate, who now Certain it was, that the sudden and total dispersion found themselves at liberty to resume their office without of the rioters, when their vindictive purpose was accom- interruption. Butler requested them to open the gate. They plished, seemed not the least remarkable feature of this hesitated. He told them his name and occupation. singular affair. In general, whatever may be the impel- “He is a preacher,” said one; “I have heard him preach ling motive by which a mob is at first raised, the attain- in Haddo’s-hole.” ment of their object has usually been only found to lead “A fine preaching has he been at the night,” said an- the way to farther excesses. But not so in the present other “but maybe least said is sunest mended.” case. They seemed completely satiated with the ven-

101 The Heart of Mid-Lothian geance they had prosecuted with such stanch and saga- learned to throw light upon the authors or principal cious activity. When they were fully satisfied that life actors in a scheme so audacious. An express was des- had abandoned their victim, they dispersed in every di- patched to London with the tidings, where they excited rection, throwing down the weapons which they had only great indignation and surprise in the council of regency, assumed to enable them to carry through their purpose. and particularly in the bosom of Queen Caroline, who At daybreak there remained not the least token of the considered her own authority as exposed to contempt events of the night, excepting the corpse of Porteous, by the success of this singular conspiracy. Nothing was which still hung suspended in the place where he had spoke of for some time save the measure of vengeance suffered, and the arms of various kinds which the riot- which should be taken, not only on the actors of this ers had taken from the city guard-house, which were tragedy, so soon as they should be discovered, but upon found scattered about the streets as they had thrown the magistrates who had suffered it to take place, and them from their hands when the purpose for which they upon the city which had been the scene where it was had seized them was accomplished. exhibited. On this occasion, it is still recorded in popu- The ordinary magistrates of the city resumed their lar tradition, that her Majesty, in the height of her dis- power, not without trembling at the late experience of pleasure, told the celebrated John Duke of Argyle, that, the fragility of its tenure. To march troops into the city, sooner than submit to such an insult, she would make and commence a severe inquiry into the transactions of Scotland a hunting-field. “In that case, Madam,” an- the preceding night, were the first marks of returning swered that high-spirited nobleman, with a profound energy which they displayed. But these events had been bow, “I will take leave of your Majesty, and go down to conducted on so secure and well-calculated a plan of my own country to get my hounds ready.” safety and secrecy, that there was little or nothing The import of the reply had more than met the ear;

102 Sir Walter Scott and as most of the Scottish nobility and gentry seemed actuated by the same national spirit, the royal displeasure was necessarily checked in mid-volley, and milder CHAPTER SEVENTH courses were recommended and adopted, to some of which we may hereafter have occasion to advert.* Arthur’s Seat shall be my bed, The sheets shall ne’er be pressed by me, St. Anton’s well shall be my drink, Sin’ my true-love’s forsaken me.

Old Song.

IF I WERE TO CHOOSE a spot from which the rising or setting sun could be seen to the greatest possible advantage, it would be that wild path winding around the foot of the high belt of semicircular rocks, called Salisbury Crags, and marking the verge of the steep descent which slopes down into the glen on the south-eastern side of the city of Edinburgh. The prospect, in its general outline, commands a close-built, high-piled city, stretching * Note D. Memorial concerning the murder of Captain itself out beneath in a form, which, to a romantic imagi- Porteous. 103 The Heart of Mid-Lothian nation, may be supposed to represent that of a dragon; credit on the taste of the Good Town or its leaders.* now, a noble arm of the sea, with its rocks, isles, distant It was from this fascinating path—the scene to me of shores, and boundary of mountains; and now, a fair and so much delicious musing, when life was young and fertile champaign country, varied with hill, dale, and promised to be happy, that I have been unable to pass it rock, and skirted by the picturesque ridge of the over without an episodical description—it was, I say, Pentland mountains. But as the path gently circles from this romantic path that Butler saw the morning around the base of the cliffs, the prospect, composed as arise the day after the murder of Porteous. It was pos- it is of these enchanting and sublime objects, changes sible for him with ease to have found a much shorter at every step, and presents them blended with, or di- road to the house to which he was directing his course, vided from, each other, in every possible variety which and, in fact, that which he chose was extremely circui- can gratify the eye and the imagination. When a piece tous. But to compose his own spirits, as well as to while of scenery so beautiful, yet so varied,—so exciting by away the time, until a proper hour for visiting the fam- its intricacy, and yet so sublime,—is lighted up by the ily without surprise or disturbance, he was induced to tints of morning or of evening, and displays all that extend his circuit by the foot of the rocks, and to linger variety of shadowy depth, exchanged with partial bril- upon his way until the morning should be considerably liancy, which gives character even to the tamest of land- advanced. While, now standing with his arms across, scapes, the effect approaches near to enchantment. This and waiting the slow progress of the sun above the hori- path used to be my favourite evening and morning re- zon, now sitting upon one of the numerous fragments sort, when engaged with a favourite author, or new subject of study. It is, I am informed, now become totally * A beautiful and solid pathway has, within a few years, been formed around these romantic rocks; and the Author has the impassable; a circumstance which, if true, reflects little pleasure to think, that the passage in the text gave rise to the undertaking. 104 Sir Walter Scott which storms had detached from the rocks above him, this world as he could possibly compass. It would seem he is meditating, alternately upon the horrible catas- that he had succeeded indifferently well, for his exterior trophe which he had witnessed, and upon the melan- circumstances appeared, in consequence of this event, choly, and to him most interesting, news which he had to have been much mended. learned at Saddletree’s, we will give the reader to un- The troop to which he belonged was quartered at the derstand who Butler was, and how his fate was connected village of Dalkeith, as forming the bodyguard of Monk, with that of Effie Deans, the unfortunate handmaiden who, in the capacity of general for the Commonwealth, of the careful Mrs. Saddletree. resided in the neighbouring castle. When, on the eve of Reuben Butler was of English extraction, though born the Restoration, the general commenced his march from in Scotland. His grandfather was a trooper in Monk’s Scotland, a measure pregnant with such important con- army, and one of the party of dismounted dragoons sequences, he new-modelled his troops, and more espe- which formed the forlorn hope at the storming of cially those immediately about his person, in order that Dundee in 1651. Stephen Butler (called from his talents they might consist entirely of individuals devoted to in reading and expounding, Scripture Stephen, and Bible himself. On this occasion Scripture Stephen was weighed Butler) was a stanch Independent, and received in its in the balance, and found wanting. It was supposed he fullest comprehension the promise that the saints should felt no call to any expedition which might endanger the inherit the earth. As hard knocks were what had chiefly reign of the military sainthood, and that he did not con- fallen to his share hitherto in the division of this com- sider himself as free in conscience to join with any party mon property, he lost not the opportunity which the which might be likely ultimately to acknowledge the storm and plunder of a commercial place afforded him, interest of Charles Stuart, the son of “the last man,” as to appropriate as large a share of the better things of Charles I. was familiarly and irreverently termed by

105 The Heart of Mid-Lothian them in their common discourse, as well as in their more ciled her to the gruff manners, serious temper, and elaborate predications and harangues. As the time did weather-beaten features of the martial enthusiast. not admit of cashiering such dissidents, Stephen Butler Stephen did not long survive the falling on “evil days was only advised in a friendly way to give up his horse and evil tongues,” of which Milton, in the same pre- and accoutrements to one of Middleton’s old troopers dicament, so mournfully complains. At his death his who possessed an accommodating conscience of a mili- consort remained an early widow, with a male child of tary stamp, and which squared itself chiefly upon those three years old, which, in the sobriety wherewith it de- of the colonel and paymaster. As this hint came recom- meaned itself, in the old-fashioned and even grim cast mended by a certain sum of arrears presently payable, of its features, and in its sententious mode of express- Stephen had carnal wisdom enough to embrace the pro- ing itself, would sufficiently have vindicated the honour posal, and with great indifference saw his old corps de- of the widow of Beersheba, had any one thought proper part for Coldstream, on their route for the south, to es- to challenge the babe’s descent from Bible Butler. tablish the tottering Government of England on a new Butler’s principles had not descended to his family, or basis. extended themselves among his neighbours. The air of The zone of the ex-trooper, to use Horace’s phrase, Scotland was alien to the growth of independency, how- was weighty enough to purchase a cottage and two or ever favourable to fanaticism under other colours. But, three fields (still known by the name of Beersheba), nevertheless, they were not forgotten; and a certain within about a Scottish mile of Dalkeith; and there did neighbouring Laird, who piqued himself upon the loy- Stephen establish himself with a youthful helpmate, alty of his principles “in the worst of times” (though I chosen out of the said village, whose disposition to a never heard they exposed him to more peril than that comfortable settlement on this side of the grave recon- of a broken head, or a night’s lodging in the main guard,

106 Sir Walter Scott when wine and cavalierism predominated in his upper ded and brought a wife, and, eventually, a son, Reuben, storey), had found it a convenient thing to rake up all to share the poverty of Beersheba. matter of accusation against the deceased Stephen. In The Laird of Dumbiedikes* had hitherto been mod- this enumeration his religious principles made no small erate in his exactions, perhaps because he was ashamed figure, as, indeed, they must have seemed of the most to tax too highly the miserable means of support which exaggerated enormity to one whose own were so small remained to the widow Butler. and so faintly traced, as to be well nigh imperceptible. But when a stout active young fellow appeared as the In these circumstances, poor widow Butler was supplied labourer of the croft in question, Dumbiedikes began with her full proportion of fines for nonconformity, and to think so broad a pair of shoulders might bear an ad- all the other oppressions of the time, until Beersheba ditional burden. He regulated, indeed, his management was fairly wrenched out of her hands, and became the of his dependants (who fortunately were but few in num- property of the Laird who had so wantonly, as it had ber) much upon the principle of the carters whom he hitherto appeared, persecuted this poor forlorn woman. observed loading their carts at a neighbouring coal-hill, When his purpose was fairly achieved, he showed some and who never failed to clap an additional brace of hun- remorse or moderation, of whatever the reader may dredweights on their burden, so soon as by any means please to term it, in permitting her to occupy her they had compassed a new horse of somewhat superior husband’s cottage, and cultivate, on no very heavy strength to that which had broken down the day before. terms, a croft of land adjacent. Her son, Benjamin, in * Dumbiedikes, selected as descriptive of the taciturn char- the meanwhile, grew up to mass estate, and, moved by acter of the imaginary owner, is really the name of a house that impulse which makes men seek marriage, even when bordering on the King’s Park, so called because the late Mr. Braidwood, an instructor of the deaf and dumb, resided there its end can only be the perpetuation of misery, he wed- with his pupils. The situation of the real house is different from that assigned to the ideal mansion. 107 The Heart of Mid-Lothian However reasonable this practice appeared to the Laird was a tough true-blue Presbyterian, called Deans, who, of Dumbiedikes, he ought to have observed, that it may though most obnoxious to the Laird on account of prin- be overdone, and that it infers, as a matter of course, ciples in church and state, contrived to maintain his the destruction and loss of both horse, and cart, and ground upon the estate by regular payment of mail- loading. Even so it befell when the additional duties, kain, arriage, carriage, dry multure, lock, “prestations” came to be demanded of Benjamin But- gowpen, and knaveship, and all the various exactions ler. A man of few words, and few ideas, but attached to now commuted for money, and summed up in the em- Beersheba with a feeling like that which a vegetable phatic word rent. But the years 1700 and 1701, long entertains to the spot in which it chances to be planted, remembered in Scotland for dearth and general distress, he neither remonstrated with the Laird, nor endeavoured subdued the stout heart of the agricultural whig. Cita- to escape from him, but, toiling night and day to actions by the ground-officer, decreets of the Baron Court, complish the terms of his taskmaster, fell into a burn- sequestrations, poindings of outside and inside ing fever and died. His wife did not long survive him; plenishing, flew about his ears as fast as the tory bullets and, as if it had been the fate of this family to be left whistled around those of the Covenanters at Pentland, orphans, our Reuben Butler was, about the year 1704- Bothwell Brigg, or Airsmoss. Struggle as he might, and 5, left in the same circumstances in which his father had he struggled gallantly, “Douce David Deans” was routed been placed, and under the same guardianship, being horse and foot, and lay at the mercy of his grasping that of his grandmother, the widow of Monk’s old landlord just at the time that Benjamin Butler died. trooper. The fate of each family was anticipated; but they who The same prospect of misery hung over the head of prophesied their expulsion to beggary and ruin were dis- another tenant of this hardhearted lord of the soil. This appointed by an accidental circumstance.

108 Sir Walter Scott On the very term-day when their ejection should have Dumbiedikes had been by this time transported into taken place, when all their neighbours were prepared to the best bedroom, used only upon occasions of death pity, and not one to assist them, the minister of the par- and marriage, and called, from the former of these oc- ish, as well as a doctor from Edinburgh, received a hasty cupations, the Dead-Room. There were in this apart- summons to attend the Laird of Dumbiedikes. Both ment, besides the sick person himself and Mr. Novit, were surprised, for his contempt for both faculties had the son and heir of the patient, a tall gawky silly-look- been pretty commonly his theme over an extra bottle, ing boy of fourteen or fifteen, and a housekeeper, a good that is to say, at least once every day. The leech for the buxom figure of a woman, betwixt forty and fifty, who soul, and he for the body, alighted in the court of the had kept the keys and managed matters at Dumbiedikes little old manor-house at almost the same time; and when since the lady’s death. It was to these attendants that they had gazed a moment at each other with some sur- Dumbiedikes addressed himself pretty nearly in the fol- prise, they in the same breath expressed their convic- lowing words; temporal and spiritual matters, the care tion that Dumbiedikes must needs be very ill indeed, of his health and his affairs, being strangely jumbled in since he summoned them both to his presence at once. a head which was never one of the clearest. Ere the servant could usher them to his apartment, the “These are sair times wi’ me, gentlemen and party was augmented by a man of law, Nichil Novit, neighbours! amaist as ill as at the aughty-nine, when I writing himself procurator before the sheriff-court, for was rabbled by the collegeaners.* in those days there were no solicitors. This latter per- —They mistook me muckle—they ca’d me a papist, sonage was first summoned to the apartment of the * Immediately previous to the Revolution, the students at Laird, where, after some short space, the soul-curer and the Edinburgh College were violent anti-catholics. They were strongly suspected of burning the house of Prestonfield, be- the body-curer were invited to join him. longing to Sir James Dick, the Lord Provost; and certainly were guilty of creating considerable riots in 1688-9. 109 The Heart of Mid-Lothian but there was never a papist bit about me, minister.— do me gude maybe, and keep some queer thoughts out Jock, ye’ll take warning—it’s a debt we maun a’ pay, o’ my head, Say something, man.” and there stands Nichil Novit that will tell ye I was never “I cannot use a prayer like a rat-rhyme,” answered gude at paying debts in my life.—Mr. Novit, ye’ll no the honest clergyman; “and if you would have your soul forget to draw the annual rent that’s due on the yerl’s redeemed like a prey from the fowler, Laird, you must band—if I pay debt to other folk, I think they suld pay needs show me your state of mind.” it to me—that equals aquals.—Jock, when ye hae “And shouldna ye ken that without my telling you?” naething else to do, ye may be aye sticking in a tree; it answered the patient. “What have I been paying sti- will be growing, Jock, when ye’re sleeping.* pend and teind, parsonage and vicarage, for, ever sin’ “My father tauld me sae forty years sin’, but I ne’er the aughty-nine, and I canna get a spell of a prayer for’t, fand time to mind him—Jock, ne’er drink brandy in the the only time I ever asked for ane in my life?—Gang morning, it files the stamach sair; gin ye take a morning’s awa wi’ your whiggery, if that’s a’ ye can do; auld Cu- draught, let it be aqua mirabilis; Jenny there makes it rate Kilstoup wad hae read half the prayer-book to me weel—Doctor, my breath is growing as scant as a bro- by this time—Awa wi’ ye!—Doctor, let’s see if ye can ken-winded piper’s, when he has played for four-and- do onything better for me.” twenty hours at a penny wedding—Jenny, pit the cod The doctor, who had obtained some information in the aneath my head—but it’s a’ needless!—Mass John, could meanwhile from the housekeeper on the state of his com- ye think o’ rattling ower some bit short prayer, it wad plaints, assured him the medical art could not prolong * The Author has been flattered by the assurance, that this his life many hours. naive mode of recommending arboriculture (which was ac- “Then damn Mass John and you baith!” cried the fu- tually delivered in these very words by a Highland laird, while on his death-bed, to his son) had so much weight with a Scot- rious and intractable patient. “Did ye come here for tish earl as to lead to his planting a large tract of country. 110 Sir Walter Scott naething but to tell me that ye canna help me at the ing opened the window, and looked out with great com- pinch? Out wi’ them, Jenny—out o’ the house! and, posure. Jock, my curse, and the curse of Cromwell, go wi’ ye, if “They’ll perish in the drifts!” said the expiring sin- ye gie them either fee or bountith, or sae muckle as a ner— “they’ll perish wi’ cauld!—but I’ll be het eneugh, black pair o’ cheverons!”* gin a’ tales be true.” The clergyman and doctor made a speedy retreat out This last observation was made under breath, and in a of the apartment, while Dumbiedikes fell into one of tone which made the very attorney shudder. He tried his those transports of violent and profane language, which hand at ghostly advice, probably for the first time in his life, had procured him the surname of Damn-me-dikes. and recommended as an opiate for the agonised conscience “Bring me the brandy bottle, Jenny, ye b—,” he cried, of the Laird, reparation of the injuries he had done to these with a voice in which passion contended with pain. “I distressed families, which, he observed by the way, the civil can die as I have lived, without fashing ony o’ them. law called restitutio in integrum. But Mammon was strug- But there’s ae thing,” he said, sinking his voice—”there’s gling with Remorse for retaining his place in a bosom he had ae fearful thing hings about my heart, and an anker of so long possessed; and he partly succeeded, as an old tyrant brandy winna wash it away.—The Deanses at proves often too strong for his insurgent rebels. Woodend!—I sequestrated them in the dear years, and “I canna do’t,” he answered, with a voice of despair. now they are to flit, they’ll starve—and that Beersheba, “It would kill me to do’t—how can ye bid me pay back and that auld trooper’s wife and her oe, they’ll starve— siller, when ye ken how I want it? or dispone Beersheba, they’ll starve! —Look out, Jock; what kind o’ night is’t?” when it lies sae weel into my ain plaid-nuik? Nature made “On-ding o’ snaw, father,” answered Jock, after hav- Dumbiedikes and Beersheba to be ae man’s land—She did, by Nichil, it wad kill me to part them.” *Cheverons—gloves. 111 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “But ye maun die whether or no, Laird,” said Mr. his guardian happened to agree with him in opinion, Novit; “and maybe ye wad die easier—it’s but trying. that his father’s dying recommendation should be at- I’ll scroll the disposition in nae time.” tended to. The tenants, therefore, were not actually “Dinna speak o’t, sir,” replied Dumbiedikes, “or I’ll turned out of doors among the snow-wreaths, and were fling the stoup at your head.—But, Jock, lad, ye see how allowed wherewith to procure butter-milk and peas- the warld warstles wi’ me on my deathbed—be kind to bannocks, which they ate under the full force of the origi- the puir creatures, the Deanses and the Butlers—be kind nal malediction. The cottage of Deans, called Woodend, to them, Jock. Dinna let the warld get a grip o’ ye, was not very distant from that at Beersheba. Formerly Jock—but keep the gear thegither! and whate’er ye do, there had been but little intercourse between the fami- dispone Beersheba at no rate. Let the creatures stay at lies. Deans was a sturdy Scotsman, with all sort of preju- a moderate mailing, and hae bite and soup; it will maybe dices against the southern, and the spawn of the south- be the better wi’ your father whare he’s gaun, lad.” ern. Moreover, Deans was, as we have said, a stanch Pres- After these contradictory instructions, the Laird felt byterian, of the most rigid and unbending adherence to his mind so much at ease, that he drank three bumpers what he conceived to be the only possible straight line, of brandy continuously, and “soughed awa,” as Jenny as he was wont to express himself, between right-hand expressed it, in an attempt to sing “Deil stick the Minis- heats and extremes and left-hand defections; and, there- ter.” fore, he held in high dread and horror all Independents, His death made a revolution in favour of the distressed and whomsoever he supposed allied to them. families. John Dumbie, now of Dumbiedikes, in his own But, notwithstanding these national prejudices and right, seemed to be close and selfish enough, but wanted religious professions, Deans and the widow Butler were the grasping spirit and active mind of his father; and placed in such a situation, as naturally and at length

112 Sir Walter Scott created some intimacy between the families. They had have seen, she was by no means warmly attached, in shared a common danger and a mutual deliverance. They consideration of the valuable counsels which the Pres- needed each other’s assistance, like a company, who, byterian afforded her for the management of her little crossing a mountain stream, are compelled to cling close farm. These usually concluded with “they may do oth- together, lest the current should be too powerful for any erwise in England, neighbour Butler, for aught I ken;” who are not thus supported. or, “it may be different in foreign parts;” or, “they wha On nearer acquaintance, too, Deans abated some of think differently on the great foundation of our his prejudices. He found old Mrs. Butler, though not covenanted reformation, overturning and mishguggling thoroughly grounded in the extent and bearing of the the government and discipline of the kirk, and break- real testimony against the defections of the times, had ing down the carved work of our Zion, might be for saw- no opinions in favour of the Independent party; neither ing the craft wi’ aits; but I say peace, peace.” And as his was she an Englishwoman. Therefore, it was to be hoped, advice was shrewd and sensible, though conceitedly that, though she was the widow of an enthusiastic cor- given, it was received with gratitude, and followed with poral of Cromwell’s dragoons, her grandson might be respect. neither schismatic nor anti-national, two qualities con- The intercourse which took place betwixt the families cerning which Goodman Deans had as wholesome a ter- at Beersheba and Woodend became strict and intimate, ror as against papists and malignants, Above all (for at a very early period, betwixt Reuben Butler, with Douce Davie Deans had his weak side), he perceived that whom the reader is already in some degree acquainted, widow Butler looked up to him with reverence, listened and Jeanie Deans, the only child of Douce Davie Deans to his advice, and compounded for an occasional fling at by his first wife, “that singular Christian woman,” as the doctrines of her deceased husbands to which, as we he was wont to express himself, “whose name was

113 The Heart of Mid-Lothian savoury to all that knew her for a desirable professor, Christian Menzies in Hochmagirdle.” The manner of which intimacy, and the consequences thereof, we now CHAPTER EIGHTH proceed to relate.

Reuben and Rachel, though as fond as doves, Were yet discreet and cautious in their loves, Nor would attend to Cupid’s wild commands, Till cool reflection bade them join their hands; When both were poor, they thought it argued ill Of hasty love to make them poorer still.

Crabbe’s Parish Register.

WHILE WIDOW BUTLER and widower Deans struggled with poverty, and the hard and sterile soil of “those parts and portions” of the lands of Dumbiedikes which it was their lot to occupy, it became gradually apparent that Deans was to gain the strife, and his ally in the conflict was to lose it. The former was a Man, and not much past the prime of life—Mrs. Butler a woman, and declined into the vale of years, This, indeed, ought in time

114 Sir Walter Scott to have been balanced by the circumstance, that Reuben sickly boy, and somewhat lame, from an accident in early was growing up to assist his grandmothers labours, and youth. He was, besides, the child of a doting grand- that Jeanie Deans, as a girl, could be only supposed to mother, whose too solicitous attention to him soon add to her father’s burdens. But Douce Davie Deans taught him a sort of diffidence in himself, with a dispo- know better things, and so schooled and trained the sition to overrate his own importance, which is one of young minion, as he called her, that from the time she the very worst consequences that children deduce from could walk, upwards, she was daily employed in some over-indulgence. task or other, suitable to her age and capacity; a cir- Still, however, the two children clung to each other’s cumstance which, added to her father’s daily instruc- society, not more from habit than from taste. They tions and lectures, tended to give her mind, even when a herded together the handful of sheep, with the two or child, a grave, serious, firm, and reflecting cast. An un- three cows, which their parents turned out rather to seek commonly strong and healthy temperament, free from food than actually to feed upon the unenclosed com- all nervous affection and every other irregularity, which, mon of Dumbiedikes. It was there that the two urchins attacking the body in its more noble functions, so often might be seen seated beneath a blooming bush of whin, influences the mind, tended greatly to establish this for- their little faces laid close together under the shadow of titude, simplicity, and decision of character. the same plaid drawn over both their heads, while the On the other hand, Reuben was weak in constitution, landscape around was embrowned by an overshadow- and, though not timid in temper might be safely pro- ing cloud, big with the shower which had driven the chil- nounced anxious, doubtful, and apprehensive. He par- dren to shelter. On other occasions they went together took of the temperament of his mother, who had died to school, the boy receiving that encouragement and of a consumption in early age. He was a pale, thin, feeble, example from his companion, in crossing the little brooks

115 The Heart of Mid-Lothian which intersected their path, and encountering cattle, admiration, the feelings, perhaps, through which the dogs, and other perils, upon their journey, which the female sex (the more deserving part of them at least) is male sex in such cases usually consider it as their pre- more easily attached. rogative to extend to the weaker. But when, seated on But Reuben, naturally reserved and distant, improved the benches of the school-house, they began to con their none of these advantages; and only became more at- lessons together, Reuben, who was as much superior to tached to Jeanie Deans, as the enthusiastic approba- Jeanie Deans in acuteness of intellect, as inferior to her tion of his master assured him of fair prospects in fu- in firmness of constitution, and in that insensibility to ture life, and awakened his ambition. In the meantime, fatigue and danger which depends on the conformation every advance that Reuben made in learning (and, con- of the nerves, was able fully to requite the kindness and sidering his opportunities, they were uncommonly great) countenance with which, in other circumstances, she rendered him less capable of attending to the domestic used to regard him. He was decidedly the best scholar duties of his grandmother’s farm. While studying the at the little parish school; and so gentle was his temper pons asinorum in Euclid, he suffered every cuddie upon and disposition, that he was rather admired than en- the common to trespass upon a large field of peas be- vied by the little mob who occupied the noisy mansion, longing to the Laird, and nothing but the active exer- although he was the declared favourite of the master. tions of Jeanie Deans, with her little dog Dustiefoot, Several girls, in particular (for in Scotland they are could have saved great loss and consequent punishment. taught with the boys), longed to be kind to and comfort Similar miscarriages marked his progress in his classi- the sickly lad, who was so much cleverer than his com- cal studies. He read Virgil’s Georgics till he did not know panions. The character of Reuben Butler was so calcu- bere from barley; and had nearly destroyed the crofts lated as to offer scope both for their sympathy and their of Beersheba while attempting to cultivate them accord-

116 Sir Walter Scott ing to the practice of Columella and Cato the Censor. tened to take Butler from the High School, and encour- These blunders occasioned grief to his grand-dame, age him in the pursuit of mathematics and divinity, the and disconcerted the good opinion which her neighbour, only physics and ethics that chanced to be in fashion at Davie Deans, had for some time entertained of Reuben. the time. “I see naething ye can make of that silly callant, Jeanie Deans was now compelled to part from the com- neighbour Butler,” said he to the old lady, “unless ye panion of her labour, her study, and her pastime, and it train him to the wark o’ the ministry. And ne’er was was with more than childish feeling that both children there mair need of poorfu’ preachers than e’en now in regarded the separation. But they were young, and hope these cauld Gallio days, when men’s hearts are hard- was high, and they separated like those who hope to ened like the nether mill-stone, till they come to regard meet again at a more auspicious hour. While Reuben none of these things. It’s evident this puir callant of Butler was acquiring at the University of St. Andrews yours will never be able to do an usefu’ day’s wark, un- the knowledge necessary for a clergyman, and macerat- less it be as an ambassador from our Master; and I will ing his body with the privations which were necessary make it my business to procure a license when he is fit in seeking food for his mind, his grand-dame became for the same, trusting he will be a shaft cleanly polished, daily less able to struggle with her little farm, and was and meet to be used in the body of the kirk; and that he at length obliged to throw it up to the new Laird of shall not turn again, like the sow, to wallow in the mire Dumbiedikes. That great personage was no absolute Jew, of heretical extremes and defections, but shall have the and did not cheat her in making the bargain more than wings of a dove, though he hath lain among the pots.” was tolerable. He even gave her permission to tenant The poor widow gulped down the affront to her the house in which she had lived with her husband, as husband’s principles, implied in this caution, and has- long as it should be “tenantable;” only he protested

117 The Heart of Mid-Lothian against paying for a farthing of repairs, any benevo- ploughs, and of harrows, often took an opportunity of lence which he possessed being of the passive, but by no going full-sail into controversial subjects, to which dis- means of the active mood. cussions the dignitary listened with much seeming pa- In the meanwhile, from superior shrewdness, skill, and tience, but without making any reply, or, indeed, as most other circumstances, some of them purely accidental, people thought, without understanding a single word Davie Deans gained a footing in the world, the posses- of what the orator was saying. Deans, indeed, denied sion of some wealth, the reputation of more, and a grow- this stoutly, as an insult at once to his own talents for ing disposition to preserve and increase his store; for expounding hidden truths, of which he was a little vain, which, when he thought upon it seriously, he was in- and to the Laird’s capacity of understanding them. He clined to blame himself. From his knowledge in agricul- said, “Dumbiedikes was nane of these flashy gentles, ture, as it was then practised, he became a sort of wi’ lace on their skirts and swords at their tails, that favourite with the Laird, who had no great pleasure ei- were rather for riding on horseback to hell than gauging ther in active sports or in society, and was wont to end barefooted to heaven. He wasna like his father—nae his daily saunter by calling at the cottage of Woodend. profane company-keeper—nae swearer—nae drinker— Being himself a man of slow ideas and confused ut- nae frequenter of play-house, or music-house, or danc- terance, Dumbiedikes used to sit or stand for half-an- ing-house—nae Sabbath-breaker—nae imposer of aiths, hour with an old laced hat of his father’s upon his head, or bonds, or denier of liberty to the flock.—He clave to and an empty tobacco-pipe in his mouth, with his eyes the warld, and the warld’s gear, a wee ower muckle, but following Jeanie Deans, or “the lassie” as he called her, then there was some breathing of a gale upon his spirit,” through the course of her daily domestic labour; while etc. etc. All this honest Davie said and believed. her father, after exhausting the subject of bestial, of It is not to be supposed, that, by a father and a man

118 Sir Walter Scott of sense and observation, the constant direction of the cate a match betwixt Dumbiedikes and her step-daugh- Laird’s eyes towards Jeanie was altogether unnoticed. ter Jeanie. The goodman used regularly to frown and This circumstance, however, made a much greater im- pshaw whenever this topic was touched upon, but usu- pression upon another member of his family, a second ally ended by taking his bonnet and walking out of the helpmate, to wit, whom he had chosen to take to his house, to conceal a certain gleam of satisfaction, which, bosom ten years after the death of his first. Some people at such a suggestion, involuntarily diffused itself over were of opinion, that Douce Davie had been rather sur- his austere features. prised into this step, for, in general, he was no friend to The more youthful part of my readers may naturally marriages or giving in marriage, and seemed rather to ask, whether Jeanie Deans was deserving of this mute regard that state of society as a necessary evil,—a thing attention of the Laird of Dumbiedikes; and the histo- lawful, and to be tolerated in the imperfect state of our rian, with due regard to veracity, is compelled to an- nature, but which clipped the wings with which we ought swer, that her personal attractions were of no uncom- to soar upwards, and tethered the soul to its mansion of mon description. She was short, and rather too stoutly clay, and the creature-comforts of wife and bairns. His made for her size, had grey eyes, light coloured hair, a own practice, however, had in this material point varied round good-humoured face, much tanned with the sun, from his principles, since, as we have seen, he twice knit- and her only peculiar charm was an air of inexpressible ted for himself this dangerous and ensnaring entangle- serenity, which a good conscience, kind feelings, con- ment. tented temper, and the regular discharge of all her du- Rebecca, his spouse, had by no means the same hor- ties, spread over her features. There was nothing, it may ror of matrimony, and as she made marriages in imagi- be supposed, very appalling in the form or manners of nation for every neighbour round, she failed not to indi- this rustic heroine; yet, whether from sheepish bashful-

119 The Heart of Mid-Lothian ness, or from want of decision and imperfect knowledge generally been accounted such, of her elder sister. She of his own mind on the subject, the Laird of therefore tried every female art within the compass of Dumbiedikes, with his old laced hat and empty tobacco- her simple skill, to bring the Laird to a point; but had pipe, came and enjoyed the beatific vision of Jeanie the mortification to perceive that her efforts, like those Deans day after day, week after week, year after year, of an unskilful angler, only scared the trout she meant without proposing to accomplish any of the prophecies to catch. Upon one occasion, in particular, when she of the stepmother. joked with the Laird on the propriety of giving a mis- This good lady began to grow doubly impatient on tress to the house of Dumbiedikes, he was so effectually the subject, when, after having been some years mar- startled, that neither laced hat, tobacco-pipe, nor the ried, she herself presented Douce Davie with another intelligent proprietor of these movables, visited daughter, who was named Euphemia, by corruption, Woodend for a fortnight. Rebecca was therefore com- Effie. It was then that Rebecca began to turn impa- pelled to leave the Laird to proceed at his own snail’s tient with the slow pace at which the Laird’s wooing pace, convinced, by experience, of the grave-digger’s proceeded, judiciously arguing, that, as Lady aphorism, that your dull ass will not mend his pace for Dumbiedikes would have but little occasion for tocher, beating. the principal part of her gudeman’s substance would Reuben, in the meantime, pursued his studies at the naturally descend to the child by the second marriage. university, supplying his wants by teaching the younger Other step-dames have tried less laudable means for lads the knowledge he himself acquired, and thus at once clearing the way to the succession of their own children; gaining the means of maintaining himself at the seat but Rebecca, to do her justice, only sought little Effie’s of learning, and fixing in his mind the elements of what advantage through the promotion, or which must have he had already obtained. In this manner, as is usual

120 Sir Walter Scott among the poorer students of divinity at Scottish uni- income than was afforded by the precarious occupation versities, he contrived not only to maintain himself ac- of teaching in one or other of the neighbouring fami- cording to his simple wants, but even to send consider- lies. After having greeted his aged grandmother, his first able assistance to his sole remaining parent, a sacred visit was to Woodend, where he was received by Jeanie duty, of which the Scotch are seldom negligent. His with warm cordiality, arising from recollections which progress in knowledge of a general kind, as well as in had never been dismissed from her mind, by Rebecca the studies proper to his profession, was very consider- with good-humoured hospitality, and by old Deans in a able, but was little remarked, owing to the retired mod- mode peculiar to himself. esty of his disposition, which in no respect qualified him Highly as Douce Davie honoured the clergy, it was to set off his learning to the best advantage. And thus, not upon each individual of the cloth that he bestowed had Butler been a man given to make complaints, he his approbation; and, a little jealous, perhaps, at seeing had his tale to tell, like others, of unjust preferences, his youthful acquaintance erected into the dignity of a bad luck, and hard usage. On these subjects, however, teacher and preacher, he instantly attacked him upon he was habitually silent, perhaps from modesty, perhaps various points of controversy, in order to discover from a touch of pride, or perhaps from a conjunction of whether he might not have fallen into some of the snares, both. defections, and desertions of the time. Butler was not He obtained his license as a preacher of the gospel, only a man of stanch Presbyterian principles, but was with some compliments from the Presbytery by whom also willing to avoid giving pain to his old friend by dis- it was bestowed; but this did not lead to any preferment, puting upon points of little importance; and therefore and he found it necessary to make the cottage at he might have hoped to have come like fine gold out of Beersheba his residence for some months, with no other the furnace of Davie’s interrogatories. But the result

121 The Heart of Mid-Lothian on the mind of that strict investigator was not altogether where it is due, gudewife, and not to an unworthy inso favourable as might have been hoped and anticipated. strument.” Old Judith Butler, who had hobbled that evening as far “Aweel, that’s your way o’ turning it, and nae doubt as Woodend, in order to enjoy the congratulations of ye ken best; but I hae ken’d ye, Davie, send a forpit o’ her neighbours upon Reuben’s return, and upon his high meal to Beersheba when there wasna a bow left in the attainments, of which she was herself not a little proud, meal-ark at Woodend; ay, and I hae ken’d ye.” was somewhat mortified to find that her old friend Deans “Gudewife,” said Davie, interrupting her, “these are did not enter into the subject with the warmth she ex- but idle tales to tell me; fit for naething but to puff up pected. At first, in he seemed rather silent than dissatis- our inward man wi’ our ain vain acts. I stude beside fied; and it was not till Judith had essayed the subject blessed Alexander Peden, when I heard him call the more than once that it led to the following dialogue. death and testimony of our happy martyrs but draps “Aweel, neibor Deans, I thought ye wad hae been glad of blude and scarts of ink in respect of fitting discharge to see Reuben amang us again, poor fellow.” of our duty; and what suld I think of ony thing the like “I am glad, Mrs. Butler,” was the neighbour’s concise of me can do?” answer. “Weel, neibor Deans, ye ken best; but I maun say that, “Since he has lost his grandfather and his father I am sure you are glad to see my bairn again—the halt’s (praised be Him that giveth and taketh!), I ken nae friend gane now, unless he has to walk ower mony miles at a he has in the world that’s been sae like a father to him stretch; and he has a wee bit colour in his cheek, that as the sell o’ye, neibor Deans.” glads my auld een to see it; and he has as decent a black “God is the only father of the fatherless,” said Deans, coat as the minister; and—” touching his bonnet and looking upwards. “Give honour “I am very heartily glad he is weel and thriving,” said

122 Sir Walter Scott Mr. Deans, with a gravity that seemed intended to cut answered the submissive Judith. “I am sure ye are right short the subject; but a woman who is bent upon a point about the sawing and the mawing, the shearing and the is not easily pushed aside from it. leading, and what for suld ye no be right about kirkwark, “And,” continued Mrs. Butler, “he can wag his head too?—But concerning my oe, Reuben Butler—” in a pulpit now, neibor Deans, think but of that—my “Reuben Butler, gudewife,” said David, with solem- ain oe—and a’body maun sit still and listen to him, as nity, “is a lad I wish heartily weel to, even as if he were if he were the Paip of Rome.” mine ain son—but I doubt there will be outs and ins in “The what?—the who?—woman!” said Deans, with a the track of his walk. I muckle fear his gifts will get the sternness far beyond his usual gravity, as soon as these of- heels of his grace. He has ower muckle human wit and fensive words had struck upon the tympanum of his ear. learning, and thinks as muckle about the form of the “Eh, guide us!” said the poor woman; “I had forgot bicker as he does about the healsomeness of the food— what an ill will ye had aye at the Paip, and sae had my he maun broider the marriage-garment with lace and puir gudeman, Stephen Butler. Mony an afternoon he passments, or it’s no gude eneugh for him. And it’s like wad sit and take up his testimony again the Paip, and he’s something proud o’ his human gifts and learning, again baptizing of bairns, and the like.” whilk enables him to dress up his doctrine in that fine “Woman!” reiterated Deans, “either speak about what airy dress. But,” added he, at seeing the old woman’s ye ken something o’, or be silent; I say that independency uneasiness at his discourse, “affliction may gie him a is a foul heresy, and anabaptism a damnable and deceiv- jagg, and let the wind out o’ him, as out o’ a cow that’s ing error, whilk suld be rooted out of the land wi’ the fire eaten wet clover, and the lad may do weel, and be a burn- o’ the spiritual, and the sword o’ the civil magistrate.” ing and a shining light; and I trust it will be yours to “Weel, weel, neibor, I’ll no say that ye mayna be right,” see, and his to feel it, and that soon.”

123 The Heart of Mid-Lothian Widow Butler was obliged to retire, unable to make men of courage, on account of their own deficiency in anything more of her neighbour, whose discourse, that qualification. The circumstances of their families though she did not comprehend it, filled her with unde- threw the young people constantly together; their old fined apprehensions on her grandson’s account, and intimacy was renewed, though upon a footing better greatly depressed the joy with which she had welcomed adapted to their age; and it became at length under- him on his return. And it must not be concealed, in jus- stood betwixt them, that their union should be deferred tice to Mr. Deans’s discernment, that Butler, in their no longer than until Butler should obtain some steady conference, had made a greater display of his learning means of support, however humble. This, however, was than the occasion called for, or than was likely to be not a matter speedily to be accomplished. Plan after acceptable to the old man, who, accustomed to consider plan was formed, and plan after plan failed. The good- himself as a person preeminently entitled to dictate upon humoured cheek of Jeanie lost the first flush of juve- theological subjects of controversy, felt rather humbled nile freshness; Reuben’s brow assumed the gravity of and mortified when learned authorities were placed in manhood, yet the means of obtaining a settlement array against him. In fact, Butler had not escaped the seemed remote as ever. Fortunately for the lovers, their tinge of pedantry which naturally flowed from his edu- passion was of no ardent or enthusiastic cast; and a sense cation, and was apt, on many occasions, to make pa- of duty on both sides induced them to bear, with parade of his knowledge, when there was no need of such tient fortitude, the protracted interval which divided vanity. them from each other. Jeanie Deans, however, found no fault with this dis- In the meanwhile, time did not roll on without effect- play of learning, but, on the contrary, admired it; per- ing his usual changes. The widow of Stephen Butler, so haps on the same score that her sex are said to admire long the prop of the family of Beersheba, was gathered

124 Sir Walter Scott to her fathers; and Rebecca, the careful spouse of our “Young man,” said the sufferer, “lay it not to heart, friend Davie Deans, wa’s also summoned from her plans though the righteous perish, and the merciful are re- of matrimonial and domestic economy. The morning af- moved, seeing, it may well be said, that they are taken ter her death, Reuben Butler went to offer his mite of away from the evils to come. Woe to me were I to shed a consolation to his old friend and benefactor. He witnessed, tear for the wife of my bosom, when I might weep riv- on this occasion, a remarkable struggle betwixt the force ers of water for this afflicted Church, cursed as it is with of natural affection and the religious stoicism which the carnal seekers, and with the dead of heart.” sufferer thought it was incumbent upon him to maintain “I am happy,” said Butler, “that you can forget your under each earthly dispensation, whether of weal or woe. private affliction in your regard for public duty.” On his arrival at the cottage, Jeanie, with her eyes “Forget, Reuben?” said poor Deans, putting his hand- overflowing with tears, pointed to the little orchard, “in kerchief to his eyes— “She’s not to be forgotten on this which,” she whispered with broken accents, “my poor side of time; but He that gives the wound can send the father has been since his misfortune.” Somewhat ointment. I declare there have been times during this alarmed at this account, Butler entered the orchard, and night when my meditation hae been so rapt, that I knew advanced slowly towards his old friend, who, seated in a not of my heavy loss. It has been with me as with the small rude arbour, appeared to be sunk in the extremity worthy John Semple, called Carspharn John,* upon a of his affliction. He lifted his eyes somewhat sternly as like trial—I have been this night on the banks of Ulai, Butler approached, as if offended at the interruption; plucking an apple here and there!” but as the young man hesitated whether he ought to Notwithstanding the assumed fortitude of Deans, retreat or advance, he arose, and came forward to meet which he conceived to be the discharge of a great Chris- him with a self-possessed, and even dignified air. * Note E. Carspharn John. 125 The Heart of Mid-Lothian tian duty, he had too good a heart not to suffer deeply She had now less frequent opportunities of seeing under this heavy loss. Woodend became altogether dis- Reuben, who had been obliged, after various disappoint- tasteful to him; and as he had obtained both substance ments, to accept the subordinate situation of assistant and experience by his management of that little farm, in a parochial school of some eminence, at three or four he resolved to employ them as a dairy-farmer, or miles’ distance from the city. Here he distinguished him- cowfeeder, as they are called in Scotland. The situation self, and became acquainted with several respectable he chose for his new settlement was at a place called burgesses, who, on account of health, or other reasons, Saint Leonard’s Crags, lying betwixt Edinburgh and the chose that their children should commence their educa- mountain called Arthur’s Seat, and adjoining to the tion in this little village. His prospects were thus gradu- extensive sheep pasture still named the King’s Park, ally brightening, and upon each visit which he paid at from its having been formerly dedicated to the preser- Saint Leonard’s he had an opportunity of gliding a hint vation of the royal game. Here he rented a small lonely to this purpose into Jeanie’s ear. These visits were nec- house, about half-a-mile distant from the nearest point essarily very rare, on account of the demands which the of the city, but the site of which, with all the adjacent duties of the school made upon Butler’s time. Nor did ground, is now occupied by the buildings which form he dare to make them even altogether so frequent as the southeastern suburb. An extensive pasture-ground these avocations would permit. Deans received him with adjoining, which Deans rented from the keeper of the civility indeed, and even with kindness; but Reuben, as Royal Park, enabled him to feed his milk-cows; and the is usual in such cases, imagined that he read his purpose unceasing industry and activity of Jeanie, his oldest in his eyes, and was afraid too premature an explana- daughter, were exerted in making the most of their pro- tion on the subject would draw down his positive disap- duce. proval. Upon the whole, therefore, he judged it prudent

126 Sir Walter Scott to call at Saint Leonard’s just so frequently as old ac- ing with its shoulder to the company, like an awkward quaintance and neighbourhood seemed to authorise, and booby about to leave the room, the Laird again stared no oftener. There was another person who was more mightily, and was heard to ejaculate,— “Hegh, sirs!” Even regular in his visits. after the day of departure was past and gone, the Laird When Davie Deans intimated to the Laird of of Dumbiedikes, at his usual hour, which was that at Dumbiedikes his purpose of “quitting wi’ the land and which David Deans was wont to “loose the pleugh,” pre- house at Woodend,” the Laird stared and said nothing. sented himself before the closed door of the cottage at He made his usual visits at the usual hour without re- Woodend, and seemed as much astonished at finding it mark, until the day before the term, when, observing the shut against his approach as if it was not exactly what bustle of moving furniture already commenced, the great he had to expect. On this occasion he was heard to ejacu- east-country awmrie dragged out of its nook, and stand- late, “Gude guide us!” which, by those who knew him, was considered as a very unusual mark of emotion. From that moment forward Dumbiedikes became an altered man, and the regularity of his movements, hitherto so exemplary, was as totally disconcerted as those of a boy’s watch when he has broken the main-spring. Like the in- dex of the said watch did Dumbiedikes spin round the whole bounds of his little property, which may be likened unto the dial of the timepiece, with unwonted velocity. There was not a cottage into which he did not enter, nor scarce a maiden on whom he did not stare. But so

127 The Heart of Mid-Lothian it was, that although there were better farm-houses on through his eyes. Should this happen, farewell, she the land than Woodend, and certainly much prettier girls thought, to all chance of a union with Butler. For her than Jeanie Deans, yet it did somehow befall that the father, however stouthearted and independent in civil blank in the Laird’s time was not so pleasantly filled up and religious principles, was not without that respect as it had been. There was no seat accommodated him so for the laird of the land, so deeply imprinted on the Scot- well as the “bunker” at Woodend, and no face he loved so tish tenantry of the period. Moreover, if he did not posi- much to gaze on as Jeanie Deans’s. So, after spinning tively dislike Butler, yet his fund of carnal learning was round and round his little orbit, and then remaining sta- often the object of sarcasms on David’s part, which were tionary for a week, it seems to have occurred to him that perhaps founded in jealousy, and which certainly indi- he was not pinned down to circulate on a pivot, like the cated no partiality for the party against whom they were hands of the watch, but possessed the power of shifting launched. And lastly, the match with Dumbiedikes his central point, and extending his circle if he thought would have presented irresistible charms to one who used proper. To realise which privilege of change of place, he to complain that he felt himself apt to take “ower grit bought a pony from a Highland drover, and with its as- an armfu’ o’ the warld.” So that, upon the whole, the sistance and company stepped, or rather stumbled, as far Laird’s diurnal visits were disagreeable to Jeanie from as Saint Leonard’s Crags. apprehension of future consequences, and it served much Jeanie Deans, though so much accustomed to the to console her, upon removing from the spot where she Laird’s staring that she was sometimes scarce conscious was bred and born, that she had seen the last of of his presence, had nevertheless some occasional fears Dumbiedikes, his laced hat, and tobacco-pipe. The poor lest he should call in the organ of speech to back those girl no more expected he could muster courage to follow expressions of admiration which he bestowed on her her to Saint Leonard’s Crags than that any of her apple-

128 Sir Walter Scott trees or cabbages which she had left rooted in the “yard” at Woodend, would spontaneously, and unaided, have undertaken the same journey. It was therefore with much more surprise than pleasure that, on the sixth day after their removal to Saint Leonard’s, she beheld Dumbiedikes arrive, laced hat, tobacco-pipe, and all, and, with the self-same greeting of “How’s a’ wi’ ye, Jeanie?—Whare’s the gudeman?” assume as nearly as he could the same position in the cottage at Saint Leonard’s which he had so long and so regularly occupied at Woodend. He was no sooner, however, seated, than with an unusual exertion of his powers of conver- “The deil’s in the daidling body,” muttered Jeanie be- sation, he added, “Jeanie—I say, Jeanie, woman”—here tween her teeth; “wha wad hae thought o’ his daikering he extended his hand towards her shoulder with all the out this length?” And she afterwards confessed that she fingers spread out as if to clutch it, but in so bashful threw a little of this ungracious sentiment into her ac- and awkward a manner, that when she whisked herself cent and manner; for her father being abroad, and the beyond its reach, the paw remained suspended in the “body,” as she irreverently termed the landed propri- air with the palm open, like the claw of a heraldic grif- etor, “looking unco gleg and canty, she didna ken what fin— “Jeanie,” continued the swain in this moment of he might be coming out wi’ next.” inspiration— “I say, Jeanie, it’s a braw day out-by, and Her frowns, however, acted as a complete sedative, and the roads are no that ill for boot-hose.” the Laird relapsed from that day into his former taci-

129 The Heart of Mid-Lothian turn habits, visiting the cowfeeder’s cottage three or four times every week, when the weather permitted, with apparently no other purpose than to stare at Jeanie CHAPTER NINTH Deans, while Douce Davie poured forth his eloquence upon the controversies and testimonies of the day. Her air, her manners, all who saw admired, Courteous, though coy, and gentle, though retired; The joy of youth and health her eyes displayed; And ease of heart her every look conveyed.

Crabbe.

THE VISITS OF THE LAIRD thus again sunk into matters of ordinary course, from which nothing was to be expected or apprehended. If a lover could have gained a fair one as a snake is said to fascinate a bird, by pertina- ciously gazing on her with great stupid greenish eyes, which began now to be occasionally aided by spectacles, unquestionably Dumbiedikes would have been the person to perform the feat. But the art of fascination seems among the artes perditae, and I cannot learn that this

130 Sir Walter Scott most pertinacious of starers produced any effect by his present early age, was slender and taper, with that grace- attentions beyond an occasional yawn. ful and easy sweep of outline which at once indicates In the meanwhile, the object of his gaze was gradu- health and beautiful proportion of parts. ally attaining the verge of youth, and approaching to These growing charms, in all their juvenile profusion, what is called in females the middle age, which is impo- had no power to shake the steadfast mind, or divert the litely held to begin a few years earlier with their more fixed gaze of the constant Laird of Dumbiedikes. But fragile sex than with men. Many people would have been there was scarce another eye that could behold this liv- of opinion, that the Laird would have done better to ing picture of health and beauty, without pausing on it have transferred his glances to an object possessed of with pleasure. The traveller stopped his weary horse on far superior charms to Jeanie’s, even when Jeanie’s were the eve of entering the city which was the end of his in their bloom, who began now to be distinguished by journey, to gaze at the sylph-like form that tripped by all who visited the cottage at St. Leonard’s Crags. him, with her milk-pail poised on her head, bearing her- Effie Deans, under the tender and affectionate care self so erect, and stepping so light and free under her of her sister, had now shot up into a beautiful and bloom- burden, that it seemed rather an ornament than an ening girl. Her Grecian shaped head was profusely rich in cumbrance. The lads of the neighbouring suburb, who waving ringlets of brown hair, which, confined by a blue held their evening rendezvous for putting the stone, cast- snood of silk, and shading a laughing Hebe countenance, ing the hammer, playing at long bowls, and other ath- seemed the picture of health, pleasure, and contentment. letic exercises, watched the motions of Effie Deans, and Her brown russet short-gown set off a shape, which time, contended with each other which should have the good perhaps, might be expected to render too robust, the fortune to attract her attention. Even the rigid Presby- frequent objection to Scottish beauty, but which, in her terians of her father’s persuasion, who held each indul-

131 The Heart of Mid-Lothian gence of the eye and sense to be a snare at least if not a Effie had had a double share of this inconsiderate and crime, were surprised into a moment’s delight while gaz- misjudged kindness. Even the strictness of her father’s ing on a creature so exquisite,—instantly checked by a principles could not condemn the sports of infancy and sigh, reproaching at once their own weakness, and childhood; and to the good old man, his younger daugh- mourning that a creature so fair should share in the com- ter, the child of his old age, seemed a child for some years mon and hereditary guilt and imperfection of our na- after she attained the years of womanhood, was still called ture, which she deserved as much by her guileless pu- the “bit lassie,” and “little Effie,” and was permitted to rity of thought, speech, and action, as by her uncom- run up and down uncontrolled, unless upon the Sabbath, mon loveliness of face and person. or at the times of family worship. Her sister, with all the Yet there were points in Effie’s character which gave love and care of a mother, could not be supposed to pos- rise not only to strange doubt and anxiety on the part sess the same authoritative influence; and that which she of Douce David Deans, whose ideas were rigid, as may had hitherto exercised became gradually limited and di- easily be supposed, upon the subject of youthful amuse- minished as Effie’s advancing years entitled her, in her ments, but even of serious apprehension to her more own conceit at least, to the right of independence and indulgent sister. The children of the Scotch of the infe- free agency. With all the innocence and goodness of dis- rior classes are usually spoiled by the early indulgence position, therefore, which we have described, the Lily of of their parents; how, wherefore, and to what degree, St. Leonard’s possessed a little fund of self-conceit and the lively and instructive narrative of the amiable and obstinacy, and some warmth and irritability of temper, accomplished authoress of “Glenburnie”* has saved me partly natural perhaps, but certainly much increased by and all future scribblers the trouble of recording. the unrestrained freedom of her childhood. Her character will be best illustrated by a cottage evening scene. * The late Mrs. Elizabeth Hamilton. 132 Sir Walter Scott The careful father was absent in his well-stocked byre, from the public road; to this pass she frequently directed foddering those useful and patient animals on whose her attention, when she saw two persons appear there produce his living depended, and the summer evening somewhat suddenly, as if they had walked close by the was beginning to close in, when Jeanie Deans began to side of the wall to screen themselves from observation. be very anxious for the appearance of her sister, and to One of them, a man, drew back hastily; the other, a fear that she would not reach home before her father female, crossed the stile, and advanced towards her—It returned from the labour of the evening, when it was was Effie. She met her sister with that affected liveli- his custom to have “family exercise,” and when she knew ness of manner, which, in her rank, and sometimes in that Effie’s absence would give him the most serious those above it, females occasionally assume to hide sur- displeasure. These apprehensions hung heavier upon her prise or confusion; and she carolled as she came— mind, because, for several preceding evenings, Effie had disappeared about the same time, and her stay, at first “The elfin knight sate on the brae, so brief as scarce to be noticed, had been gradually pro- The broom grows bonny, the broom grows fair; tracted to half-an-hour, and an hour, and on the present And by there came lilting a lady so gay, occasion had considerably exceeded even this last limit. And we daurna gang down to the broom nae mair.” And now, Jeanie stood at the door, with her hand before her eyes to avoid the rays of the level sun, and looked “Whisht, Effie,” said her sister; “our father’s coming alternately along the various tracks which led towards out o’ the byre.” —The damsel stinted in her song.— their dwelling, to see if she could descry the nymph-like “Whare hae ye been sae late at e’en?” form of her sister. There was a wall and a stile which “It’s no late, lass,” answered Effie. separated the royal domain, or King’s Park, as it is called, “It’s chappit eight on every clock o’ the town, and the

133 The Heart of Mid-Lothian sun’s gaun down ahint the Corstorphine hills—Whare sued her triumph over her prudent elder sister. She looked can ye hae been sae late?” at her with a sly air, in which there was something like “Nae gate,” answered Effie. irony, as she chanted, in a low but marked tone, a scrap “And wha was that parted wi’ you at the stile?” of an old Scotch song— “Naebody,” replied Effie once more. “Nae gate?—Naebody?—I wish it may be a right gate, “Through the kirkyard and a right body, that keeps folk out sae late at e’en, I met wi’ the Laird, Effie.” The silly puir body he said me nae harm; “What needs ye be aye speering then at folk?” retorted But just ere ’twas dark, Effie. “I’m sure, if ye’ll ask nae questions, I’ll tell ye I met wi’ the clerk” nae lees. I never ask what brings the Laird of Dumbiedikes glowering here like a wull-cat (only his Here the songstress stopped, looked full at her sister, een’s greener, and no sae gleg), day after day, till we are and, observing the tears gather in her eyes, she suddenly a’ like to gaunt our charts aft.” flung her arms round her neck, and kissed them away. “Because ye ken very weel he comes to see our father,” Jeanie, though hurt and displeased, was unable to resist said Jeanie, in answer to this pert remark. the caresses of this untaught child of nature, whose good “And Dominie Butler—Does he come to see our fa- and evil seemed to flow rather from impulse than from ther, that’s sae taen wi’ his Latin words?” said Effie, reflection. But as she returned the sisterly kiss, in token delighted to find that by carrying the war into the of perfect reconciliation, she could not suppress the enemy’s country, she could divert the threatened attack gentle reproof— “Effie, if ye will learn fule sangs, ye upon herself, and with the petulance of youth she pur- might make a kinder use of them.”

134 Sir Walter Scott “And so I might, Jeanie,” continued the girl, clinging or even the word pope, could hardly have produced so to her sister’s neck; “and I wish I had never learned ane appalling an effect upon David’s ear; for, of all exer- o’ them—and I wish we had never come here—and I cises, that of dancing, which he termed a voluntary and wish my tongue had been blistered or I had vexed ye.” regular fit of distraction, he deemed most destructive “Never mind that, Effie,” replied the affectionate sis- of serious thoughts, and the readiest inlet to all sorts of ter; “I canna be muckle vexed wi’ ony thing ye say to licentiousness; and he accounted the encouraging, and me—but O, dinna vex our father!” even permitting, assemblies or meetings, whether among “I will not—I will not,” replied Effie; “and if there those of high or low degree, for this fantastic and ab- were as mony dances the morn’s night as there are merry surd purpose, or for that of dramatic representations, dancers in the north firmament on a frosty e’en, I winna as one of the most flagrant proofs of defection and budge an inch to gang near ane o’ them.” causes of wrath. The pronouncing of the word dance by “Dance!” echoed Jeanie Deans in astonishment. “O his own daughters, and at his own door, now drove him Effie, what could take ye to a dance?” beyond the verge of patience. “Dance!” he exclaimed. It is very possible, that, in the communicative mood “Dance!—dance, said ye? I daur ye, limmers that ye into which the Lily of St. Leonard’s was now surprised, are, to name sic a word at my door-cheek! It’s a disso- she might have given her sister her unreserved confi- lute profane pastime, practised by the Israelites only at dence, and saved me the pain of telling a melancholy their base and brutal worship of the Golden Calf at tale; but at the moment the word dance was uttered, it Bethel, and by the unhappy lass wha danced aff the reached the ear of old David Deans, who had turned head of John the Baptist, upon whilk chapter I will the corner of the house, and came upon his daughters exercise this night for your farther instruction, since ye ere they were aware of his presence. The word prelate, need it sae muckle, nothing doubting that she has cause

135 The Heart of Mid-Lothian to rue the day, lang or this time, that e’er she suld hae gang in, then, hinnies,” he added, in a softer tone, for shook a limb on sic an errand. Better for her to hae been the tears of both daughters, but especially those of Effie, born a cripple, and carried frae door to door, like auld began to flow very fast,— “Gang in, dears, and we’ll Bessie Bowie, begging bawbees, than to be a king’s seek grace to preserve us frae all, manner of profane daughter, fiddling and flinging the gate she did. I hae folly, whilk causeth to sin, and promoteth the kingdom often wondered that ony ane that ever bent a knee for of darkness, warring with the kingdom of light.” the right purpose, should ever daur to crook a hough to The objurgation of David Deans, however well meant, fyke and fling at piper’s wind and fiddler’s squealing. was unhappily timed. It created a division of feelings in And I bless God (with that singular worthy, Peter Walker Effie’s bosom, and deterred her from her intended con- the packman at Bristo-Port),* that ordered my lot in fidence in her sister. “She wad hand me nae better than my dancing days, so that fear of my head and throat, the dirt below her feet,” said Effie to herself, “were I to dread of bloody rope and swift bullet, and trenchant confess I hae danced wi’ him four times on the green swords and pain of boots and thumkins, cauld and hun- down by, and ance at Maggie Macqueens’s; and she’ll ger, wetness and weariness, stopped the lightness of my maybe hing it ower my head that she’ll tell my father, head, and the wantonness of my feet. and then she wad be mistress and mair. But I’ll no gang And now, if I hear ye, quean lassies, sae muckle as back there again. I’m resolved I’ll no gang back. I’ll lay name dancing, or think there’s sic a thing in this warld in a leaf of my Bible,* and that’s very near as if I had as flinging to fiddler’s sounds, and piper’s springs, as made an aith, that I winna gang back.” sure as my father’s spirit is with the just, ye shall be no more either charge or concern of mine! Gang in, then— * This custom of making a mark by folding a leaf in the party’s Bible, when a solemn resolution is formed, is still held to be, in some sense, an appeal to Heaven for his or her sin- * Note F. Peter Walker. cerity. 136 Sir Walter Scott And she kept her vow for a week, during which she subject to the surveillance of mammas and chaperons; was unusually cross and fretful, blemishes which had but the country girl, who snatches her moment of gai- never before been observed in her temper, except during ety during the intervals of labour, is under no such a moment of contradiction. guardianship or restraint, and her amusement becomes There was something in all this so mysterious as con- so much the more hazardous. Jeanie saw all this with siderably to alarm the prudent and affectionate Jeanie, much distress of mind, when a circumstance occurred the more so as she judged it unkind to her sister to men- which appeared calculated to relieve her anxiety. tion to their father grounds of anxiety which might arise Mrs. Saddletree, with whom our readers have already from her own imagination. Besides, her respect for the been made acquainted, chanced to be a distant relation good old man did not prevent her from being aware that of Douce David Deans, and as she was a woman orderly he was both hot-tempered and positive, and she some- in her life and conversation, and, moreover, of good sub- times suspected that he carried his dislike to youthful stance, a sort of acquaintance was formally kept up amusements beyond the verge that religion and reason between the families. Now, this careful dame, about a demanded. Jeanie had sense enough to see that a sud- year and a half before our story commences, chanced to den and severe curb upon her sister’s hitherto unre- need, in the line of her profession, a better sort of ser- strained freedom might be rather productive of harm vant, or rather shop-woman. “Mr. Saddletree,” she said, than good, and that Effie, in the headstrong wilfulness “was never in the shop when he could get his nose within of youth, was likely to make what might be overstrained the Parliament House, and it was an awkward thing for in her father’s precepts an excuse to herself for neglect- a woman-body to be standing among bundles o’ ing them altogether. In the higher classes, a damsel, how- barkened leather her lane, selling saddles and bridles; ever giddy, is still under the dominion of etiquette, and and she had cast her eyes upon her far-awa cousin Effie

137 The Heart of Mid-Lothian Deans, as just the very sort of lassie she would want to The fact is, that he thought with so much horror on all keep her in countenance on such occasions.” approaches to irregularities of the nature most to be In this proposal there was much that pleased old dreaded in such cases, that he would as soon have sus- David,—there was bed, board, and bountith—it was a pected and guarded against Effie’s being induced to be- decent situation—the lassie would be under Mrs. come guilty of the crime of murder. He only regretted Saddletree’s eye, who had an upright walk, and lived that she should live under the same roof with such a close by the Tolbooth Kirk, in which might still be heard worldly-wise man as Bartoline Saddletree, whom David the comforting doctrines of one of those few ministers never suspected of being an ass as he was, but consid- of the Kirk of Scotland who had not bent the knee unto ered as one really endowed with all the legal knowledge Baal, according to David’s expression, or become acces- to which he made pretension, and only liked him the sory to the course of national defections,—union, tol- worse for possessing it. The lawyers, especially those eration, patronages, and a bundle of prelatical Erastian amongst them who sate as ruling elders in the General oaths which had been imposed on the church since the Assembly of the Kirk, had been forward in promoting Revolution, and particularly in the reign of “the late the measures of patronage, of the abjuration oath, and woman” (as he called Queen Anne), the last of that un- others, which, in the opinion of David Deans, were a happy race of Stuarts. In the good man’s security con- breaking down of the carved work of the sanctuary, and cerning the soundness of the theological doctrine which an intrusion upon the liberties of the kirk. Upon the his daughter was to hear, he was nothing disturbed on dangers of listening to the doctrines of a legalised for- account of the snares of a different kind, to which a malist, such as Saddletree, David gave his daughter creature so beautiful, young, and wilful, might be ex- many lectures; so much so, that he had time to touch posed in the centre of a populous and corrupted city. but slightly on the dangers of chambering, company-

138 Sir Walter Scott keeping, and promiscuous dancing, to which, at her time cheeks, and wrung each other’s hands, Jeanie took that of life, most people would have thought Effie more ex- moment of affectionate sympathy, to press upon her posed, than to the risk of theoretical error in her reli- sister the necessity of the utmost caution in her con- gious faith. duct while residing in Edinburgh. Effie listened, with- Jeanie parted from her sister with a mixed feeling of out once raising her large dark eyelashes, from which regret, and apprehension, and hope. She could not be so the drops fell so fast as almost to resemble a fountain. confident concerning Effie’s prudence as her father, for At the conclusion she sobbed again, kissed her sister, she had observed her more narrowly, had more sympa- promised to recollect all the good counsel she had given thy with her feelings, and could better estimate the temp- her, and they parted. tations to which she was exposed. On the other hand, During the first weeks, Effie was all that her kins- Mrs. Saddletree was an observing, shrewd, notable woman expected, and even more. But with time there woman, entitled to exercise over Effie the full authority came a relaxation of that early zeal which she mani- of a mistress, and likely to do so strictly, yet with kind- fested in Mrs. Saddletree’s service. To borrow once again ness. Her removal to Saddletree’s, it was most probable, from the poet, who so correctly and beautifully describes would also serve to break off some idle acquaintances, living manners:— which Jeanie suspected her sister to have formed in the neighbouring suburb. Upon the whole, then, she viewed Something there was,—what, none presumed to say,— her departure from Saint Leonard’s with pleasure, and Clouds lightly passing on a summer’s day; it was not until the very moment of their parting for Whispers and hints, which went from ear to ear, the first time in their lives, that she felt the full force of And mixed reports no judge on earth could clear. sisterly sorrow. While they repeatedly kissed each other’s

139 The Heart of Mid-Lothian During this interval, Mrs. Saddletree was sometimes dis- Saddletree, but she was chiefly confined by indisposi- pleased by Effie’s lingering when she was sent upon er- tion to her bedroom for a considerable time during the rands about the shop business, and sometimes by a little latter part of Effie’s service. This interval was marked degree of impatience which she manifested at being re- by symptoms of anguish almost amounting to despair. buked on such occasions. But she good-naturedly allowed, The utmost efforts of the poor girl to command her fits that the first was very natural to a girl to whom every- of hysterical agony were, often totally unavailing, and thing in Edinburgh was new and the other was only the the mistakes which she made in the shop the while, were petulance of a spoiled child, when subjected to the yoke so numerous and so provoking that Bartoline Saddletree, of domestic discipline for the first time. Attention and who, during his wife’s illness, was obliged to take closer submission could not be learned at once—Holyrood was charge of the business than consisted with his study of not built in a day—use would make perfect. the weightier matters of the law, lost all patience with It seemed as if the considerate old lady had presaged the girl, who, in his law Latin, and without much re- truly. Ere many months had passed, Effie became al- spect to gender, he declared ought to be cognosced by most wedded to her duties, though she no longer dis- inquest of a jury, as fatuus, furiosus, and naturaliter charged them with the laughing cheek and light step, idiota. Neighbours, also, and fellow-servants, remarked which had at first attracted every customer. Her mis- with malicious curiosity or degrading pity, the disfig- tress sometimes observed her in tears, but they were signs ured shape, loose dress, and pale cheeks, of the once of secret sorrow, which she concealed as often as she beautiful and still interesting girl. But to no one would saw them attract notice. Time wore on, her cheek grew she grant her confidence, answering all taunts with bit- pale, and her step heavy. The cause of these changes ter sarcasm, and all serious expostulation with sullen could not have escaped the matronly eye of Mrs. denial, or with floods of tears.

140 Sir Walter Scott At length, when Mrs. Saddletree’s recovery was likely confining herself entirely to the dusky precincts of the to permit her wonted attention to the regulation of her shop in the Lawnmarket, and Jeanie was so much occu- household, Effie Deans, as if unwilling to face an inves- pied, during the same period, with the concerns of her tigation made by the authority of her mistress, asked father’s household, that she had rarely found leisure for permission of Bartoline to go home for a week or two, a walk in the city, and a brief and hurried visit to her assigning indisposition, and the wish of trying the ben- sister. The young women, therefore, had scarcely seen efit of repose and the change of air, as the motives of each other for several months, nor had a single scandal- her request. Sharp-eyed as a lynx (or conceiving him- ous surmise reached the ears of the secluded inhabit- self to be so) in the nice sharp quillits of legal discus- ants of the cottage at St. Leonard’s. Jeanie, therefore, sion, Bartoline was as dull at drawing inferences from terrified to death at her sister’s appearance, at first over- the occurrences of common life as any Dutch professor whelmed her with inquiries, to which the unfortunate of mathematics. He suffered Effie to depart without young woman returned for a time incoherent and ram- much suspicion, and without any inquiry. bling answers, and finally fell into a hysterical fit. Ren- It was afterwards found that a period of a week inter- dered too certain of her sister’s misfortune, Jeanie had vened betwixt her leaving her master’s house and arriv- now the dreadful alternative of communicating her ruin ing at St. Leonard’s. She made her appearance before to her father, or of endeavouring to conceal it from him. her sister in a state rather resembling the spectre than To all questions concerning the name or rank of her se- the living substance of the gay and beautiful girl, who ducer, and the fate of the being to whom her fall had had left her father’s cottage for the first time scarce sev- given birth, Effie remained as mute as the grave, to enteen months before. The lingering illness of her mis- which she seemed hastening; and indeed the least allu- tress had, for the last few months, given her a plea for sion to either seemed to drive her to distraction. Her

141 The Heart of Mid-Lothian sister, in distress and in despair, was about to repair to bets. He fell extended and senseless upon his own hearth; Mrs. Saddletree to consult her experience, and at the and the men, happy to escape from the scene of his awak- same time to obtain what lights she could upon this most ening, raised, with rude humanity, the object of their unhappy affair, when she was saved that trouble by a warrant from her bed, and placed her in a coach, which new stroke of fate, which seemed to carry misfortune they had brought with them. The hasty remedies which to the uttermost. Jeanie had applied to bring back her father’s senses were David Deans had been alarmed at the state of health scarce begun to operate, when the noise of the wheels in in which his daughter had returned to her paternal resi- motion recalled her attention to her miserable sister. To dence; but Jeanie had contrived to divert him from par- ran shrieking after the carriage was the first vain effort ticular and specific inquiry. It was therefore like a clap of her distraction, but she was stopped by one or two of thunder to the poor old man, when, just as the hour female neighbours, assembled by the extraordinary ap- of noon had brought the visit of the Laird of pearance of a coach in that sequestered place, who al- Dumbiedikes as usual, other and sterner, as well as most most forced her back to her father’s house. The deep unexpected guests, arrived at the cottage of St. and sympathetic affliction of these poor people, by Leonard’s. These were the officers of justice, with a whom the little family at St. Leonard’s were held in high warrant of justiciary to search for and apprehend regard, filled the house with lamentation. Even Euphemia, or Effie Deans, accused of the crime of child- Dumbiedikes was moved from his wonted apathy, and, murder. The stunning weight of a blow so totally unex- groping for his purse as he spoke, ejaculated, “Jeanie, pected bore down the old man, who had in his early woman!—Jeanie, woman! dinna greet—it’s sad wark, youth resisted the brow of military and civil tyranny, but siller will help it;” and he drew out his purse as he though backed with swords and guns, tortures and gib- spoke.

142 Sir Walter Scott The old man had now raised himself from the ground, latitudinarians, and the hand-waled murderers, whose and, looking about him as if he missed something, seemed hands are hard as horn wi’ handing the slaughter-weap- gradually to recover the sense of his wretchedness. ons—they will push out the lip, and say that we are “Where,” he said, with a voice that made the roof ring, even such as themselves. Sair, sair I am grieved, “where is the vile harlot, that has disgraced the blood of neighbours, for the poor castaway—for the child of mine an honest man?—Where is she, that has no place among old age—but sairer for the stumbling-block and scandal us, but has come foul with her sins, like the Evil One, among it will be to all tender and honest souls!” the children of God?—Where is she, Jeanie?—Bring her “Davie—winna siller do’t?” insinuated the laird, still before me, that I may kill her with a word and a look!” proffering his green purse, which was full of guineas. All hastened around him with their appropriate sources “I tell ye, Dumbiedikes,” said Deans, “that if telling of consolation—the Laird with his purse, Jeanie with down my haill substance could hae saved her frae this burnt feathers and strong waters, and the women with black snare, I wad hae walked out wi’ naething but my their exhortations. “O neighbour—O Mr. Deans, it’s a bonnet and my staff to beg an awmous for God’s sake, sair trial, doubtless—but think of the Rock of Ages, and ca’d mysell an happy man—But if a dollar, or a neighbour—think of the promise!” plack, or the nineteenth part of a boddle, wad save her “And I do think of it, neighbours—and I bless God open guilt and open shame frae open punishment, that that I can think of it, even in the wrack and ruin of a’ purchase wad David Deans never make!—Na, na; an that’s nearest and dearest to me—But to be the father eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, life for life, blood for of a castaway—a profligate—a bloody Zipporah—a blood—it’s the law of man, and it’s the law of God.— mere murderess!—O, how will the wicked exult in the Leave me, sirs—leave me—I maun warstle wi’ this trial high places of their wickedness!—the prelatists, and the in privacy and on my knees.”

143 The Heart of Mid-Lothian Jeanie, now in some degree restored to the power of thought, joined in the same request. The next day found the father and daughter still in the depth of affliction, CHAPTER TENTH but the father sternly supporting his load of ill through a proud sense of religious duty, and the daughter anxiously suppressing her own feelings to avoid again awak- Is all the counsel that we two have shared, ening his. Thus was it with the afflicted family until the The sisters’ vows, the hours that we have spent morning after Porteous’s death, a period at which we When we have chid the hasty-footed time are now arrived. For parting us—Oh!—and is all forgot?

Midsummer Night’s Dream.

WE HAVE BEEN a long while in conducting Butler to the door of the cottage at St. Leonard’s; yet the space which we have occupied in the preceding narrative does not exceed in length that which he actually spent on Salisbury Crags on the morning which succeeded the execution done upon Porteous by the rioters. For this delay he had his own motives. He wished to collect his thoughts, strangely agitated as they were, first by the

144 Sir Walter Scott melancholy news of Effie Deans’s situation, and after- descended from the cliffs and steep ascent to the east. wards by the frightful scene which he had witnessed. In This sequestered dell, as well as other places of the the situation also in which he stood with respect to Jeanie open pasturage of the King’s Park, was, about this time, and her father, some ceremony, at least some choice of often the resort of the gallants of the time who had fitting time and season, was necessary to wait upon affairs of honour to discuss with the sword. Duels were them. Eight in the morning was then the ordinary hour then very common in Scotland, for the gentry were at for breakfast, and he resolved that it should arrive be- once idle, haughty, fierce, divided by faction, and ad- fore he made his appearance in their cottage. dicted to intemperance, so that there lacked neither Never did hours pass so heavily. Butler shifted his place provocation, nor inclination to resent it when given; and and enlarged his circle to while away the time, and heard the sword, which was part of every gentleman’s dress, the huge bell of St. Giles’s toll each successive hour in was the only weapon used for the decision of such dif- swelling tones, which were instantly attested by those ferences. When, therefore, Butler observed a young man, of the other steeples in succession. He had heard seven skulking, apparently to avoid observation, among the struck in this manner, when he began to think he might scattered rocks at some distance from the footpath, he venture to approach nearer to St. Leonard’s, from which was naturally led to suppose that he had sought this he was still a mile distant. Accordingly he descended lonely spot upon that evil errand. He was so strongly from his lofty station as low as the bottom of the valley, impressed with this, that, notwithstanding his own dis- which divides Salisbury Crags from those small rocks tress of mind, he could not, according to his sense of which take their name from Saint Leonard. It is, as many duty as a clergyman, pass this person without speaking of my readers may know, a deep, wild, grassy valley, to him. There are times, thought he to himself, when scattered with huge rocks and fragments which have the slightest interference may avert a great calamity—

145 The Heart of Mid-Lothian when a word spoken in season may do more for preven- approached more nearly to the apparel of youths of tion than the eloquence of Tully could do for remedy- fashion than any other which the manners of the times ing evil—And for my own griefs, be they as they may, I permitted them to wear. If his air and manner could be shall feel them the lighter, if they divert me not from trusted, however, this person seemed rather to be dressed the prosecution of my duty. under than above his rank; for his carriage was bold and Thus thinking and feeling, he quitted the ordinary somewhat supercilious, his step easy and free, his man- path, and advanced nearer the object he had noticed. ner daring and unconstrained. His stature was of the The man at first directed his course towards the hill, in middle size, or rather above it, his limbs well-propor- order, as it appeared, to avoid him; but when he saw tioned, yet not so strong as to infer the reproach of clum- that Butler seemed disposed to follow him, he adjusted siness. His features were uncommonly handsome, and his hat fiercely, turned round, and came forward, as if all about him would have been interesting and prepos- to meet and defy scrutiny. sessing but for that indescribable expression which ha- Butler had an opportunity of accurately studying his bitual dissipation gives to the countenance, joined with features as they advanced slowly to meet each other. a certain audacity in look and manner, of that kind The stranger seemed about twenty-five years old. His which is often assumed as a mask for confusion and ap- dress was of a kind which could hardly be said to indi- prehension. cate his rank with certainty, for it was such as young Butler and the stranger met—surveyed each other— gentlemen sometimes wore while on active exercise in when, as the latter, slightly touching his hat, was about the morning, and which, therefore, was imitated by those to pass by him, Butler, while he returned the saluta- of the inferior ranks, as young clerks and tradesmen, tion, observed, “A fine morning, sir—You are on the hill because its cheapness rendered it attainable, while it early.”

146 Sir Walter Scott “I have business here,” said the young man, in a tone men of your cloth in Scotland claim a strange right of meant to repress farther inquiry. intermeddling with men’s private affairs. But I have been “I do not doubt it, sir,” said Butler. “I trust you will abroad, and know better than to be priest-ridden.” forgive my hoping that it is of a lawful kind?” “Sir, if it be true that any of my cloth, or, it might be “Sir,” said the other, with marked surprise, “I never more decently said, of my calling, interfere with men’s forgive impertinence, nor can I conceive what title you private affairs, for the gratification either of idle curi- have to hope anything about what no way concerns osity, or for worse motives, you cannot have learned a you.” better lesson abroad than to contemn such practices. “I am a soldier, sir,” said Butler, “and have a charge to But in my Master’s work, I am called to be busy in sea- arrest evil-doers in the name of my Master.” son and out of season; and, conscious as I am of a pure “A soldier!” said the young man, stepping back, and motive, it were better for me to incur your contempt for fiercely laying his hand on his sword— “A soldier, and speaking, than the correction of my own conscience for arrest me! Did you reckon what your life was worth, being silent.” before you took the commission upon you?” “In the name of the devil!” said the young man impa- “You mistake me, sir,” said Butler, gravely; “neither tiently, “say what you have to say, then; though whom my warfare nor my warrant are of this world. I am a you take me for, or what earthly concern you have with preacher of the gospel, and have power, in my Master’s me, a stranger to you, or with my actions and motives, name, to command the peace upon earth and good-will of which you can know nothing, I cannot conjecture for towards men, which was proclaimed with the gospel.” an instant.” “A minister!” said the stranger, carelessly, and with an “You are about,” said Butler, “to violate one of your expression approaching to scorn. “I know the gentle- country’s wisest laws—you are about, which is much

147 The Heart of Mid-Lothian more dreadful, to violate a law, which God himself has that stamp which struck all who gazed on him with implanted within our nature, and written as it were, in unutterable horror, and by which the murderer is made the table of our hearts, to which every thrill of our nerves manifest to all who look upon him. Think!” is responsive.” The stranger gradually withdrew himself from under “And what is the law you speak of?” said the stranger, the hand of his monitor; and, pulling his hat over his in a hollow and somewhat disturbed accent. brows, thus interrupted him. “Your meaning, sir, I dare “Thou shalt do no murder,” said Butler, with a deep say, is excellent, but you are throwing your advice away. and solemn voice. I am not in this place with violent intentions against The young man visibly started, and looked consider- any one. I may be bad enough—you priests say all men ably appalled. Butler perceived he had made a favourable are so—but I am here for the purpose of saving life, not impression, and resolved to follow it up. “Think,” he of taking it away. If you wish to spend your time rather said, “young man,” laying his hand kindly upon the in doing a good action than in talking about you know stranger’s shoulder, “what an awful alternative you vol- not what, I will give you an opportunity. Do you see untarily choose for yourself, to kill or be killed. Think yonder crag to the right, over which appears the chim- what it is to rush uncalled into the presence of an of- ney of a lone house? Go thither, inquire for one Jeanie fended Deity, your heart fermenting with evil passions, Deans, the daughter of the goodman; let her know that your hand hot from the steel you had been urging, with he she wots of remained here from daybreak till this your best skill and malice, against the breast of a fel- hour, expecting to see her, and that he can abide no low-creature. Or, suppose yourself the scarce less longer. Tell her, she must meet me at the Hunter’s Bog wretched survivor, with the guilt of Cain, the first mur- to-night, as the moon rises behind St. Anthony’s Hill, derer, in your heart, with the stamp upon your brow— or that she will make a desperate man of me.”

148 Sir Walter Scott “Who or what are you,” replied Butler, exceedingly overawes all men, but especially those of kind and sym- and most unpleasantly surprised, “who charge me with pathetic dispositions. The stranger turned abruptly from such an errand?” Butler as he spoke, but instantly returned, and, coming “I am the devil!”—answered the young man hastily. up to him closely and boldly, said, in a fierce, determined Butler stepped instinctively back, and commanded tone, “I have told you who and what I am—who and himself internally to Heaven; for, though a wise and what are you? What is your name?” strong-minded man, he was neither wiser nor more “Butler,” answered the person to whom this abrupt strong-minded than those of his age and education, with question was addressed, surprised into answering it by whom, to disbelieve witchcraft or spectres, was held an the sudden and fierce manner of the querist— “Reuben undeniable proof of atheism. Butler, a preacher of the gospel.” The stranger went on without observing his emotion. At this answer, the stranger again plucked more deep “Yes! call me Apollyon, Abaddon, whatever name you over his brows the hat which he had thrown back in his shall choose, as a clergyman acquainted with the upper former agitation. “Butler!” he repeated— “the assistant and lower circles of spiritual denomination, to call me of the schoolmaster at Liberton?” by, you shall not find an appellation more odious to him “The same,” answered Butler composedly. that bears it, than is mine own.” The stranger covered his face with his hand, as if on This sentence was spoken with the bitterness of self- sudden reflection, and then turned away, but stopped upbraiding, and a contortion of visage absolutely de- when he had walked a few paces; and seeing Butler fol- moniacal. Butler, though a man brave by principle, if low him with his eyes, called out in a stern yet suppressed not by constitution, was overawed; for intensity of men- tone, just as if he had exactly calculated that his accents tal distress has in it a sort of sublimity which repels and should not be heard a yard beyond the spot on which

149 The Heart of Mid-Lothian Butler stood. “Go your way, and do mine errand. Do not Dreading he knew not what of additional misery to a look after me. I will neither descend through the bowels lot which seemed little capable of receiving augmenta- of these rocks, nor vanish in a flash of fire; and yet the tion, and desperate at the idea that any living man eye that seeks to trace my motions shall have reason to should dare to send so extraordinary a request, couched curse it was ever shrouded by eyelid or eyelash. Begone, in terms so imperious, to the half-betrothed object of and look not behind you. Tell Jeanie Deans, that when his early and only affection, Butler strode hastily to- the moon rises I shall expect to meet her at Nicol wards the cottage, in order to ascertain how far this Muschat’s Cairn, beneath Saint Anthony’s Chapel.” daring and rude gallant was actually entitled to press As he uttered these words, he turned and took the road on Jeanie Deans a request, which no prudent, and scarce against the hill, with a haste that seemed as peremp- any modest young woman, was likely to comply with. tory as his tone of authority. Butler was by nature neither jealous nor superstitious; yet the feelings which lead to those moods of the mind were rooted in his heart, as a portion derived from the common stock of humanity. It was maddening to think that a profligate gallant, such as the manner and tone of the stranger evinced him to be, should have it in his power to command forth his future bride and plighted true love, at a place so improper, and an hour so unsea- sonable. Yet the tone in which the stranger spoke had nothing of the soft half-breathed voice proper to the seducer who solicits an assignation; it was bold, fierce,

150 Sir Walter Scott and imperative, and had less of love in it than of men- of the mien, language, and port of the ruined archan- ace and intimidation. gel; and, imperfectly as we have been able to describe it, The suggestions of superstition seemed more plausible, the effect of the interview upon Butler’s nerves, shaken had Butler’s mind been very accessible to them. Was as they were at the time by the horrors of the preceding this indeed the Roaring Lion, who goeth about seeking night, were greater than his understanding warranted, whom he may devour? This was a question which pressed or his pride cared to submit to. The very place where he itself on Butler’s mind with an earnestness that cannot had met this singular person was desecrated, as it were, be conceived by those who live in the present day. The and unhallowed, owing to many violent deaths, both in fiery eye, the abrupt demeanour, the occasionally harsh, duels and by suicide, which had in former times taken yet studiously subdued tone of voice,—the features, place there; and the place which he had named as a ren- handsome, but now clouded with pride, now disturbed dezvous at so late an hour, was held in general to be by suspicion, now inflamed with passion—those dark accursed, from a frightful and cruel murder which had hazel eyes which he sometimes shaded with his cap, as been there committed by the wretch from whom the if he were averse to have them seen while they were oc- place took its name, upon the person of his own wife.* cupied with keenly observing the motions and bearing It was in such places, according to the belief of that of others—those eyes that were now turbid with mel- period (when the laws against witchcraft were still in ancholy, now gleaming with scorn, and now sparkling fresh observance, and had even lately been acted upon), with fury—was it the passions of a mere mortal they that evil spirits had power to make themselves visible expressed, or the emotions of a fiend, who seeks, and to human eyes, and to practise upon the feelings and seeks in vain, to conceal his fiendish designs under the senses of mankind. Suspicions, founded on such circum- borrowed mask of manly beauty? The whole partook * Note G. Muschat’s Cairn. 151 The Heart of Mid-Lothian stances, rushed on Butler’s mind, unprepared as it was by any previous course of reasoning, to deny that which all of his time, country, and profession believed; but CHAPTER ELEVENTH common sense rejected these vain ideas as inconsistent, if not with possibility, at least with the general rules by which the universe is governed,—a deviation from which, Then she stretched out her lily hand, And for to do her best; as Butler well argued with himself, ought not to be ad- “Hae back thy faith and troth, Willie, mitted as probable, upon any but the plainest and most God gie thy soul good rest!” incontrovertible evidence. An earthly lover, however, or a young man, who, from whatever cause, had the right Old Ballad. of exercising such summary and unceremonious authority over the object of his long-settled, and apparently sincerely returned affection, was an object scarce less “COME IN,” answered the low and sweet-toned voice he appalling to his mind, than those which superstition loved best to hear, as Butler tapped at the door of the suggested. cottage. He lifted the latch, and found himself under His limbs exhausted with fatigue, his mind harassed the roof of affliction. Jeanie was unable to trust herself with anxiety, and with painful doubts and recollections, with more than one glance towards her lover, whom she Butler dragged himself up the ascent from the valley to now met under circumstances so agonising to her feel- St. Leonard’s Crags, and presented himself at the door ings, and at the same time so humbling to her honest of Deans’s habitation, with feelings much akin to the pride. It is well known, that much, both of what is good miserable reflections and fears of its inhabitants. and bad in the Scottish national character, arises out of

152 Sir Walter Scott the intimacy of their family connections. “To be come panion of the wanderings and dangers of his youth, and of honest folk,” that is, of people who have borne a fair bequeathed to him on the scaffold by one of those, who, and unstained reputation, is an advantage as highly in the year 1686, sealed their enthusiastic principles with prized among the lower Scotch, as the emphatic coun- their blood. The sun sent its rays through a small win- terpart, “to be of a good family,” is valued among their dow at the old man’s back, and, “shining motty through gentry. The worth and respectability of one member of the reek,” to use the expression of a bard of that time a peasant’s family is always accounted by themselves and country, illumined the grey hairs of the old man, and others, not only a matter of honest pride, but a and the sacred page which he studied. His features, far guarantee for the good conduct of the whole. On the from handsome, and rather harsh and severe, had yet contrary, such a melancholy stain as was now flung on from their expression of habitual gravity, and contempt one of the children of Deans, extended its disgrace to for earthly things, an expression of stoical dignity all connected with him, and Jeanie felt herself lowered amidst their sternness. He boasted, in no small degree, at once, in her own eyes, and in those of her lover. It the attributes which Southey ascribes to the ancient was in vain that she repressed this feeling, as far subor- Scandinavians, whom he terms “firm to inflict, and stub- dinate and too selfish to be mingled with her sorrow for born to endure.” The whole formed a picture, of which her sister’s calamity. Nature prevailed; and while she the lights might have been given by Rembrandt, but shed tears for her sister’s distress and danger, there the outline would have required the force and vigour of mingled with them bitter drops of grief for her own Michael Angelo. degradation. Deans lifted his eye as Butler entered, and instantly As Butler entered, the old man was seated by the fire withdrew it, as from an object which gave him at once with his well-worn pocket Bible in his hands, the com- surprise and sudden pain. He had assumed such high

153 The Heart of Mid-Lothian ground with this carnal-witted scholar, as he had in his lay saft, fed sweet, and drank deep, when I was in the pride termed Butler, that to meet him, of all men, un- moss-haggs and moors, wi’ precious Donald Cameron, der feelings of humiliation, aggravated his misfortune, and worthy Mr. Blackadder, called Guess-again; and how and was a consummation like that of the dying chief in proud I was o’ being made a spectacle to men and an- the old ballad— “Earl Percy sees my fall!” gels, having stood on their pillory at the Canongate afore Deans raised the Bible with his left hand, so as partly I was fifteen years old, for the cause of a National Cov- to screen his face, and putting back his right as far as he enant! To think, Reuben, that I, wha hae been sae could, held it towards Butler in that position, at the same honoured and exalted in my youth, nay, when I was but time turning his body from, him, as if to prevent his a hafflins callant, and that hae borne testimony again seeing the working of his countenance. Butler clasped the defections o’ the times yearly, monthly, daily, hourly, the extended hand which had supported his orphan in- minutely, striving and testifying with uplifted hand and fancy, wept over it, and in vain endeavoured to say more voice, crying aloud, and sparing not, against all great than the words— “God comfort you—God comfort national snares, as the nation-wasting and church-sink- you!” ing abomination of union, toleration, and patronage, “He will—he doth, my friend,” said Deans, assuming imposed by the last woman of that unhappy race of firmness as he discovered the agitation of his guest; “he Stuarts; also against the infringements and invasions doth now, and he will yet more in his own gude time. I of the just powers of eldership, whereanent, I uttered have been ower proud of my sufferings in a gude cause, my paper, called a ‘Cry of an Howl in the Desert,’ printed Reuben, and now I am to be tried with those whilk will at the Bow-head, and sold by all flying stationers in town turn my pride and glory into a reproach and a hissing. and country—and now—” How muckle better I hae thought mysell than them that Here he paused. It may well be supposed that Butler,

154 Sir Walter Scott though not absolutely coinciding in all the good old taught to read the Scripture in any other tongue but man’s ideas about church government, had too much my native Scottish” (even in his distress Butler’s Latin consideration and humanity to interrupt him, while he quotation had not escaped his notice), “I have never- reckoned up with conscious pride his sufferings, and the theless so learned them, that I trust to bear even this constancy of his testimony. On the contrary, when he crook in my lot with submission. But, oh! Reuben But- paused under the influence of the bitter recollections of ler, the kirk, of whilk, though unworthy, I have yet been the moment, Butler instantly threw in his mite of en- thought a polished shaft, and meet to be a pillar, hold- couragement. ing, from my youth upward, the place of ruling elder— “You have been well known, my old and revered friend, what will the lightsome and profane think of the guide a true and tried follower of the Cross; one who, as Saint that cannot keep his own family from stumbling? How Jerome hath it, ‘per infamiam et bonam famam grassari will they take up their song and their reproach, when ad immortalitatem,’ which may be freely rendered, ‘who they see that the children of professors are liable to as rusheth on to immortal life, through bad report and good foul backsliding as the offspring of Belial! But I will report.’ You have been one of those to whom the tender bear my cross with the comfort, that whatever showed and fearful souls cry during the midnight solitude— like goodness in me or mine, was but like the light that ’Watchman, what of the night?—Watchman, what of shines frae creeping insects, on the brae-side, in a dark the night?’—And, assuredly, this heavy dispensation, night—it kythes bright to the ee, because all is dark as it comes not without divine permission, so it comes around it; but when the morn comes on the mountains, not without its special commission and use.” it is, but a puir crawling kail-worm after a’. And sae it “I do receive it as such,” said poor Deans, returning shows, wi’ ony rag of human righteousness, or formal the grasp of Butler’s hand; “and if I have not been law-work, that we may pit round us to cover our shame.”

155 The Heart of Mid-Lothian As he pronounced these words, the door again opened, was neither wished nor wanted; and felt as happy in the and Mr. Bartoline Saddletree entered, his three-pointed hat exchange as a boy when he gets his first new watch, set far back on his head, with a silk handkerchief beneath which actually goes when wound up, and has real hands it to keep it in that cool position, his gold-headed cane in and a true dial-plate. But besides this subject for legal his hand, and his whole deportment that of a wealthy disquisition, Bartoline’s brains were also overloaded with burgher, who might one day look to have a share in the the affair of Porteous, his violent death, and all its prob- magistracy, if not actually to hold the curule chair itself. able consequences to the city and community. It was Rochefoucault, who has torn the veil from so many what the French call l’embarras des richesses, the confu- foul gangrenes of the human heart, says, we find some- sion arising from too much mental wealth. He walked thing not altogether unpleasant to us in the misfortunes in with a consciousness of double importance, full of our best friends. Mr. Saddletree would have been very fraught with the superiority of one who possesses more angry had any one told him that he felt pleasure in the information than the company into which he enters, and disaster of poor Effie Deans, and the disgrace of her who feels a right to discharge his learning on them with- family; and yet there is great question whether the grati- out mercy. “Good morning, Mr. Deans,—good-morrow fication of playing the person of importance, inquir- to you, Mr. Butler,—I was not aware that you were ac- ing, investigating, and laying down the law on the whole quainted with Mr. Deans.” affair, did not offer, to say the least, full consolation for Butler made some slight answer; his reasons may be the pain which pure sympathy gave him on account of readily imagined for not making his connection with the his wife’s kinswoman. He had now got a piece of real family, which, in his eyes, had something of tender mys- judicial business by the end, instead of being obliged, as tery, a frequent subject of conversation with indifferent was his common case, to intrude his opinion where it persons, such as Saddletree.

156 Sir Walter Scott The worthy burgher, in the plenitude of self-impor- of the insurrection and its consequences, while Butler tance, now sate down upon a chair, wiped his brow, col- took the occasion to seek some private conversation with lected his breath, and made the first experiment of the Jeanie Deans. She gave him the opportunity he sought, resolved pith of his lungs, in a deep and dignified sigh, by leaving the room, as if in prosecution of some part resembling a groan in sound and intonation— “Awfu’ of her morning labour. Butler followed her in a few min- times these, neighbour Deans, awfu’ times!” utes, leaving Deans so closely engaged by his busy visi- “Sinfu’, shamefu’, heaven-daring times!” answered tor, that there was little chance of his observing their Deans, in a lower and more subdued tone. absence. “For my part,” continued Saddletree, swelling with The scene of their interview was an outer apartment, importance, “what between the distress of my friends, where Jeanie was used to busy herself in arranging the and my poor auld country, ony wit that ever I had may productions of her dairy. When Butler found an oppor- be said to have abandoned me, sae that I sometimes tunity of stealing after her into this place, he found her think myself as ignorant as if I were inter rusticos. Here silent, dejected, and ready to burst into tears. Instead when I arise in the morning, wi’ my mind just arranged of the active industry with which she had been accus- touching what’s to be done in puir Effie’s misfortune, tomed, even while in the act of speaking, to employ her and hae gotten the haill statute at my finger-ends, the hands in some useful branch of household business, she mob maun get up and string Jock Porteous to a dyester’s was seated listless in a corner, sinking apparently under beam, and ding a’ thing out of my head again.” the weight of her own thoughts. Yet the instant he en- Deeply as he was distressed with his own domestic ca- tered, she dried her eyes, and, with the simplicity and lamity, Deans could not help expressing some interest openness of her character, immediately entered on con- in the news. Saddletree immediately entered on details versation.

157 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “I am glad you have come in, Mr. Butler,” said she, guilt there be, which, I trust in God, may yet be dis- “for—for—for I wished to tell ye, that all maun be ended proved, with our engagement?—how can that affect you between you and me—it’s best for baith our sakes.” or me?” “Ended!” said Butler, in surprise; “and for what should “How can you ask me that, Mr. Butler? Will this stain, it be ended?—I grant this is a heavy dispensation, but d’ye think, ever be forgotten, as lang as our heads are it lies neither at your door nor mine—it’s an evil of God’s abune the grund? Will it not stick to us, and to our sending, and it must be borne; but it cannot break bairns, and to their very bairns’ bairns? To hae been plighted troth, Jeanie, while they that plighted their the child of an honest man, might hae been saying some- word wish to keep it.” thing for me and mine; but to be the sister of a—O my “But, Reuben,” said the young woman, looking at him God!”—With this exclamation her resolution failed, and affectionately, “I ken weel that ye think mair of me than she burst into a passionate fit of tears. yourself; and, Reuben, I can only in requital think mair The lover used every effort to induce her to compose of your weal than of my ain. Ye are a man of spotless herself, and at length succeeded; but she only resumed name, bred to God’s ministry, and a’ men say that ye her composure to express herself with the same posi- will some day rise high in the kirk, though poverty keep tiveness as before. “No, Reuben, I’ll bring disgrace hame ye doun e’en now. Poverty is a bad back-friend, Reuben, to nae man’s hearth; my ain distresses I can bear, and I and that ye ken ower weel; but ill-fame is a waur ane, maun bear, but there is nae occasion for buckling them and that is a truth ye sall never learn through my on other folk’s shouthers. I will bear my load alone— means.” the back is made for the burden.” “What do you mean?” said Butler, eagerly and impa- A lover is by charter wayward and suspicious; and tiently; “or how do you connect your sister’s guilt, if Jeanie’s readiness to renounce their engagement, under

158 Sir Walter Scott pretence of zeal for his peace of mind and respectabil- Butler paused, and looking at her fixedly— “I am ity of character, seemed to poor Butler to form a por- charged,” he said, “with a message to you, Jeanie.” tentous combination with the commission of the “Indeed! From whom? Or what can ony ane have to stranger he had met with that morning. His voice fal- say to me?” tered as he asked, “whether nothing but a sense of her “It is from a stranger,” said Butler, affecting to speak sister’s present distress occasioned her to talk in that with an indifference which his voice belied— “A young manner?” man whom I met this morning in the Park.” “And what else can do sae?” she replied with simplic- “Mercy!” said Jeanie, eagerly; “and what did he say?” ity. “Is it not ten long years since we spoke together in “That he did not see you at the hour he expected, but this way?” required you should meet him alone at Muschat’s Cairn “Ten years!” said Butler. “It’s a long time—sufficient this night, so soon as the moon rises.” perhaps for a woman to weary.” “Tell him,” said Jeanie, hastily, “I shall certainly come.” “To weary of her auld gown,” said Jeanie, “and to “May I ask,” said Butler, his suspicions increasing at wish for a new ane if she likes to be brave, but not long the ready alacrity of the answer, “who this man is to enough to weary of a friend—The eye may wish change, whom you are so willing to give the meeting at a place but the heart never.” and hour so uncommon?” “Never!” said Reuben,—”that’s a bold promise.” “Folk maun do muckle they have little will to do, in “But not more bauld than true,” said Jeanie, with the this world,” replied Jeanie. same quiet simplicity which attended her manner in joy “Granted,” said her lover; “but what compels you to and grief in ordinary affairs, and in those which most this?—who is this person? What I saw of him was not interested her feelings. very favourable—who, or what is he?”

159 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “I do not know,” replied Jeanie, composedly. going to do?—the time—the place—an unknown and “You do not know!” said Butler, stepping impatiently suspicious character?—Why, if he had asked to see you through the apartment— “You purpose to meet a young in this house, your father sitting in the next room, and man whom you do not know, at such a time, and in a within call, at such an hour, you should have refused to place so lonely—you say you are compelled to do this— see him.” and yet you say you do not know the person who exer- “My weird maun be fulfilled, Mr. Butler; my life and cises such an influence over you!—Jeanie, what am I to my safety are in God’s hands, but I’ll not spare to risk think of this?” either of them on the errand I am gaun to do.” “Think only, Reuben, that I speak truth, as if I were “Then, Jeanie,” said Butler, much displeased, “we to answer at the last day.—I do not ken this man—I do must indeed break short off, and bid farewell. When not even ken that I ever saw him; and yet I must give there can be no confidence betwixt a man and his him the meeting he asks—there’s life and death upon plighted wife on such a momentous topic, it is a sign it.” that she has no longer the regard for him that makes “Will you not tell your father, or take him with you?” their engagement safe and suitable.” said Butler. Jeanie looked at him and sighed. “I thought,” she said, “I cannot,” said Jeanie; “I have no permission.” “that I had brought myself to bear this parting—but— “Will you let me go with you? I will wait in the Park but—I did not ken that we were to part in unkindness. till nightfall, and join you when you set out.” But I am a woman and you are a man—it may be dif- “It is impossible,” said Jeanie; “there maunna be mor- ferent wi’ you—if your mind is made easier by thinking tal creature within hearing of our conference.” sae hardly of me, I would not ask you to think other- “Have you considered well the nature of what you are wise.”

160 Sir Walter Scott “You are,” said Butler, “what you have always been— be taken in consequence. His only answer at each pause wiser, better, and less selfish in your native feelings, than was, “I am no misdoubting that you wuss us weel— I can be, with all the helps philosophy can give to a Chris- your wife’s our far-awa cousin.” tian—But why—why will you persevere in an under- Encouraged by these symptoms of acquiescence, taking so desperate? Why will you not let me be your Saddletree, who, as an amateur of the law, had a su- assistant—your protector, or at least your adviser?” preme deference for all constituted authorities, again “Just because I cannot, and I dare not,” answered recurred to his other topic of interest, the murder, Jeanie.— “But hark, what’s that? Surely my father is namely, of Porteous, and pronounced a severe censure no weel?” on the parties concerned. In fact, the voices in the next room became obstreper- “These are kittle times—kittle times, Mr. Deans, when ously loud of a sudden, the cause of which vociferation the people take the power of life and death out of the it is necessary to explain before we go farther. hands of the rightful magistrate into their ain rough When Jeanie and Butler retired, Mr. Saddletree en- grip. I am of opinion, and so I believe will Mr. tered upon the business which chiefly interested the fam- Crossmyloof and the Privy Council, that this rising in ily. In the commencement of their conversation he found effeir of war, to take away the life of a reprieved man, old Deans, who in his usual state of mind, was no granter will prove little better than perduellion.” of propositions, so much subdued by a deep sense of his “If I hadna that on my mind whilk is ill to bear, Mr. daughter’s danger and disgrace, that he heard without Saddletree,” said Deans, “I wad make bold to dispute replying to, or perhaps without understanding, one or that point wi’ you.” two learned disquisitions on the nature of the crime “How could you dispute what’s plain law, man?” said imputed to her charge, and on the steps which ought to Saddletree, somewhat contemptuously; “there’s no a

161 The Heart of Mid-Lothian callant that e’er carried a pock wi’ a process in’t, but wi’ the lang heads and lang gowns, and keep with the will tell you that perduellion is the warst and maist viru- smart witty-pated lawyers of this our land—Weary on lent kind of treason, being an open convocating of the the dark and dolefu’ cast that they hae gien this un- king’s lieges against his authority (mair especially in happy kingdom, when their black hands of defection arms, and by touk of drum, to baith whilk accessories were clasped in the red hands of our sworn murtherers: my een and lugs bore witness), and muckle worse than when those who had numbered the towers of our Zion, lese-majesty, or the concealment of a treasonable pur- and marked the bulwarks of Reformation, saw their pose—It winna bear a dispute, neighbour.” hope turn into a snare, and their rejoicing into weep- “But it will, though,” retorted Douce Davie Deans; ing.” “I tell ye it will bear a disputer never like your cauld, “I canna understand this, neighbour,” answered legal, formal doctrines, neighbour Saddletree. I haud Saddletree. “I am an honest Presbyterian of the Kirk unco little by the Parliament House, since the awfu’ of Scotland, and stand by her and the General Assem- downfall of the hopes of honest folk that followed the bly, and the due administration of justice by the fifteen Revolution.” Lords o’ Session and the five Lords o’ Justiciary.” “But what wad ye hae had, Mr. Deans?” said “Out upon ye, Mr. Saddletree!” exclaimed David, who, Saddletree, impatiently; “didna ye get baith liberty and in an opportunity of giving his testimony on the of- conscience made fast, and settled by tailzie on you and fences and backslidings of the land, forgot for a mo- your heirs for ever?” ment his own domestic calamity— “out upon your Gen- “Mr. Saddletree,” retorted Deans, “I ken ye are one eral Assembly, and the back of my hand to your Court of those that are wise after the manner of this world, o’ Session!—What is the tane but a waefu’ bunch o’ and that ye hand your part, and cast in your portion, cauldrife professors and ministers, that sate bien and

162 Sir Walter Scott warm when the persecuted remnant were warstling wi’ nine-tenths o’ them that win them, will be gey sure to hunger, and cauld, and fear of death, and danger of fire be guilty in. Sae I wad hae ye ken that I hand a’ your and sword upon wet brae-sides, peat-haggs, and flow- gleg-tongued advocates, that sell their knowledge for mosses, and that now creep out of their holes, like blue- pieces of silver—and your worldly-wise judges, that will bottle flees in a blink of sunshine, to take the pu’pits gie three days of hearing in presence to a debate about and places of better folk—of them that witnessed, and the peeling of an ingan, and no ae half-hour to the gos- testified, and fought, and endured pit, prison-house, and pel testimony—as legalists and formalists, countenanc- transportation beyond seas?—A bonny bike there’s o’ ing by sentences, and quirks, and cunning terms of law, them!—And for your Court o’ Session—” the late begun courses of national defections—union, “Ye may say what ye will o’ the General Assembly,” toleration, patronages, and Yerastian prelatic oaths. As said Saddletree, interrupting him, “and let them clear for the soul and body-killing Court o’ Justiciary—” them that kens them; but as for the Lords o’ Session, The habit of considering his life as dedicated to bear forby that they are my next-door neighbours, I would testimony in behalf of what he deemed the suffering have ye ken, for your ain regulation, that to raise scan- and deserted cause of true religion, had swept honest dal anent them, whilk is termed to murmur again them, David along with it thus far; but with the mention of is a crime sui generis,—sui generis, Mr. Deans—ken ye the criminal court, the recollection of the disastrous what that amounts to?” condition of his daughter rushed at once on his mind; “I ken little o’ the language of Antichrist,” said Deans; he stopped short in the midst of his triumphant decla- “and I care less than little what carnal courts may call mation, pressed his hands against his forehead, and re- the speeches of honest men. And as to murmur again mained silent. them, it’s what a’ the folk that loses their pleas, and Saddletree was somewhat moved, but apparently not

163 The Heart of Mid-Lothian so much so as to induce him to relinquish the privilege are signed by Mr. Crossmyloof, but Mr. Younglad drew of prosing in his turn afforded him by David’s sudden them), they propone, that it signifies naething, in hoc silence. “Nae doubt, neighbour,” he said, “it’s a sair thing statu, what or how muckle a plough-gate of land may to hae to do wi’ courts of law, unless it be to improve be, in respect the defender has nae lands whatsoever, ane’s knowledge and practique, by waiting on as a hearer; less or mair. ‘Sae grant a plough-gate’” (here Saddletree and touching this unhappy affair of Effie—ye’ll hae seen read from the paper in his hand) “‘to be less than the the dittay, doubtless?” He dragged out of his pocket a nineteenth part of a guse’s grass’—(I trow Mr. bundle of papers, and began to turn them over. “This is Crossmyloof put in that—I ken his style),—’of a guse’s no it—this is the information of Mungo Marsport, of grass, what the better will the defender be, seeing he that ilk, against Captain Lackland, for coming on his hasna a divot-cast of land in Scotland?—Advocatus for lands of Marsport with hawks, hounds, lying-dogs, nets, Lackland duplies, that nihil interest de possessione, the guns, cross-bows, hagbuts of found, or other engines pursuer must put his case under the statute’—(now, this more or less for destruction of game, sic as red-deer, fal- is worth your notice, neighbour),— ‘and must show, low-deer, cappercailzies, grey-fowl, moor-fowl, paitricks, formaliter et specialiter, as well as generaliter, what is the herons, and sic like; he, the said defender not being ane qualification that defender Lackland does not possess— qualified person, in terms of the statute sixteen hun- let him tell me what a plough-gate of land is, and I’ll dred and twenty-ane; that is, not having ane plough- tell him if I have one or no. Surely the pursuer is bound gate of land. Now, the defences proponed say, that non to understand his own libel, and his own statute that he constat at this present what is a plough-gate of land, founds upon. Titius pursues Maevius for recovery of ane whilk uncertainty is sufficient to elide the conclusions black horse lent to Maevius—surely he shall have judg- of the libel. But then the answers to the defences (they ment; but if Titius pursue Maevius for ane scarlet or crim-

164 Sir Walter Scott son horse, doubtless he shall be bound to show that there Sovereigns William and Mary, especially enacted, that is sic ane animal in rerum natura. No man can be bound ane woman who shall have concealed her condition, and to plead to nonsense—that is to say, to a charge which shall not be able to show that she hath called for help at cannot be explained or understood’—(he’s wrang the birth in case that the child shall be found dead or there—the better the pleadings the fewer understand amissing, shall be deemed and held guilty of the mur- them),— ‘and so the reference unto this undefined and der thereof; and the said facts of concealment and preg- unintelligible measure of land is, as if a penalty was nancy being found proven or confessed, shall sustain the inflicted by statute for any man who suld hunt or hawk, pains of law accordingly; yet, nevertheless, you, Effie, or use lying-dogs, and wearing a sky-blue pair of or Euphemia Deans—’” breeches, without having—’But I am wearying you, Mr. “Read no farther!” said Deans, raising his head up; “I Deans,—we’ll pass to your ain business,—though this would rather ye thrust a sword into my heart than read cue of Marsport against Lackland has made an unco a word farther!” din in the Outer House. Weel, here’s the dittay against “Weel, neighbour,” said Saddletree, “I thought it wad puir Effie: ‘Whereas it is humbly meant and shown to hae comforted ye to ken the best and the warst o’t. But us,’ etc. (they are words of mere style), ‘that whereas, the question is, what’s to be dune?” by the laws of this and every other well-regulated realm, “Nothing,” answered Deans firmly, “but to abide the the murder of any one, more especially of an infant dispensation that the Lord sees meet to send us. Oh, if child, is a crime of ane high nature, and severely pun- it had been His will to take the grey head to rest before ishable: And whereas, without prejudice to the foresaid this awful visitation on my house and name! But His generality, it was, by ane act made in the second session will be done. I can say that yet, though I can say little of the First Parliament of our most High and Dread mair.”

165 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “But, neighbour,” said Saddletree, “ye’ll retain advo- hands, by ony name o’ the dispensation o’ grace, but cates for the puir lassie? it’s a thing maun needs be maun new baptize them by the names of the accursed thought of.” Titus, wha was made the instrument of burning the holy “If there was ae man of them,” answered Deans, “that Temple, and other sic like heathens!” held fast his integrity—but I ken them weel, they are a’ “It’s Tishius,” interrupted Saddletree, “and no Titus. carnal, crafty, and warld-hunting self-seekers, Mr. Crossmyloof cares as little about Titus or the Latin Yerastians, and Arminians, every ane o’ them.” as ye do.—But it’s a case of necessity—she maun hae “Hout tout, neighbour, ye mauna take the warld at counsel. Now, I could speak to Mr. Crossmyloof—he’s its word,” said Saddletree; “the very deil is no sae ill as weel ken’d for a round-spun Presbyterian, and a ruling he’s ca’d; and I ken mair than ae advocate that may be elder to boot.” said to hae some integrity as weel as their neighbours; “He’s a rank Yerastian,” replied Deans; “one of the that is, after a sort o’ fashion’ o’ their ain.” public and polititious warldly-wise men that stude up “It is indeed but a fashion of integrity that ye will to prevent ane general owning of the cause in the day find amang them,” replied David Deans, “and a fash- of power!” ion of wisdom, and fashion of carnal learning—gazing, “What say ye to the auld Laird of Cuffabout?” said glancing-glasses they are, fit only to fling the glaiks in Saddletree; “he whiles thumps the dust out of a case folk’s een, wi’ their pawky policy, and earthly ingine, gey and well.” their flights and refinements, and periods of eloquence, “He? the fause loon!” answered Deans— “he was in frae heathen emperors and popish canons. They canna, his bandaliers to hae joined the ungracious Highland- in that daft trash ye were reading to me, sae muckle as ers in 1715, an they had ever had the luck to cross the ca’ men that are sae ill-starred as to be amang their Firth.”

166 Sir Walter Scott “Weel, Arniston? there’s a clever chield for ye!” said Mackenyie? he has a’ his uncle’s Practiques at the Bartoline, triumphantly. tongue’s end.” “Ay, to bring popish medals in till their very library “What, sir, wad ye speak to me,” exclaimed the sturdy from that schismatic woman in the north, the Duchess Presbyterian in excessive wrath, “about a man that has of Gordon.”* the blood of the saints at his fingers’ ends? Did na his “Weel, weel, but somebody ye maun hae—What think eme [Uncle] die and gang to his place wi’ the name of ye o’ Kittlepunt?” the Bluidy Mackenyie? and winna he be kend by that “He’s an Arminian.” name sae lang as there’s a Scots tongue to speak the “Woodsetter?” word? If the life of the dear bairn that’s under a suffer- “He’s, I doubt, a Cocceian.” ing dispensation, and Jeanie’s, and my ain, and a’ “Auld Whilliewhaw?” mankind’s, depended on my asking sic a slave o’ Satan “He’s ony thing ye like.” to speak a word for me or them, they should a’ gae doun “Young Naemmo?” the water thegither for Davie Deans!” “He’s naething at a’.” It was the exalted tone in which he spoke this last “Ye’re ill to please, neighbour,” said Saddletree: “I hae sentence that broke up the conversation between But- run ower the pick o’ them for you, ye maun e’en choose ler and Jeanie, and brought them both “ben the house,” for yoursell; but bethink ye that in the multitude of to use the language of the country. Here they found the counsellors there’s safety—What say ye to try young poor old man half frantic between grief and zealous ire against Saddletree’s proposed measures, his cheek in- * James Dundas younger of Arniston was tried in the year flamed, his hand clenched, and his voice raised, while 1711 upon charge of leasing-making, in having presented, from the Duchess of Gordon, medal of the Pretender, for the the tear in his eye, and the occasional quiver of his ac- purpose, it was said, of affronting Queen Anne. 167 The Heart of Mid-Lothian cents, showed that his utmost efforts were inadequate It is a dangerous thing to trust to an illustration. But- to shaking off the consciousness of his misery. Butler, ler had done so and miscarried; but, like a gallant sol- apprehensive of the consequences of his agitation to an dier when his musket misses fire, he stood his ground, aged and feeble frame, ventured to utter to him a rec- and charged with the bayonet.— “This is too rigid an ommendation to patience. interpretation of your duty, sir. The sun shines, and the “I am patient,” returned the old man sternly,—”more rain descends, on the just and unjust, and they are placed patient than any one who is alive to the woeful together in life in circumstances which frequently ren- backslidings of a miserable time can be patient; and in der intercourse between them indispensable, perhaps so much, that I need neither sectarians, nor sons nor that the evil may have an opportunity of being con- grandsons of sectarians, to instruct my grey hairs how verted by the good, and perhaps, also, that the righ- to bear my cross.” teous might, among other trials, be subjected to that of “But, sir,” continued Butler, taking no offence at the occasional converse with the profane.” slur cast on his grandfather’s faith, “we must use hu- “Ye’re a silly callant, Reuben,” answered Deans, “with man means. When you call in a physician, you would your bits of argument. Can a man touch pitch and not be not, I suppose, question him on the nature of his reli- defiled? Or what think ye of the brave and worthy cham- gious principles!” pions of the Covenant, that wadna sae muckle as hear a “Wad I no?” answered David— “but I wad, though; minister speak, be his gifts and graces as they would, that and if he didna satisfy me that he had a right sense of hadna witnessed against the enormities of the day? Nae the right hand and left hand defections of the day, not a lawyer shall ever speak for me and mine that hasna con- goutte of his physic should gang through my father’s curred in the testimony of the scattered, yet lovely rem- son.” nant, which abode in the clifts of the rocks.”

168 Sir Walter Scott So saying, and as if fatigued, both with the arguments can do it; but where’s the siller to come frae? Mr. Deans, and presence of his guests, the old man arose, and seem- ye see, will do naething; and though Mrs. Saddletree’s ing to bid them adieu with a motion of his head and their far-awa friend, and right good weel-wisher, and is hand, went to shut himself up in his sleeping apartment. weel disposed to assist, yet she wadna like to stand to be “It’s thrawing his daughter’s life awa,” said Saddletree bound singuli in solidum to such an expensive wark. An to Butler, “to hear him speak in that daft gate. Where ilka friend wad bear a share o’ the burden, something will he ever get a Cameronian advocate? Or wha ever might be dune—ilka ane to be liable for their ain in- heard of a lawyer’s suffering either for ae religion or put—I wadna like to see the case fa’ through without another? The lassie’s life is clean flung awa.” being pled—it wadna be creditable, for a’ that daft whig During the latter part of this debate, Dumbiedikes body says.” had arrived at the door, dismounted, hung the pony’s “I’ll—I will—yes” (assuming fortitude), “I will be an- bridle on the usual hook, and sunk down on his ordi- swerable,” said Dumbiedikes, “for a score of punds ster- nary settle. His eyes, with more than their usual anima- ling.”—And he was silent, staring in astonishment at tion, followed first one speaker then another, till he finding himself capable of such unwonted resolution and caught the melancholy sense of the whole from excessive generosity. Saddletree’s last words. He rose from his seat, stumped “God Almighty bless ye, Laird!” said Jeanie, in a trans- slowly across the room, and, coming close up to port of gratitude. Saddletree’s ear, said in a tremulous anxious voice, “Ye may ca’ the twenty punds thretty,” said “Will—will siller do naething for them, Mr. Saddletree?” Dumbiedikes, looking bashfully away from her, and to- “Umph!” said Saddletree, looking grave,— “siller will wards Saddletree. certainly do it in the Parliament House, if ony thing “That will do bravely,” said Saddletree, rubbing his

169 The Heart of Mid-Lothian hands; “and ye sall hae a’ my skill and knowledge to gar it was the tane or the tither o’ them, I am sure, and it the siller gang far—I’ll tape it out weel—I ken how to maksna muckle matter whilk. Wherefore, says he, the gar the birkies tak short fees, and be glad o’ them too— libel maun be redargued by the panel proving her de- it’s only garring them trow ye hae twa or three cases of fences. And it canna be done otherwise.” importance coming on, and they’ll work cheap to get “But the fact, sir,” argued Butler, “the fact that this custom. Let me alane for whilly-whaing an advocate:— poor girl has borne a child; surely the crown lawyers it’s nae sin to get as muckle flue them for our siller as we must prove that?” said Butler. can—after a’, it’s but the wind o’ their mouth—it costs Saddletree paused a moment, while the visage of them naething; whereas, in my wretched occupation of Dumbiedikes, which traversed, as if it had been placed a saddler, horse milliner, and harness maker, we are out on a pivot, from the one spokesman to the other, as- unconscionable sums just for barkened hides and sumed a more blithe expression. leather.” “Ye—ye—ye—es,” said Saddletree, after some grave “Can I be of no use?” said Butler. “My means, alas! hesitation; “unquestionably that is a thing to be proved, are only worth the black coat I wear; but I am young— as the court will more fully declare by an interlocutor I owe much to the family—Can I do nothing?” of relevancy in common form; but I fancy that job’s “Ye can help to collect evidence, sir,” said Saddletree; done already, for she has confessed her guilt.” “if we could but find ony ane to say she had gien the “Confessed the murder?” exclaimed Jeanie, with a least hint o’ her condition, she wad be brought aft wi’ a scream that made them all start. wat finger—Mr. Crossmyloof tell’d me sae. The crown, “No, I didna say that,” replied Bartoline. “But she says he, canna be craved to prove a positive—was’t a confessed bearing the babe.” positive or a negative they couldna be ca’d to prove?— “And what became of it, then?” said Jeanie, “for not

170 Sir Walter Scott a word could I get from her but bitter sighs and tears.” frae Dumbiedikes to this house-end, and sae straight “She says it was taken away from her by the woman back again.” in whose house it was born, and who assisted her at the “Yell do better for them,” said Saddletree, as they left time.” the house together, “by sending me the thretty punds.” “And who was that woman?” said Butler. “Surely by “Thretty punds!” hesitated Dumbiedikes, who was her means the truth might be discovered.—Who was now out of the reach of those eyes which had inflamed she? I will fly to her directly.” his generosity; “I only said twenty punds.” “I wish,” said Dumbiedikes, “I were as young and as “Ay; but,” said Saddletree, “that was under protesta- supple as you, and had the gift of the gab as weel.” tion to add and eik; and so ye craved leave to amend “Who is she?” again reiterated Butler impatiently.— your libel, and made it thretty.” ”Who could that woman be?” “Did I? I dinna mind that I did,” answered “Ay, wha kens that but herself?” said Saddletree; “she Dumbiedikes. “But whatever I said I’ll stand to.” Then deponed farther, and declined to answer that interroga- bestriding his steed with some difficulty, he added, tory.” “Dinna ye think poor Jeanie’s een wi’ the tears in them “Then to herself will I instantly go,” said Butler; “fare- glanced like lamour beads, Mr. Saddletree?” well, Jeanie;” then coming close up to her— “Take no “I kenna muckle about women’s een, Laird,” replied rash steps till you hear from me. Farewell!” and he im- the insensible Bartoline; “and I care just as little. I wuss mediately left the cottage. I were as weel free o’ their tongues; though few wives,” “I wad gang too,” said the landed proprietor, in an he added, recollecting the necessity of keeping up his anxious, jealous, and repining tone, “but my powny character for domestic rule, “are under better command winna for the life o’ me gang ony other road than just than mine, Laird. I allow neither perduellion nor lese-

171 The Heart of Mid-Lothian majesty against my sovereign authority.” The Laird saw nothing so important in this observation as to call for a rejoinder, and when they had ex- CHAPTER TWELFTH changed a mute salutation, they parted in peace upon their different errands. I’ll warrant that fellow from drowning, were the ship no stronger than a nut-shell.

The Tempest.

BUTLER FELT NEITHER fatigue nor want of refreshment, although, from the mode in which he had spent the night, he might well have been overcome with either. But in the earnestness with which he hastened to the assistance of the sister of Jeanie Deans, he forgot both. In his first progress he walked with so rapid a pace as almost approached to running, when he was surprised to hear behind him a call upon his name, contending with an asthmatic cough, and half-drowned amid the resounding trot of a Highland pony. He looked behind, and saw the Laird of Dumbiedikes making after him

172 Sir Walter Scott with what speed he might, for it happened, fortunately breath occasioned by a trot much more rapid than Rory for the Laird’s purpose of conversing with Butler, that or he were accustomed to, the high purpose of his own road homeward was for about two hundred yards Dumbiedikes seemed to stick as it were in his throat, the same with that which led by the nearest way to the and impede his utterance, so that Butler stood for nearly city. Butler stopped when he heard himself thus sum- three minutes ere he could utter a syllable; and when he moned, internally wishing no good to the panting eques- did find voice, it was only to say, after one or two ef- trian who thus retarded his journey. forts, “Uh! uh! uhm! I say, Mr.—Mr. Butler, it’s a braw “Uh! uh! uh!” ejaculated Dumbiedikes, as he checked day for the har’st.” the hobbling pace of the pony by our friend Butler. “Uh! “Fine day, indeed,” said Butler. “I wish you good morn- uh! it’s a hard-set willyard beast this o’ mine.” He had ing, sir.” in fact just overtaken the object of his chase at the very “Stay—stay a bit,” rejoined Dumbiedikes; “that was point beyond which it would have been absolutely im- no what I had gotten to say.” possible for him to have continued the pursuit, since “Then, pray be quick, and let me have your com- there Butler’s road parted from that leading to mands,” rejoined Butler; “I crave your pardon, but I Dumbiedikes, and no means of influence or compulsion am in haste, and Tempus nemini—you know the prov- which the rider could possibly have used towards his erb.” Bucephalus could have induced the Celtic obstinacy of Dumbiedikes did not know the proverb, nor did he even Rory Bean (such was the pony’s name) to have diverged take the trouble to endeavour to look as if he did, as a yard from the path that conducted him to his own others in his place might have done. He was concentrat- paddock. ing all his intellects for one grand proposition, and could Even when he had recovered from the shortness of not afford any detachment to defend outposts. “I say,

173 The Heart of Mid-Lothian Mr. Butler,” said he, “ken ye if Mr. Saddletree’s a great cited in his bosom. But he was too generous long to nurse lawyer?” any feeling which was allied to selfishness. “He is,” said “I have no person’s word for it but his own,” answered Butler to himself, “rich in what I want; why should I Butler, drily; “but undoubtedly he best understands his feel vexed that he has the heart to dedicate some of his own qualities.” pelf to render them services, which I can only form the “Umph!” replied the taciturn Dumbiedikes, in a tone empty wish of executing? In God’s name, let us each do which seemed to say, “Mr. Butler, I take your meaning.” what we can. May she be but happy!—saved from the “In that case,” he pursued, “I’ll employ my ain man o’ misery and disgrace that seems impending—Let me but business, Nichil Novit (auld Nichil’s son, and amaist as find the means of preventing the fearful experiment of gleg as his father), to agent Effie’s plea.” this evening, and farewell to other thoughts, though my And having thus displayed more sagacity than Butler heart-strings break in parting with them!” expected from him, he courteously touched his gold- He redoubled his pace, and soon stood before the door laced cocked hat, and by a punch on the ribs, conveyed of the Tolbooth, or rather before the entrance where to Rory Bean, it was his rider’s pleasure that he should the door had formerly been placed. His interview with forthwith proceed homewards; a hint which the quad- the mysterious stranger, the message to Jeanie, his agi- ruped obeyed with that degree of alacrity with which tating conversation with her on the subject of breaking men and animals interpret and obey suggestions that off their mutual engagements, and the interesting scene entirely correspond with their own inclinations. with old Deans, had so entirely occupied his mind as to Butler resumed his pace, not without a momentary drown even recollection of the tragical event which he revival of that jealousy which the honest Laird’s atten- had witnessed the preceding evening. His attention was tion to the family of Deans had at different times ex- not recalled to it by the groups who stood scattered on

174 Sir Walter Scott the street in conversation, which they hushed when lic eye, recalled the whole proceedings of the eventful strangers approached, or by the bustling search of the night. Upon his requesting to speak with Effie Deans, agents of the city police, supported by small parties of the same tall, thin, silver-haired turnkey, whom he had the military, or by the appearance of the Guard-House, seen on the preceding evening, made his appearance, before which were treble sentinels, or, finally, by the sub- “I think,” he replied to Butler’s request of admission, dued and intimidated looks of the lower orders of soci- with true Scottish indirectness, “ye will be the same lad ety, who, conscious that they were liable to suspicion, if that was for in to see her yestreen?” they were not guilty of accession to a riot likely to be Butler admitted he was the same person. strictly inquired into, glided about with an humble and “And I am thinking,” pursued the turnkey, “that ye dismayed aspect, like men whose spirits being exhausted speered at me when we locked up, and if we locked up in the revel and the dangers of a desperate debauch over- earlier on account of Porteous?” night, are nerve-shaken, timorous, and unenterprising “Very likely I might make some such observation,” on the succeeding day. said Butler; “but the question now is, can I see Effie None of these symptoms of alarm and trepidation Deans?” struck Butler, whose mind was occupied with a differ- “I dinna ken—gang in by, and up the turnpike stair, ent, and to him still more interesting subject, until he and turn till the ward on the left hand.” stood before the entrance to the prison, and saw it de- The old man followed close behind him, with his keys fended by a double file of grenadiers, instead of bolts in his hand, not forgetting even that huge one which and bars. Their “Stand, stand!” the blackened appear- had once opened and shut the outward gate of his do- ance of the doorless gateway, and the winding staircase minions, though at present it was but an idle and use- and apartments of the Tolbooth, now open to the pub- less burden. No sooner had Butler entered the room to

175 The Heart of Mid-Lothian which he was directed, than the experienced hand of “What do you mean by that, sir?” retorted Butler. the warder selected the proper key, and locked it on the “You must mistake me for some other person. My name outside. At first Butler conceived this manoeuvre was is Reuben Butler, preacher of the gospel.” only an effect of the man’s habitual and official caution “I ken that weel eneugh,” said the turnkey. and jealousy. But when he heard the hoarse command, “Well, then, if you know me, I have a right to know “Turn out the guard!” and immediately afterwards from you in return, what warrant you have for detaining heard the clash of a sentinel’s arms, as he was posted at me; that, I know, is the right of every British subject.” the door of his apartment, he again called out to the “Warrant!” said the jailor,— “the warrant’s awa to turnkey, “My good friend, I have business of some con- Libberton wi’ twa sheriff officers seeking ye. If ye had sequence with Effie Deans, and I beg to see her as soon staid at hame, as honest men should do, ye wad hae seen as possible.” No answer was returned. “If it be against the warrant; but if ye come to be incarcerated of your your rules to admit me,” repeated Butler, in a still louder ain accord, wha can help it, my jo?” tone, “to see the prisoner, I beg you will tell me so, and “‘So I cannot see Effie Deans, then,” said Butler; “and let me go about my business.—Fugit irrevocabile tem- you are determined not to let me out?” pus!” muttered he to himself. “Troth will I no, neighbour,” answered the old man, “If ye had business to do, ye suld hae dune it before ye doggedly; “as for Effie Deans, ye’ll hae eneuch ado to cam here,” replied the man of keys from the outside; mind your ain business, and let her mind hers; and for “yell find it’s easier wunnin in than wunnin out here— letting you out, that maun be as the magistrate will de- there’s sma’ likelihood o’ another Porteous mob coming termine. And fare ye weel for a bit, for I maun see Dea- to rabble us again—the law will haud her ain now, con Sawyers put on ane or twa o’ the doors that your neighbour, and that yell find to your cost.” quiet folk broke down yesternight, Mr. Butler.”

176 Sir Walter Scott There was something in this exquisitely provoking, but tulate with the rioters, and to prevail on them to release there was also something darkly alarming. To be im- him. The distress of Deans’s family, the dangerous ren- prisoned, even on a false accusation, has something in it dezvous which Jeanie had formed, and which he could disagreeable and menacing even to men of more consti- not now hope to interrupt, had also their share in his tutional courage than Butler had to boast; for although unpleasant reflections. Yet, impatient as he was to re- he had much of that resolution which arises from a sense ceive an e’claircissement upon the cause of his confine- of duty and an honourable desire to discharge it, yet, as ment, and if possible to obtain his liberty, he was af- his imagination was lively, and his frame of body deli- fected with a trepidation which seemed no good omen; cate, he was far from possessing that cool insensibility when, after remaining an hour in this solitary apart- to danger which is the happy portion of men of stron- ment, he received a summons to attend the sitting mag- ger health, more firm nerves, and less acute sensibility. istrate. He was conducted from prison strongly guarded An indistinct idea of peril, which he could neither un- by a party of soldiers, with a parade of precaution, that, derstand nor ward off, seemed to float before his eyes. however ill-timed and unnecessary, is generally displayed He tried to think over the events of the preceding night, after an event, which such precaution, if used in time, in hopes of discovering some means of explaining or might have prevented. vindicating his conduct for appearing among the mob, He was introduced into the Council Chamber, as the since it immediately occurred to him that his detention place is called where the magistrates hold their sittings, must be founded on that circumstance. And it was with and which was then at a little distance from the prison. anxiety that he found he could not recollect to have been One or two of the senators of the city were present, and under the observation of any disinterested witness in seemed about to engage in the examination of an indi- the attempts that he made from time to time to expos- vidual who was brought forward to the foot of the long

177 The Heart of Mid-Lothian green-covered table round which the council usually as- sufficiently marked and striking, he could not recollect that sembled. “Is that the preacher?” said one of the magis- he had ever seen them before. trates, as the city officer in attendance introduced But- The complexion of this person was dark, and his age ler. The man answered in the affirmative. “Let him sit somewhat advanced. He wore his own hair, combed down there for an instant; we will finish this man’s busi- smooth down, and cut very short. It was jet black, ness very briefly.” slightly curled by nature, and already mottled with grey. “Shall we remove Mr. Butler?” queried the assistant. The man’s face expressed rather knavery than vice, and “It is not necessary—Let him remain where he is.” a disposition to sharpness, cunning, and roguery, more Butler accordingly sate down on a bench at the bot- than the traces of stormy and indulged passions. His tom of the apartment, attended by one of his keepers. sharp quick black eyes, acute features, ready sardonic It was a large room, partially and imperfectly lighted; smile, promptitude and effrontery, gave him altogether but by chance, or the skill of the architect, who might hap- what is called among the vulgar a knowing look, which pen to remember the advantage which might occasionally generally implies a tendency to knavery. At a fair or be derived from such an arrangement, one window was so market, you could not for a moment have doubted that placed as to throw a strong light at the foot of the table at he was a horse-jockey, intimate with all the tricks of his which prisoners were usually posted for examination, while trade; yet, had you met him on a moor, you would not the upper end, where the examinants sate, was thrown into have apprehended any violence from him. His dress was shadow. Butler’s eyes were instantly fixed on the person also that of a horse-dealer—a close-buttoned jockey- whose examination was at present proceeding, in the idea coat, or wrap-rascal, as it was then termed, with huge that he might recognise some one of the conspirators of metal buttons, coarse blue upper stockings, called boot- the former night. But though the features of this man were hose because supplying the place of boots, and a

178 Sir Walter Scott slouched hat. He only wanted a loaded whip under his “Come, sir, no trifling—I insist on an answer.” arm and a spur upon one heel, to complete the dress of “Weel, sir,” replied the declarant, “I maun make a the character he seemed to represent. clean breast, for ye see, wi’ your leave, I am looking for “Your name is James Ratcliffe?” said the magistrate. favour—Describe my occupation, quo’ ye?—troth it will “Ay—always wi’ your honour’s leave.” be ill to do that, in a feasible way, in a place like this— “That is to say, you could find me another name if I but what is’t again that the aught command says?” did not like that one?” “Thou shalt not steal,” answered the magistrate. “Twenty to pick and choose upon, always with your “Are you sure o’ that?” replied the accused.— “Troth, honour’s leave,” resumed the respondent. then, my occupation, and that command, are sair at “But James Ratcliffe is your present name?—what is odds, for I read it, thou shalt steal; and that makes an your trade?” unco difference, though there’s but a wee bit word left “I canna just say, distinctly, that I have what ye wad out.” ca’ preceesely a trade.” “To cut the matter short, Ratcliffe, you have been a “But,” repeated the magistrate, “what are your means most notorious thief,” said the examinant. of living—your occupation?” “I believe Highlands and Lowlands ken that, sir, forby “Hout tout—your honour, wi’ your leave, kens that England and Holland,” replied Ratcliffe, with the great- as weel as I do,” replied the examined. est composure and effrontery. “No matter, I want to hear you describe it,” said the “And what d’ye think the end of your calling will be?” examinant. said the magistrate. “Me describe!—and to your honour!—far be it from “I could have gien a braw guess yesterday—but I dinna Jemmie Ratcliffe,” responded the prisoner. ken sae weel the day,” answered the prisoner.

179 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “And what would you have said would have been your thrawart job I hae had wi’ her first and last; but the end, had you been asked the question yesterday?” auld jaud is no sae ill as that comes to—I aye fand her “Just the gallows,” replied Ratcliffe, with the same bark waur than her bite.” composure. “And if you do not expect the gallows, to which you “You are a daring rascal, sir,” said the magistrate; “and are condemned (for the fourth time to my knowledge), how dare you hope times are mended with you to-day?” may I beg the favour to know,” said the magistrate, “Dear, your honour,” answered Ratcliffe, “there’s “what it is you do expect, in consideration of your not muckle difference between lying in prison under sentence having taken your flight with the rest of the jail-birds, of death, and staying there of ane’s ain proper accord, which I will admit was a line of conduct little to have when it would have cost a man naething to get up and been expected?” rin awa—what was to hinder me from stepping out qui- “I would never have thought for a moment of staying etly, when the rabble walked awa wi’ Jock Porteous in that auld gousty toom house,” answered Ratcliffe, yestreen?—and does your honour really think I staid “but that use and wont had just gien me a fancy to the on purpose to be hanged?” place, and I’m just expecting a bit post in’t.” “I do not know what you may have proposed to your- “A post!” exclaimed the magistrate; “a whipping-post, self; but I know,” said the magistrate, “what the law I suppose, you mean?” proposes for you, and that is, to hang you next Wednes- “Na, na, sir, I had nae thoughts o’ a whuppin-post. day eight days.” After having been four times doomed to hang by the “Na, na, your honour,” said Ratcliffe firmly, “craving neck till I was dead, I think I am far beyond being your honour’s pardon, I’ll ne’er believe that till I see it. whuppit.” I have kend the law this mony a year, and mony a “Then, in Heaven’s name, what did you expect?”

180 Sir Walter Scott “Just the post of under-turnkey, for I understand When this daring and yet sly freebooter was out of there’s a vacancy,” said the prisoner; “I wadna think of hearing, the magistrate asked the city clerk, “what he asking the lockman’s* place ower his head; it wadna suit thought of the fellow’s assurance?” me sae weel as ither folk, for I never could put a beast “It’s no for me to say, sir,” replied the clerk; “but if out o’ the way, much less deal wi’ a man.” James Ratcliffe be inclined to turn to good, there is not “That’s something in your favour,” said the magistrate, a man e’er came within the ports of the burgh could be making exactly the inference to which Ratcliffe was of sae muckle use to the Good Town in the thief and desirous to lead him, though he mantled his art with an lock-up line of business. I’ll speak to Mr. Sharpitlaw affectation of oddity. about him.” “But,” continued the magistrate, “how do you think Upon Ratcliffe’s retreat, Butler was placed at the table you can be trusted with a charge in the prison, when you for examination. The magistrate conducted his inquiry have broken at your own hand half the jails in Scotland?” civilly, but yet in a manner which gave him to under- “Wi’ your honour’s leave,” said Ratcliffe, “if I kend stand that he laboured under strong suspicion. With a sae weel how to wun out mysell, it’s like I wad be a’ the frankness which at once became his calling and charac- better a hand to keep other folk in. I think they wad ter, Butler avowed his involuntary presence at the mur- ken their business weel that held me in when I wanted der of Porteous, and, at the request of the magistrate, to be out, or wan out when I wanted to hand them in.” entered into a minute detail of the circumstances which The remark seemed to strike the magistrate, but he attended that unhappy affair. All the particulars, such made no further immediate observation, only desired as we have narrated, were taken minutely down by the Ratcliffe to be removed. clerk from Butler’s dictation. When the narrative was concluded, the cross-exami- * Note H. Hangman, or Lockman. 181 The Heart of Mid-Lothian nation commenced, which it is a painful task even for especially irreconcilable to the profession of a minister, the most candid witness to undergo, since a story, espe- did you not attempt to struggle, resist, or escape from cially if connected with agitating and alarming inci- their violence?” dents, can scarce be so clearly and distinctly told, but Butler replied, “that their numbers prevented him that some ambiguity and doubt may be thrown upon it from attempting resistance, and their vigilance from ef- by a string of successive and minute interrogatories. fecting his escape.” The magistrate commenced by observing, that Butler “That was unlucky,” again repeated the magistrate, in had said his object was to return to the village of the same dry inacquiescent tone of voice and manner. Libberton, but that he was interrupted by the mob at He proceeded with decency and politeness, but with a the West Port. “Is the West Port your usual way of leav- stiffness which argued his continued suspicion, to ask ing town when you go to Libberton?” said the magis- many questions concerning the behaviour of the mob, trate, with a sneer. the manners and dress of the ringleaders; and when he “No, certainly,” answered Butler, with the haste of a conceived that the caution of Butler, if he was deceiving man anxious to vindicate the accuracy of his evidence; him, must be lulled asleep, the magistrate suddenly and “but I chanced to be nearer that port than any other, artfully returned to former parts of his declaration, and and the hour of shutting the gates was on the point of required a new recapitulation of the circumstances, to striking.” the minutest and most trivial point, which attended each “That was unlucky,” said the magistrate, drily. “Pray, part of the melancholy scene. No confusion or contradic- being, as you say, under coercion and fear of the lawless tion, however, occurred, that could countenance the sus- multitude, and compelled to accompany them through picion which he seemed to have adopted against Butler. scenes disagreeable to all men of humanity, and more At length the train of his interrogatories reached Madge

182 Sir Walter Scott Wildfire, at whose name the magistrate and town-clerk “No,” replied Butler; “but I had to visit a friend.” exchanged significant glances. If the fate of the Good “Indeed!” said the interrogator— “You were in a hurry Town had depended on her careful magistrate’s knowing to tell the sight you had witnessed, I suppose?” the features and dress of this personage, his inquiries could “Indeed I was not,” replied Butler; “nor did I speak not have been more particular. But Butler could say al- on the subject the whole time I was at St. Leonard’s most nothing of this person’s features, which were dis- Crags.” guised apparently with red paint and soot, like an Indian “Which road did you take to St. Leonard’s Crags?” going to battle, besides the projecting shade of a curch, “By the foot of Salisbury Crags,” was the reply. or coif, which muffled the hair of the supposed female. “Indeed? you seem partial to circuitous routes,” again He declared that he thought he could not know this Madge said the magistrate. “Whom did you see after you left Wildfire, if placed before him in a different dress, but the city?” that he believed he might recognise her voice. One by one he obtained a description of every one of The magistrate requested him again to state by what the groups who had passed Butler, as already noticed, gate he left the city. their number, demeanour, and appearance; and, at length, “By the Cowgate Port,” replied Butler. came to the circumstance of the mysterious stranger in “Was that the nearest road to Libberton?” the King’s Park. On this subject Butler would fain have “No,” answered Butler, with embarrassment; “but it remained silent, But the magistrate had no sooner got a was the nearest way to extricate myself from the mob.” slight hint concerning the incident, than he seemed bent The clerk and magistrate again exchanged glances. to possess himself of the most minute particulars. “Is the Cowgate Port a nearer way to Libberton from “Look ye, Mr. Butler,” said he, “you are a young man, the Grassmarket than Bristo Port?” and bear an excellent character; so much I will myself

183 The Heart of Mid-Lothian testify in your favour. But we are aware there has been, “Well, Mr. Butler,” resumed the magistrate, “I am in- at times, a sort of bastard and fiery zeal in some of clined to judge the best and hope the best, as I am sure your order, and those, men irreproachable in other I wish the best; but you must be frank with me, if you points, which has led them into doing and countenanc- wish to secure my good opinion, and lessen the risk of ing great irregularities, by which the peace of the coun- inconvenience to yourself. You have allowed you saw try is liable to be shaken.—I will deal plainly with you. another individual in your passage through the King’s I am not at all satisfied with this story, of your setting Park to Saint Leonard’s Crags—I must know every word out again and again to seek your dwelling by two sev- which passed betwixt you.” eral roads, which were both circuitous. And, to be frank, Thus closely pressed, Butler, who had no reason for no one whom we have examined on this unhappy affair concealing what passed at that meeting, unless because could trace in your appearance any thing like your act- Jeanie Deans was concerned in it, thought it best to tell ing under compulsion. Moreover, the waiters at the the whole truth from beginning to end. Cowgate Port observed something like the trepidation “Do you suppose,” said the magistrate, pausing, “that of guilt in your conduct, and declare that you were the the young woman will accept an invitation so mysterious?” first to command them to open the gate, in a tone of “I fear she will,” replied Butler. authority, as if still presiding over the guards and out- “Why do you use the word fear it?” said the magis- posts of the rabble, who had besieged them the whole trate. night.” “Because I am apprehensive for her safety, in meeting “God forgive them!” said Butler; “I only asked free at such a time and place, one who had something of the passage for myself; they must have much misunderstood, manner of a desperado, and whose message was of a if they did not wilfully misrepresent me.” character so inexplicable.”

184 Sir Walter Scott “Her safety shall be cared for,” said the magistrate. “Mr. Butler, I am concerned I cannot immediately discharge you from confinement, but I hope you will not CHAPTER THIRTEENTH be long detained.—Remove Mr. Butler, and let him be provided with decent accommodation in all respects.” He was conducted back to the prison accordingly; but, Dark and eerie was the night, And lonely was the way, in the food offered to him, as well as in the apartment in As Janet, wi’ her green mantell, which he was lodged, the recommendation of the mag- To Miles’ Cross she did gae. istrate was strictly attended to. Old Ballad.

LEAVING BUTLER to all the uncomfortable thoughts attached to his new situation, among which the most pre- dominant was his feeling that he was, by his confinement, deprived of all possibility of assisting the family at St. Leonard’s in their greatest need, we return to Jeanie Deans, who had seen him depart, without an opportunity of farther explanation, in all that agony of mind with which the female heart bids adieu to the complicated sensations so well described by Coleridge,—

185 The Heart of Mid-Lothian honour of her sister to be saved from the bloody fangs Hopes, and fears that kindle hope, of an unjust law,—if she desired not to forfeit peace of An undistinguishable throng; mind here, and happiness hereafter,” such was the fran- And gentle wishes long subdued— tic style of the conjuration, “she was entreated to give a Subdued and cherished long. sure, secret, and solitary meeting to the writer. She alone could rescue him,” so ran the letter, “and he only could It is not the firmest heart (and Jeanie, under her rus- rescue her.” He was in such circumstances, the billet set rokelay, had one that would not have disgraced Cato’s farther informed her, that an attempt to bring any wit- daughter) that can most easily bid adieu to these soft ness of their conference, or even to mention to her fa- and mingled emotions. She wept for a few minutes bit- ther, or any other person whatsoever, the letter which terly, and without attempting to refrain from this in- requested it, would inevitably prevent its taking place, dulgence of passion. But a moment’s recollection in- and ensure the destruction of her sister. The letter con- duced her to check herself for a grief selfish and proper cluded with incoherent but violent protestations, that to her own affections, while her father and sister were in obeying this summons she had nothing to fear per- plunged into such deep and irretrievable affliction. She sonally. drew from her pocket the letter which had been that The message delivered to her by Butler from the morning flung into her apartment through an open win- stranger in the Park tallied exactly with the contents of dow, and the contents of which were as singular as the the letter, but assigned a later hour and a different place expression was violent and energetic. “If she would save of meeting. Apparently the writer of the letter had been a human being from the most damning guilt, and all its compelled to let Butler so far into his confidence, for desperate consequences,—if she desired the life an the sake of announcing this change to Jeanie. She was

186 Sir Walter Scott more than once on the point of producing the billet, in could not be calculated upon even by those best ac- vindication of herself from her lover’s half-hinted sus- quainted with him. To have requested some female friend picions. But there is something in stooping to justifica- to have accompanied her to the place of rendezvous, tion which the pride of innocence does not at all times would perhaps have been the most eligible expedient; willingly submit to; besides that the threats contained but the threats of the writer, that betraying his secret in the letter, in case of her betraying the secret, hung would prevent their meeting (on which her sister’s safety heavy on her heart. It is probable, however, that had was said to depend) from taking place at all, would have they remained longer together, she might have taken deterred her from making such a confidence, even had the resolution to submit the whole matter to Butler, and she known a person in whom she thought it could with be guided by him as to the line of conduct which she safety have been reposed. But she knew none such. Their should adopt. And when, by the sudden interruption of acquaintance with the cottagers in the vicinity had been their conference, she lost the opportunity of doing so, very slight, and limited to trifling acts of good she felt as if she had been unjust to a friend, whose ad- neighbourhood. Jeanie knew little of them, and what vice might have been highly useful, and whose attach- she knew did not greatly incline her to trust any of them. ment deserved her full and unreserved confidence. They were of the order of loquacious good-humoured To have recourse to her father upon this occasion, she gossips usually found in their situation of life; and their considered as highly imprudent. There was no possibil- conversation had at all times few charms for a young ity of conjecturing in what light the matter might strike woman, to whom nature and the circumstance of a soli- old David, whose manner of acting and thinking in ex- tary life had given a depth of thought and force of char- traordinary circumstances depended upon feelings and acter superior to the frivolous part of her sex, whether principles peculiar to himself, the operation of which in high or low degree.

187 The Heart of Mid-Lothian Left alone and separated from all earthly counsel, she “I will meet this unhappy man,” she said to herself— had recourse to a friend and adviser, whose ear is open ”unhappy he must be, since I doubt he has been the to the cry of the poorest and most afflicted of his people. cause of poor Effie’s misfortune—but I will meet him, She knelt, and prayed with fervent sincerity, that God be it for good or ill. My mind shall never cast up to me, would please to direct her what course to follow in her that, for fear of what might be said or done to myself, I arduous and distressing situation. It was the belief of left that undone that might even yet be the rescue of the time and sect to which she belonged, that special her.” answers to prayer, differing little in their character from With a mind greatly composed since the adoption of divine inspiration, were, as they expressed it, “borne in this resolution, she went to attend her father. The old upon their minds” in answer to their earnest petitions man, firm in the principles of his youth, did not, in out- in a crisis of difficulty. Without entering into an abstruse ward appearance at least, permit a thought of hit fam- point of divinity, one thing is plain;—namely, that the ily distress to interfere with the stoical reserve of his person who lays open his doubts and distresses in prayer, countenance and manners. He even chid his daughter with feeling and sincerity, must necessarily, in the act for having neglected, in the distress of the morning, some of doing so, purify his mind from the dross of worldly trifling domestic duties which fell under her department. passions and interests, and bring it into that state, when “Why, what meaneth this, Jeanie?” said the old man— the resolutions adopted are likely to be selected rather ”The brown four-year-auld’s milk is not seiled yet, nor from a sense of duty, than from any inferior motive. the bowies put up on the bink. If ye neglect your warldly Jeanie arose from her devotions, with her heart forti- duties in the day of affliction, what confidence have I fied to endure affliction, and encouraged to face diffi- that ye mind the greater matters that concern salva- culties. tion? God knows, our bowies, and our pipkins, and our

188 Sir Walter Scott draps o’ milk, and our bits o’ bread, are nearer and dearer “The man after God’s own heart,” he said, “washed to us than the bread of life!” and anointed himself, and did eat bread, in order to ex- Jeanie, not unpleased to hear her father’s thoughts press his submission under a dispensation of suffering, thus expand themselves beyond the sphere of his im- and it did not become a Christian man or woman so to mediate distress, obeyed him, and proceeded to put her cling to creature-comforts of wife or bairns”—(here the household matters in order; while old David moved from words became too great, as it were, for his utterance),— place to place about his ordinary employments, scarce “as to forget the fist duty,—submission to the Divine will.” showing, unless by a nervous impatience at remaining To add force to his precept, he took a morsel on his long stationary, an occasional convulsive sigh, or twinkle plate, but nature proved too strong even for the power- of the eyelid, that he was labouring under the yoke of ful feelings with which he endeavoured to bridle it. such bitter affliction. Ashamed of his weakness, he started up, and ran out of The hour of noon came on, and the father and child sat the house, with haste very unlike the deliberation of his down to their homely repast. In his petition for a blessing usual movements. In less than five minutes he returned, on the meal, the poor old man added to his supplication, having successfully struggled to recover his ordinary a prayer that the bread eaten in sadness of heart, and the composure of mind and countenance, and affected to bitter waters of Marah, might be made as nourishing as colour over his late retreat, by muttering that he thought those which had been poured forth from a full cup and a he heard the “young staig loose in the byre.” plentiful basket and store; and having concluded his bene- He did not again trust himself with the subject of his diction, and resumed the bonnet which he had laid “rev- former conversation, and his daughter was glad to see erently aside,” he proceeded to exhort his daughter to that he seemed to avoid farther discourse on that agi- eat, not by example indeed, but at least by precept. tating topic. The hours glided on, as on they must and

189 The Heart of Mid-Lothian do pass, whether winged with joy or laden with afflic- object, and pushed it aside, with a gesture of some im- tion. The sun set beyond the dusky eminence of the patience, as if desirous to destroy every memorial of Castle and the screen of western hills, and the close of earthly interest when about to address the Deity. The evening summoned David Deans and his daughter to portion of Scripture was read, the psalm was sung, the the family duty of the night. It came bitterly upon prayer was made; and it was remarkable that, in dis- Jeanie’s recollection, how often, when the hour of wor- charging these duties, the old man avoided all passages ship approached, she used to watch the lengthening and expressions, of which Scripture affords so many, shadows, and look out from the door of the house, to that might be considered as applicable to his own do- see if she could spy her sister’s return homeward. Alas! mestic misfortune. In doing so it was perhaps his inten- this idle and thoughtless waste of time, to what evils tion to spare the feelings of his daughter, as well as to had it not finally led? and was she altogether guiltless, maintain, in outward show at least, that stoical appear- who, noticing Effie’s turn to idle and light society, had ance of patient endurance of all the evil which earth not called in her father’s authority to restrain her?— could bring, which was in his opinion essential to the But I acted for the best, she again reflected, and who character of one who rated all earthly things at their could have expected such a growth of evil, from one just estimate of nothingness. When he had finished the grain of human leaven, in a disposition so kind, and duty of the evening, he came up to his daughter, wished candid, and generous? her good-night, and, having done so, continued to hold As they sate down to the “exercise,” as it is called, a her by the hands for half-a-minute; then drawing her chair happened accidentally to stand in the place which towards him, kissed her forehead, and ejaculated, “The Effie usually occupied. David Deans saw his daughter’s God of Israel bless you, even with the blessings of the eyes swim in tears as they were directed towards this promise, my dear bairn!”

190 Sir Walter Scott It was not either in the nature or habits of David take away but as the midges that the sun-blink brings Deans to seem a fond father; nor was he often observed out, and the evening wind sweeps away!” to experience, or at least to evince, that fulness of the She now made preparation for her night-walk. Her fa- heart which seeks to expand itself in tender expressions ther slept in another part of the dwelling, and, regular or caresses even to those who were dearest to him. On in all his habits, seldom or never left his apartment when the contrary, he used to censure this as a degree of weak- he had betaken himself to it for the evening. It was there- ness in several of his neighbours, and particularly in fore easy for her to leave the house unobserved, so soon poor widow Butler. It followed, however, from the rar- as the time approached at which she was to keep her ity of such emotions in this self-denied and reserved man, appointment. But the step she was about to take had that his children attached to occasional marks of his difficulties and terrors in her own eyes, though she had affection and approbation a degree of high interest and no reason to apprehend her father’s interference. Her solemnity; well considering them as evidences of feel- life had been spent in the quiet, uniform, and regular ings which were only expressed when they became too seclusion of their peaceful and monotonous household. intense for suppression or concealment. The very hour which some damsels of the present day, With deep emotion, therefore, did he bestow, and his as well of her own as of higher degree, would consider daughter receive, this benediction and paternal caress. as the natural period of commencing an evening of plea- “And you, my dear father,” exclaimed Jeanie, when the sure, brought, in her opinion, awe and solemnity in it; door had closed upon the venerable old man, “may you and the resolution she had taken had a strange, daring, have purchased and promised blessings multiplied upon and adventurous character, to which she could hardly you—upon you, who walk in this world as though you reconcile herself when the moment approached for put- were not of the world, and hold all that it can give or ting it into execution. Her hands trembled as she snooded

191 The Heart of Mid-Lothian her fair hair beneath the riband, then the only orna- passed for dispersing their bands, and ensuring safety ment or cover which young unmarried women wore on to the lieges, so near the precincts of the city. The names their head, and as she adjusted the scarlet tartan screen of these criminals, and, of their atrocities, were still re- or muffler made of plaid, which the Scottish women membered in traditions of the scattered cottages and wore, much in the fashion of the black silk veils still a the neighbouring suburb. In latter times, as we have al- part of female dress in the Netherlands. A sense of im- ready noticed, the sequestered and broken character of propriety as well as of danger pressed upon her, as she the ground rendered it a fit theatre for duels and lifted the latch of her paternal mansion to leave it on so rencontres among the fiery youth of the period. Two or wild an expedition, and at so late an hour, unprotected, three of these incidents, all sanguinary, and one of them and without the knowledge of her natural guardian. fatal in its termination, had happened since Deans came When she found herself abroad and in the open fields, to live at St. Leonard’s. His daughter’s recollections, additional subjects of apprehension crowded upon her. therefore, were of blood and horror as she pursued the The dim cliffs and scattered rocks, interspersed with small scarce-tracked solitary path, every step of which greensward, through which she had to pass to the place conveyed het to a greater distance from help, and deeper of appointment, as they glimmered before her in a clear into the ominous seclusion of these unhallowed pre- autumn night, recalled to her memory many a deed of cincts. violence, which, according to tradition, had been done As the moon began to peer forth on the scene with a and suffered among them. In earlier days they had been doubtful, flitting, and solemn light, Jeanie’s apprehen- the haunt of robbers and assassins, the memory of whose sions took another turn, too peculiar to her rank and crimes is preserved in the various edicts which the coun- country to remain unnoticed. But to trace its origin will cil of the city, and even the parliament of Scotland, had require another chapter.

192 Sir Walter Scott ast or impostor, mentioned in the Pandaemonium of Richard Bovet, Gentleman,* had, among the recesses CHAPTER FOURTEENTH of these romantic cliffs, found his way into the hidden retreats where the fairies revel in the bowels of the earth. With all these legends Jeanie Deans was too well ac- The spirit I have seen quainted to escape that strong impression which they May be the devil. And the devil has power To assume a pleasing shape. usually make on the imagination. Indeed, relations of this ghostly kind had been familiar to her from her in- Hamlet. fancy, for they were the only relief which her father’s conversation afforded from controversial argument, or the gloomy history of the strivings and testimonies, es-

WITCHCRAFT AND DEMONOLOGY, as we have already had capes, captures, tortures, and executions of those mar- occasion to remark, were at this period believed in by tyrs of the Covenant, with whom it was his chiefest boast almost all ranks, but more especially among the stricter to say he had been acquainted. In the recesses of moun- classes of Presbyterians, whose government, when their tains, in caverns, and in morasses, to which these perse- party were at the head of the state, had been much sul- cuted enthusiasts were so ruthlessly pursued, they con- lied by their eagerness to inquire into and persecute these ceived they had often to contend with the visible as- imaginary crimes. Now, in this point of view, also, Saint saults of the Enemy of mankind, as in the cities, and in Leonard’s Crags and the adjacent Chase were a dreaded the cultivated fields, they were exposed to those of the and ill-reputed district. Not only had witches held their tyrannical government and their soldiery. Such were the meetings there, but even of very late years the enthusi- * Note I. The Fairy Boy of Leith. 193 The Heart of Mid-Lothian terrors which made one of their gifted seers exclaim, into the stream, and lose their own lives, than likely to when his companion returned to him, after having left save that of the supposed perishing man. “But famous him alone in a haunted cavern in Sorn in Galloway, “It John Semple of Carspharn,” David Deans used to say is hard living in this world-incarnate devils above the with exultation, “saw the whaup in the rape.— ‘Quit earth, and devils under the earth! Satan has been here the rope,’ he cried to us (for I that was but a callant had since ye went away, but I have dismissed him by resis- a hand o’ the rape mysell), ‘it is the Great Enemy! he tance; we will be no more troubled with him this night.” will burn, but not drown; his design is to disturb the David Deans believed this, and many other such ghostly good wark, by raising wonder and confusion in your encounters and victories, on the faith of the Ansars, or minds; to put off from your spirits all that ye hae heard auxiliaries of the banished prophets. This event was and felt.’—Sae we let go the rape,” said David, “and he beyond David’s remembrance. But he used to tell with went adown the water screeching and bullering like a great awe, yet not without a feeling of proud superior- Bull of Bashan, as he’s ca’d in Scripture.”* ity to his auditors, how he himself had been present at Trained in these and similar legends, it was no wonder a field-meeting at Crochmade, when the duty of the day that Jeanie began to feel an ill-defined apprehension, was interrupted by the apparition of a tall black man, not merely of the phantoms which might beset her way, who, in the act of crossing a ford to join the congrega- but of the quality, nature, and purpose of the being who tion, lost ground, and was carried down apparently by had thus appointed her a meeting, at a place and hour the force of the stream. All were instantly at work to of horror, and at a time when her mind must be neces- assist him, but with so little success, that ten or twelve sarily full of those tempting and ensnaring thoughts of stout men, who had hold of the rope which they had grief and despair, which were supposed to lay sufferers cast in to his aid, were rather in danger to be dragged * Note J. Intercourse of the Covenanters with the invisible world. 194 Sir Walter Scott particularly open to the temptations of the Evil One. by recurring in mental prayer to the protection of that If such an idea had crossed even Butler’s well-informed Being to whom night is as noon-day. mind, it was calculated to make a much stronger im- Thus drowning at one time her fears by fixing her mind pression upon hers. Yet firmly believing the possibility on a subject of overpowering interest, and arguing them of an encounter so terrible to flesh and blood, Jeanie, down at others by referring herself to the protection of with a degree of resolution of which we cannot suffi- the Deity, she at length approached the place assigned ciently estimate the merit, because the incredulity of for this mysterious conference. the age has rendered us strangers to the nature and ex- It was situated in the depth of the valley behind Salisbury tent of her feelings, persevered in her determination not Crags, which has for a background the north-western shoul- to omit an opportunity of doing something towards sav- der of the mountain called Arthur’s Seat, on whose de- ing her sister, although, in the attempt to avail herself scent still remain the ruins of what was once a chapel, or of it, she might be exposed to dangers so dreadful to her hermitage, dedicated to St. Anthony the Eremite. A bet- imagination. So, like Christiana in the Pilgrim’s ter site for such a building could hardly have been selected; Progress, when traversing with a timid yet resolved step for the chapel, situated among the rude and pathless cliffs, the terrors of the Valley of the Shadow of Death, she lies in a desert, even in the immediate vicinity of a rich, glided on by rock and stone, “now in glimmer and now populous, and tumultuous capital: and the hum of the city in gloom,” as her path lay through moonlight or shadow, might mingle with the orisons of the recluses, conveying and endeavoured to overpower the suggestions of fear, as little of worldly interest as if it had been the roar of the sometimes by fixing her mind upon the distressed con- distant ocean. Beneath the steep ascent on which these dition of her sister, and the duty she lay under to afford ruins are still visible, was, and perhaps is still pointed out, her aid, should that be in her power; and more frequently the place where the wretch Nichol Muschat, who has been

195 The Heart of Mid-Lothian already mentioned in these pages, had closed a long scene deceived her, and broken his appointment?—was he too of cruelty towards his unfortunate wife, by murdering her, tardy at the appointment he had made?—or had some with circumstances of uncommon barbarity.* strange turn of fate prevented him from appearing as The execration in which the man’s crime was held ex- he proposed?—or, if he were an unearthly being, as her tended itself to the place where it was perpetrated, which secret apprehensions suggested, was it his object merely was marked by a small cairn, or heap of stones, com- to delude her with false hopes, and put her to unneces- posed of those which each chance passenger had thrown sary toil and terror, according to the nature, as she had there in testimony of abhorrence, and on the principle, heard, of those wandering demons?—or did he purpose it would seem, of the ancient British malediction, “May to blast her with the sudden horrors of his presence when you have a cairn for your burial-place!” she had come close to the place of rendezvous? These As our heroine approached this ominous and unhallowed spot, she paused and looked to the moon, now rising broad in the north-west, and shedding a more distinct light than it had afforded during her walk thither. Eyeing the planet for a moment, she then slowly and fearfully turned her head towards the cairn, from which it was at first averted. She was at first disappointed. Nothing was visible beside the little pile of stones, which shone grey in the moonlight. A multitude of confused suggestions rushed on her mind. Had her correspondent

* See Note G. Muschat’s Cairn. 196 Sir Walter Scott anxious reflections did not prevent her approaching to all which she had ever been acquainted with, that it the cairn with a pace that, though slow, was determined. sounded in her ears rather like that of a fiend than of a When she was within two yards of the heap of stones, human being. The stranger pursued his address to her, a figure rose suddenly up from behind it, and Jeanie without seeming to notice her surprise. “You see before scarce forbore to scream aloud at what seemed the you a wretch, predestined to evil here and hereafter.” realisation of the most frightful of her anticipations. “For the sake of Heaven, that hears and sees us,” said She constrained herself to silence, however, and, mak- Jeanie, “dinna speak in this desperate fashion! The gos- ing a dead pause, suffered the figure to open the conver- pel is sent to the chief of sinners—to the most miser- sation, which he did, by asking, in a voice which agita- able among the miserable.” tion rendered tremulous and hollow, “Are you the sister “Then should I have my own share therein,” said the of that ill-fated young woman?” stranger, “if you call it sinful to have been the destruc- “I am—I am the sister of Effie Deans!” exclaimed Jeanie. tion of the mother that bore me—of the friend that “And as ever you hope God will hear you at your need, tell loved me—of the woman that trusted me—of the in- me, if you can tell, what can be done to save her!” nocent child that was born to me. If to have done all “I do not hope God will hear me at my need,” was the this is to be a sinner, and survive it is to be miserable, singular answer. “I do not deserve—I do not expect he then am I most guilty and most miserable indeed.” will.” This desperate language he uttered in a tone calmer “Then you are the wicked cause of my sister’s ruin?” than that with which he had at first spoken, probably said Jeanie, with a natural touch of indignation ex- because the shook of first addressing her was what he pressed in her tone of voice. felt most difficult to overcome. Jeanie remained mute with “Curse me for it, if you will,” said the stranger; “I horror to hear language expressed so utterly foreign to have well deserved it at your hand.”

197 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “It is fitter for me,” said Jeanie, “to pray to God to scorn— “And where will I be to-morrow?—or, where will forgive you.” you be to-night, unless you swear to walk by my coun- “Do as you will, how you will, or what you will,” he sel?—there was one accursed deed done at this spot be- replied, with vehemence; “only promise to obey my di- fore now; and there shall be another to match it, unless rections, and save your sister’s life.” you yield up to my guidance body and soul.” “I must first know,” said Jeanie, “the means you would As he spoke, he offered a pistol at the unfortunate have me use in her behalf.” young woman. She neither fled nor fainted, but sunk on “No!—you must first swear—solemnly swear, that you her knees, and asked him to spare her life. will employ them when I make them known to you.” “Is that all you have to say?” said the unmoved ruf- “Surely, it is needless to swear that I will do all that is fian. lawful to a Christian to save the life of my sister?” “Do not dip your hands in the blood of a defenceless “I will have no reservation!” thundered the stranger; creature that has trusted to you,” said Jeanie, still on “lawful or unlawful, Christian or heathen, you shall her knees. swear to do my hest, and act by my counsel, or—you “Is that all you can say for your life?—Have you no little know whose wrath you provoke!” promise to give?—Will you destroy your sister, and com- “I will think on what you have said,” said Jeanie, who pel me to shed more blood?” began to get much alarmed at the frantic vehemence of “I can promise nothing,” said Jeanie, “which is un- his manner, and disputed in her own mind, whether she lawful for a Christian.” spoke to a maniac, or an apostate spirit incarnate— “I He cocked the weapon, and held it towards her. will think on what you say, and let you ken to-morrow.” “May God forgive you!” she said, pressing her hands “To-morrow!” exclaimed the man with a laugh of forcibly against her eyes.

198 Sir Walter Scott “D—n!” muttered the man; and, turning aside from only follow the course—the only course, by which her her, he uncocked the pistol, and replaced it in his life can be saved.” pocket— “I am a villain,” he said, “steeped in guilt and “Alas! is she innocent or guilty?” wretchedness, but not wicked enough to do you any “She is guiltless—guiltless of every thing, but of hav- harm! I only wished to terrify you into my measures— ing trusted a villain!—Yet, had it not been for those that She hears me not—she is gone!—Great God! what a were worse than I am—yes, worse than I am, though I wretch am I become!” am bad indeed—this misery had not befallen.” As he spoke, she recovered herself from an agony which “And my sister’s child—does it live?” said Jeanie. partook of the bitterness of death; and, in a minute or “No; it was murdered—the new-born infant was bar- two, through the strong exertion of her natural sense barously murdered,” he uttered in a low, yet stern and and courage, collected herself sufficiently to understand sustained voice.— “but,” he added hastily, “not by her he intended her no personal injury. knowledge or consent.” “No!” he repeated; “I would not add to the murder of “Then, why cannot the guilty be brought to justice, your sister, and of her child, that of any one belonging and the innocent freed?” to her!—Mad, frantic, as I am, and unrestrained by ei- “Torment me not with questions which can serve no ther fear or mercy, given up to the possession of an evil purpose,” he sternly replied— “The deed was done by being, and forsaken by all that is good, I would not hurt those who are far enough from pursuit, and safe enough you, were the world offered me for a bribe! But, for the from discovery!—No one can save Effie but yourself.” sake of all that is dear to you, swear you will follow my “Woe’s me! how is it in my power?” asked Jeanie, in counsel. Take this weapon, shoot me through the head, despondency. and with your own hand revenge your sister’s wrong, “Hearken to me!—You have sense—you can appre-

199 The Heart of Mid-Lothian hend my meaning—I will trust you. Your sister is inno- aside. You saw your sister during the period preceding cent of the crime charged against her.” the birth of her child—what is so natural as that she “Thank God for that!” said Jeanie. should have mentioned her condition to you? The doing “Be still and hearken!—The person who assisted her so would, as their cant goes, take the case from under in her illness murdered the child; but it was without the the statute, for it removes the quality of concealment. I mother’s knowledge or consent—She is therefore guilt- know their jargon, and have had sad cause to know it; less, as guiltless as the unhappy innocent, that but and the quality of concealment is essential to this statu- gasped a few minutes in this unhappy world—the bet- tory offence.* ter was its hap, to be so soon at rest. She is innocent as Nothing is so natural as that Effie should have men- that infant, and yet she must die—it is impossible to tioned her condition to you—think—reflect—I am posi- clear her of the law!” tive that she did.” “Cannot the wretches be discovered, and given up to “Woe’s me!” said Jeanie, “she never spoke to me on punishment?” said Jeanie. the subject, but grat sorely when I spoke to her about “Do you think you will persuade those who are hard- her altered looks, and the change on her spirits.” ened in guilt to die to save another?—Is that the reed “You asked her questions on the subject?” he said ea- you would lean to?” gerly. “You must remember her answer was, a confes- “But you said there was a remedy,” again gasped out sion that she had been ruined by a villain—yes, lay a the terrified young woman. strong emphasis on that—a cruel false villain call it— “There is,” answered the stranger, “and it is in your any other name is unnecessary; and that she bore under own hands. The blow which the law aims cannot be bro- her bosom the consequences of his guilt and her folly; ken by directly encountering it, but it may be turned * Note K. Child Murder. 200 Sir Walter Scott and that he had assured her he would provide safely for “But,” replied Jeanie, whose judgment was too accu- her approaching illness.—Well he kept his word!” These rate not to see the sophistry of this argument, “I shall last words he spoke as if it were to himself, and with a be man-sworn in the very thing in which my testimony violent gesture of self-accusation, and then calmly pro- is wanted, for it is the concealment for which poor Effie ceeded, “You will remember all this?—That is all that is blamed, and you would make me tell a falsehood anent is necessary to be said.” it.” “But I cannot remember,” answered Jeanie, with sim- “I see,” he said, “my first suspicions of you were right, plicity, “that which Effie never told me.” and that you will let your sister, innocent, fair, and guilt- “Are you so dull—so very dull of apprehension?” he less, except in trusting a villain, die the death of a mur- exclaimed, suddenly grasping her arm, and holding it deress, rather than bestow the breath of your mouth firm in his hand. “I tell you” (speaking between his teeth, and the sound of your voice to save her.” and under his breath, but with great energy), “you must “I wad ware the best blood in my body to keep her remember that she told you all this, whether she ever skaithless,” said Jeanie, weeping in bitter agony, “but I said a syllable of it or no. You must repeat this tale, in canna change right into wrang, or make that true which which there is no falsehood, except in so far as it was is false.” not told to you, before these Justices—Justiciary— “Foolish, hardhearted girl,” said the stranger, “are you whatever they call their bloodthirsty court, and save afraid of what they may do to you? I tell you, even the your sister from being murdered, and them from becom- retainers of the law, who course life as greyhounds do ing murderers. Do not hesitate—I pledge life and salva- hares, will rejoice at the escape of a creature so young— tion, that in saying what I have said, you will only speak so beautiful, that they will not suspect your tale; that, the simple truth.” if they did suspect it, they would consider you as de-

201 The Heart of Mid-Lothian serving, not only of forgiveness, but of praise for your rors,— “to me?—I have not known one for many a year. natural affection.” Bear witness in her behalf?—a proper witness, that even “It is not man I fear,” said Jeanie, looking upward; to speak these few words to a woman of so little conse- “the God, whose name I must call on to witness the truth quence as yourself, must choose such an hour and such a of what I say, he will know the falsehood.” place as this. When you see owls and bats fly abroad, like “And he will know the motive,” said the stranger, ea- larks, in the sunshine, you may expect to see such as I am gerly; “he will know that you are doing this—not for in the assemblies of men.—Hush—listen to that.” lucre of gain, but to save the life of the innocent, and A voice was heard to sing one of those wild and mo- prevent the commission of a worse crime than that notonous strains so common in Scotland, and to which which the law seeks to avenge.” the natives of that country chant their old ballads. The “He has given us a law,” said Jeanie, “for the lamp of sound ceased—then came nearer, and was renewed; the our path; if we stray from it we err against knowledge— stranger listened attentively, still holding Jeanie by the I may not do evil, even that good may come out of it. arm (as she stood by him in motionless terror), as if to But you—you that ken all this to be true, which I must prevent her interrupting the strain by speaking or stir- take on your word—you that, if I understood what you ring. When the sounds were renewed, the words were said e’en now, promised her shelter and protection in distinctly audible: her travail, why do not you step forward, and bear leal and soothfast evidence in her behalf, as ye may with a “When the glede’s in the blue cloud, clear conscience?” The lavrock lies still; “To whom do you talk of a clear conscience, woman?” When the hound’s in’ the green-wood, said he, with a sudden fierceness which renewed her ter- The hind keeps the hill.”

202 Sir Walter Scott pression, and uncertain whether she ought to fly home- The person who sung kept a strained and powerful ward with all the speed she could exert, or wait the ap- voice at its highest pitch, so that it could be heard at a proach of those who were advancing towards her. This very considerable distance. As the song ceased, they uncertainty detained her so long, that she now distinctly might hear a stifled sound, as of steps and whispers of saw two or three figures already so near to her, that a persons approaching them. The song was again raised, precipitate flight would have been equally fruitless and but the tune was changed: impolitic.

“O sleep ye sound, Sir James, she said, When ye suld rise and ride; There’s twenty men, wi’ bow and blade, Are seeking where ye hide.”

“I dare stay no longer,” said the stranger; “return home, or remain till they come up—you have nothing to fear—but do not tell you saw me—your sister’s fate is in your hands.” So saying, he turned from her, and with a swift, yet cautiously noiseless step, plunged into the darkness on the side most remote from the sounds which they heard approaching, and was soon lost to her sight. Jeanie remained by the cairn terrified beyond ex-

203 The Heart of Mid-Lothian which the author generally toils much, without getting credit for his pains. CHAPTER FIFTEENTH “I could risk a sma’ wad,” said the clerk to the magistrate, “that this rascal Ratcliffe, if he were insured of his neck’s safety, could do more than ony ten of our She speaks things in doubt, police-people and constables to help us to get out of this That carry but half sense: her speech is nothing, Yet the unshaped use of it doth move scrape of Porteous’s. He is weel acquent wi’ a’ the smug- The hearers to collection; they aim at it, glers, thieves, and banditti about Edinburgh; and, in- And botch the words up to fit their own thoughts. deed, he may be called the father of a’ the misdoers in Scotland, for he has passed amang them for these twenty Hamlet. years by the name of Daddie Rat.” “A bonny sort of a scoundrel,” replied the magistrate, “to expect a place under the city!” LIKE THE DIGRESSIVE poet Ariosto, I find myself under “Begging your honour’s pardon,” said the city’s procu- the necessity of connecting the branches of my story, rator-fiscal, upon whom the duties of superintendent of by taking up the adventures of another of the charac- police devolved, “Mr. Fairscrieve is perfectly in the right. ters, and bringing them down to the point at which we It is just sic as Ratcliffe that the town needs in my de- have left those of Jeanie Deans. It is not, perhaps, the partment; an’ if sae be that he’s disposed to turn his most artificial way of telling a story, but it has the ad- knowledge to the city service, yell no find a better man.— vantage of sparing the necessity of resuming what a Ye’ll get nae saints to be searchers for uncustomed goods, knitter (if stocking-looms have left such a person in the or for thieves and sic like;—and your decent sort of men, land) might call our “dropped stitches;” a labour in 204 Sir Walter Scott religious professors, and broken tradesmen, that are put taen wi’ abune stairs. Queen Caroline, God bless her! is into the like o’ sic trust, can do nae gude ava. They are a woman—at least I judge sae, and it’s nae treason to feared for this, and they are scrupulous about that, and speak my mind sae far—and ye maybe ken as weel as I they arena free to tell a lie, though it may be for the ben- do, for ye hae a housekeeper, though ye arena a married efit of the city; and they dinna like to be out at irregular man, that women are wilfu’, and downa bide a slight. hours, and in a dark cauld night, and they like a clout And it will sound ill in her ears, that sic a confused mis- ower the crown far waur; and sae between the fear o’ God, take suld come to pass, and naebody sae muckle as to be and the fear o’ man, and the fear o’ getting a sair throat, put into the Tolbooth about it.” or sair banes, there’s a dozen o’ our city-folk, baith wait- “If ye thought that, sir,” said the procurator-fiscal, ers, and officers, and constables, that can find out naething “we could easily clap into the prison a few blackguards but a wee bit skulduddery for the benefit of the Kirk upon suspicion. It will have a gude active look, and I treasurer. Jock Porteous, that’s stiff and stark, puir fal- hae aye plenty on my list, that wadna be a hair the waur low, was worth a dozen o’ them; for he never had ony of a week or twa’s imprisonment; and if ye thought it fears, or scruples, or doubts, or conscience, about onything no strictly just, ye could be just the easier wi’ them the your honours bade him.” neist time they did onything to deserve it; they arena “He was a gude servant o’ the town,” said the Bailie, the sort to be lang o’ gieing ye an opportunity to clear “though he was an ower free-living man. But if you re- scores wi’ them on that account.” ally think this rascal Ratcliffe could do us ony service in “I doubt that will hardly do in this case, Mr. discovering these malefactors, I would insure him life, Sharpitlaw,” returned the town-clerk; “they’ll run their reward, and promotion. It’s an awsome thing this mis- letters,* and be adrift again, before ye ken where ye are.” chance for the city, Mr. Fairscrieve. It will be very ill * A Scottish form of procedure, answering, in some respects, to the English Habeas Corpus. 205 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “I will speak to the Lord Provost,” said the magis- Mr. Sharpitlaw, being necessarily a man of high trust, trate, “about Ratcliffe’s business. Mr. Sharpitlaw, you was accordingly empowered, in the course of the day, to will go with me, and receive instructions—something make such arrangements as might seem in the emer- may be made too out of this story of Butler’s and his gency most advantageous for the Good Town. He went unknown gentleman—I know no business any man has to the jail accordingly, and saw Ratcliffe in private. to swagger about in the King’s Park, and call himself The relative positions of a police-officer and a professed the devil, to the terror of honest folks, who dinna care thief bear a different complexion, according to circum- to hear mair about the devil than is said from the pulpit stances. The most obvious simile of a hawk pouncing upon on the Sabbath. I cannot think the preacher himsell wad his prey is often least applicable. Sometimes the guard- be heading the mob, though the time has been, they hae ian of justice has the air of a cat watching a mouse, and, been as forward in a bruilzie as their neighbours.” while he suspends his purpose of springing upon the pil- “But these times are lang by,” said Mr. Sharpitlaw. ferer, takes care so to calculate his motions that he shall “In my father’s time, there was mair search for silenced not get beyond his power. Sometimes, more passive still, ministers about the Bow-head and the Covenant Close, he uses the art of fascination ascribed to the rattlesnake, and all the tents of Kedar, as they ca’d the dwellings o’ and contents himself with glaring on the victim, through the godly in those days, than there’s now for thieves and all his devious flutterings; certain that his terror, confu- vagabonds in the Laigh Calton and the back o’ the sion, and disorder of ideas, will bring him into his jaws at Canongate. But that time’s weel by, an it bide. And if last. The interview between Ratcliffe and Sharpitlaw had the Bailie will get me directions and authority from the an aspect different from all these. They sat for five min- Provost, I’ll speak wi’ Daddie Rat mysell; for I’m think- utes silent, on opposite sides of a small table, and looked ing I’ll make mair out o’ him than ye’ll do.” fixedly at each other, with a sharp, knowing, and alert

206 Sir Walter Scott cast of countenance, not unmingled with an inclination the Scottish metropolis) “wad save them as easily,” re- to laugh, and resembled more than anything else, two turned the procurator-fiscal. dogs, who, preparing for a game at romps, are seen to “Ay; if I waited in the Tolbooth here to have him fit couch down, and remain in that posture for a little time, my cravat—but that’s an idle way o’ speaking, Mr. watching each other’s movements, and waiting which Sharpitlaw.” shall begin the game. “Why, I suppose you know you are under sentence of “So, Mr. Ratcliffe,” said the officer, conceiving it suited death, Mr. Ratcliffe?” replied Mr. Sharpitlaw. his dignity to speak first, “you give up business, I find?” “Aye, so are a’, as that worthy minister said in the “Yes, sir,” replied Ratcliffe; “I shall be on that lay nae Tolbooth Kirk the day Robertson wan off; but naebody mair—and I think that will save your folk some trouble, kens when it will be executed. Gude faith, he had better Mr. Sharpitlaw?” reason to say sae than he dreamed off, before the play “Which Jock Daigleish” (then finisher of the law* in was played out that morning!” “This Robertson,” said Sharpitlaw, in a lower and some- * Among the flying leaves of the period, there is one called thing like a confidential tone, “d’ye ken, Rat—that is, “Sutherland’s Lament for the loss of his post,—with his advice, to John Daglees his successor.” He was whipped and can ye gie us ony inkling where he is to be heard tell o’?” banished 25th July 1722. There is another, called the Speech “Troth, Mr. Sharpitlaw, I’ll be frank wi’ ye; Robertson and dying words of John Dalgleish, lockman alias hangman is rather a cut abune me—a wild deevil he was, and mony of Edinburgh, containing these lines:— a daft prank he played; but except the Collector’s job Death, I’ve a Favour for to beg, that Wilson led him into, and some tuilzies about run That ye wad only gie a Fleg, goods wi’ the gaugers and the waiters, he never did And spare my Life; As I did to ill-hanged Megg, onything that came near our line o’ business.” The Webster’s Wife.” 207 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “Umph! that’s singular, considering the company he “Certainly, sir, to the best of my power—naething for kept.” naething—I ken the rule of the office,” said the ex-de- “Fact, upon my honour and credit,” said Ratcliffe, predator. gravely. “He keepit out o’ our little bits of affairs, and “Now the principal thing in hand e’en now,” said the that’s mair than Wilson did; I hae dune business wi’ official person, “is the job of Porteous’s; an ye can gie Wilson afore now. But the lad will come on in time; us a lift—why, the inner turnkey’s office to begin wi’, there’s nae fear o’ him; naebody will live the life he has and the captainship in time—ye understand my mean- led, but what he’ll come to sooner or later.” ing?” “Who or what is he, Ratcliffe? you know, I suppose?” “Ay, troth do I, sir; a wink’s as gude as a nod to a blind said Sharpitlaw. horse; but Jock Porteous’s job—Lord help ye!—I was “He’s better born, I judge, than he cares to let on; he’s under sentence the haill time. God! but I couldna help been a soldier, and he has been a play-actor, and I watna laughing when I heard Jock skirting for mercy in the what he has been or hasna been, for as young as he is, lads’ hands. Mony a het skin ye hae gien me, neighbour, sae that it had daffing and nonsense about it.” thought I, tak ye what’s gaun: time about’s fair play; “Pretty pranks he has played in his time, I suppose?” ye’ll ken now what hanging’s gude for.” “Ye may say that,” said Ratcliffe, with a sardonic “Come, come, this is all nonsense, Rat,” said the procu- smile; “and” (touching his nose) “a deevil amang the rator. “Ye canna creep out at that hole, lad; you must lasses.” speak to the point—you understand me—if you want “Like enough,” said Sharpitlaw. “Weel, Ratcliffe, I’ll favour; gif-gaf makes gude friends, ye ken.” no stand niffering wi’ ye; ye ken the way that favour’s “But how can I speak to the point, as your honour gotten in my office; ye maun be usefu’.” ca’s it,” said Ratcliffe, demurely, and with an air of great

208 Sir Walter Scott simplicity, “when ye ken I was under sentence and in “I couldna weel see; something of a woman’s bit mutch the strong room a’ the while the job was going on?” on his head; but ye never saw sic a ca’-throw. Ane couldna “And how can we turn ye loose on the public again, hae een to a’ thing.” Daddie Rat, unless ye do or say something to deserve “But did he speak to no one?” said Sharpitlaw. it?” “They were a’ speaking and gabbling through other,” “Well, then, d—n it!” answered the criminal, “since it said Ratcliffe, who was obviously unwilling to carry his maun be sae, I saw Geordie Robertson among the boys evidence farther than he could possibly help. that brake the jail; I suppose that will do me some gude?” “This will not do, Ratcliffe,” said the procurator; “you “That’s speaking to the purpose, indeed,” said the of- must speak out—out—out,” tapping the table emphati- fice-bearer; “and now, Rat, where think ye we’ll find cally, as he repeated that impressive monosyllable. him?” “It’s very hard, sir,” said the prisoner; “and but for “Deil haet o’ me kens,” said Ratcliffe; “he’ll no likely the under-turnkey’s place—” gang back to ony o’ his auld howffs; he’ll be off the coun- “And the reversion of the captaincy—the captaincy try by this time. He has gude friends some gate or other, of the Tolbooth, man—that is, in case of gude for a’ the life he’s led; he’s been weel educate.” behaviour.” “He’ll grace the gallows the better,” said Mr. “Ay, ay,” said Ratcliffe, “gude behaviour!—there’s the Sharpitlaw; “a desperate dog, to murder an officer of deevil. And then it’s waiting for dead folk’s shoon into the city for doing his duty! Wha kens wha’s turn it might the bargain.” be next?—But you saw him plainly?” “But Robertson’s head will weigh something,” said “As plainly as I see you.” Sharpitlaw; “something gey and heavy, Rat; the town “How was he dressed?” said Sharpitlaw. maun show cause—that’s right and reason—and then

209 The Heart of Mid-Lothian ye’ll hae freedom to enjoy your gear honestly.” The officer retired, and introduced, upon his return, a “I dinna ken,” said Ratcliffe; “it’s a queer way of be- tall, strapping wench of eighteen or twenty, dressed, ginning the trade of honesty—but deil ma care. Weel, fantastically, in a sort of blue riding-jacket, with tar- then, I heard and saw him speak to the wench Effie nished lace, her hair clubbed like that of a man, a High- Deans, that’s up there for child-murder.” land bonnet, and a bunch of broken feathers, a riding- “The deil ye did? Rat, this is finding a mare’s nest wi’ skirt (or petticoat) of scarlet camlet, embroidered with a witness.—And the man that spoke to Butler in the tarnished flowers. Her features were coarse and mascu- Park, and that was to meet wi’ Jeanie Deans at line, yet at a little distance, by dint of very bright wild- Muschat’s Cairn—whew! lay that and that together? As looking black eyes, an aquiline nose, and a command- sure as I live he’s been the father of the lassie’s wean.” ing profile, appeared rather handsome. She flourished “There hae been waur guesses than that, I’m think- the switch she held in her hand, dropped a courtesy as ing,” observed Ratcliffe, turning his quid of tobacco in low as a lady at a birth-night introduction, recovered his cheek, and squirting out the juice. “I heard some- herself seemingly according to Touchstone’s directions thing a while syne about his drawing up wi’ a bonny to Audrey, and opened the conversation without wait- quean about the Pleasaunts, and that it was a’ Wilson ing till any questions were asked. could do to keep him frae marrying her.” “God gie your honour gude-e’en, and mony o’ them, Here a city officer entered, and told Sharpitlaw that bonny Mr. Sharpitlaw!—Gude-e’en to ye, Daddie Ratton— they had the woman in custody whom he had directed they tauld me ye were hanged, man; or did ye get out o’ them to bring before him. John Dalgleish’s hands like half-hangit Maggie Dickson?” “It’s little matter now,” said he, “the thing is taking “Whisht, ye daft jaud,” said Ratcliffe, “and hear another turn; however, George, ye may bring her in.” what’s said to ye.”

210 Sir Walter Scott “Wi’ a’ my heart, Ratton. Great preferment for poor “Did you ever see that mad woman before?” said Madge to be brought up the street wi’ a grand man, wi’ Sharpitlaw to Butler. a coat a’ passemented wi’ worset-lace, to speak wi’ pro- “Not to my knowledge, sir,” replied Butler. vosts, and bailies, and town-clerks, and prokitors, at this “I thought as much,” said the procurator-fiscal, look- time o’ day—and the haill town looking at me too— ing towards Ratcliffe, who answered his glance with a This is honour on earth for ance!” nod of acquiescence and intelligence.— “Ay, Madge,” said Mr. Sharpitlaw, in a coaxing tone; “But that is Madge Wildfire, as she calls herself,” said “and ye’re dressed out in your braws, I see; these are the man of law to Butler. not your every-days’ claiths ye have on.” “Ay, that I am,” said Madge, “and that I have been “Deil be in my fingers, then!” said Madge— “Eh, sirs!” ever since I was something better—Heigh ho”—(and (observing Butler come into the apartment), “there’s a something like melancholy dwelt on her features for a minister in the Tolbooth—wha will ca’ it a graceless minute)— “But I canna mind when that was—it was place now?—I’se warrant he’s in for the gude auld lang syne, at ony rate, and I’ll ne’er fash my thumb cause—but it’s be nae cause o’ mine,” and off she went about it.— into a song— I glance like the wildfire through country and town; “Hey for cavaliers, ho for cavaliers, I’m seen on the causeway—I’m seen on the down; Dub a dub, dub a dub, The lightning that flashes so bright and so free, Have at old Beelzebub,— Is scarcely so blithe or so bonny as me.” Oliver’s squeaking for fear.” “Hand your tongue, ye skirling limmer!” said the of-

211 The Heart of Mid-Lothian ficer who had acted as master of the ceremonies to this “Certainly not,” said Butler. “They may be near the extraordinary performer, and who was rather same height, for they are both tall, but I see little other scandalised at the freedom of her demeanour before a resemblance.” person of Mr. Sharpitlaw’s importance— “haud your “Their dress, then, is not alike?” said Sharpitlaw. tongue, or I’se gie ye something to skirl for!” “Not in the least,” said Butler. “Let her alone, George,” said Sharpitlaw, “dinna put “Madge, my bonny woman,” said Sharpitlaw, in the her out o’ tune; I hae some questions to ask her—But same coaxing manner, “what did ye do wi’ your ilka- first, Mr. Butler, take another look of her.” day’s claise yesterday?” “Do sae, minister—do sae,” cried Madge; “I am as weel “I dinna mind,” said Madge. worth looking at as ony book in your aught.—And I can “Where was ye yesterday at e’en, Madge?” say the single carritch, and the double carritch, and jus- “I dinna mind ony thing about yesterday,” answered tification, and effectual calling, and the assembly of di- Madge; “ae day is eneugh for ony body to wun ower wi’ vines at Westminster, that is” (she added in a low tone), at a time, and ower muckle sometimes.” “I could say them ance—but it’s lang syne—and ane for- “But maybe, Madge, ye wad mind something about gets, ye ken.” And poor Madge heaved another deep sigh. it, if I was to gie ye this half-crown?” said Sharpitlaw, “Weel, sir,” said Mr. Sharpitlaw to Butler, “what think taking out the piece of money. ye now?” “That might gar me laugh, but it couldna gar me “As I did before,” said Butler; “that I never saw the mind.” poor demented creature in my life before.” “But, Madge,” continued Sharpitlaw, “were I to send “Then she is not the person whom you said the rioters you to the workhouse in Leith Wynd, and gar Jock last night described as Madge Wildfire?” Daigleish lay the tawse on your back—”

212 Sir Walter Scott “That wad gar me greet,” said Madge, sobbing, “but “Ye’re a leeing auld sorrow then,” replied the fair one; it couldna gar me mind, ye ken.” “for Gentle Geordie Robertson put my ilka-day’s claise “She is ower far past reasonable folks’ motives, sir,” on his ain bonny sell yestreen, and gaed a’ through the said Ratcliffe, “to mind siller, or John Dalgleish, or the town wi’ them; and gawsie and grand he lookit, like ony cat-and-nine-tails either; but I think I could gar her tell queen in the land.” us something.” “I dinna believe a word o’t,” said Ratcliffe, with an- “Try her, then, Ratcliffe,” said Sharpitlaw, “for I am other wink to the procurator. “Thae duds were a’ o’ the tired of her crazy pate, and be d—d to her.” colour o’ moonshine in the water, I’m thinking, Madge— “Madge,” said Ratcliffe, “hae ye ony joes now?” The gown wad be a sky-blue scarlet, I’se warrant ye?” “An ony body ask ye, say ye dinna ken.—Set him to “It was nae sic thing,” said Madge, whose unretentive be speaking of my joes, auld Daddie Ratton!” memory let out, in the eagerness of contradiction, all “I dare say, ye hae deil ane?” that she would have most wished to keep concealed, had “See if I haena then,” said Madge, with the toss of the her judgment been equal to her inclination. “It was nei- head of affronted beauty— “there’s Rob the Ranter, and ther scarlet nor sky-blue, but my ain auld brown Will Fleming, and then there’s Geordie Robertson, lad— threshie-coat of a short-gown, and my mother’s auld that’s Gentleman Geordie—what think ye o’ that?” mutch, and my red rokelay—and he gied me a croun Ratcliffe laughed, and, winking to the procurator-fis- and a kiss for the use o’ them, blessing on his bonny cal, pursued the inquiry in his own way. “But, Madge, face—though it’s been a dear ane to me.” the lads only like ye when ye hae on your braws—they “And where did he change his clothes again, hinnie?” wadna touch you wi’ a pair o’ tangs when you are in said Sharpitlaw, in his most conciliatory manner. your auld ilka-day rags.” “The procurator’s spoiled a’,” observed Ratcliffe, drily.

213 The Heart of Mid-Lothian And it was even so; for the question, put in so direct a may seem connected with the snatch of a song with shape, immediately awakened Madge to the propriety which she indulged the embarrassed investigator:— of being reserved upon those very topics on which Ratcliffe had indirectly seduced her to become commu- “What did ye wi’ the bridal ring—bridal ring—bridal nicative. ring? “What was’t ye were speering at us, sir?” she resumed, What did ye wi’ your wedding ring, ye little cutty with an appearance of stolidity so speedily assumed, as quean, O? showed there was a good deal of knavery mixed with I gied it till a sodger, a sodger, a sodger, her folly. I gied it till a sodger, an auld true love o’ mine, O.” “I asked you,” said the procurator, “at what hour, and to what place, Robertson brought back your clothes.” Of all the madwomen who have sung and said, since the “Robertson?—Lord hand a care o’ us! what days of Hamlet the Dane, if Ophelia be the most af- Robertson?” fecting, Madge Wildfire was the most provoking. “Why, the fellow we were speaking of, Gentle Geordie, The procurator-fiscal was in despair. “I’ll take some as you call him.” measures with this d—d Bess of Bedlam,” said he, “that “Geordie Gentle!” answered Madge, with well-feigned shall make her find her tongue.” amazement— “I dinna ken naebody they ca’ Geordie “Wi’ your favour, sir,” said Ratcliffe, “better let her Gentle.” mind settle a little—Ye have aye made out something.” “Come, my jo,” said Sharpitlaw, “this will not do; you “True,” said the official person; “a brown short-gown, must tell us what you did with these clothes of yours.” mutch, red rokelay—that agrees with your Madge Wild- Madge Wildfire made no answer, unless the question fire, Mr. Butler?” Butler agreed that it did so. “Yes, there

214 Sir Walter Scott was a sufficient motive for taking this crazy creature’s dress and name, while he was about such a job.” “And I am free to say now,” said Ratcliffe CHAPTER SIXTEENTH “When you see it has come out without you,” interrupted Sharpitlaw. “Just sae, sir,” reiterated Ratcliffe. “I am free to say And some they whistled—and some they sang, And some did loudly say, now, since it’s come out otherwise, that these were the Whenever Lord Barnard’s horn it blew, clothes I saw Robertson wearing last night in the jail, “Away, Musgrave away!” when he was at the head of the rioters.” “That’s direct evidence,” said Sharpitlaw; “stick to Ballad of Little Musgrave. that, Rat—I will report favourably of you to the provost, for I have business for you to-night. It wears late; I must home and get a snack, and I’ll be back in the WHEN THE MAN of office returned to the Heart of Mid- evening. Keep Madge with you, Ratcliffe, and try to get Lothian, he resumed his conference with Ratcliffe, of her into a good tune again.” So saying he left the prison. whose experience and assistance he now held himself secure. “You must speak with this wench, Rat—this Effie Deans—you must sift her a wee bit; for as sure as a tether she will ken Robertson’s haunts—till her, Rat— till her without delay.” “Craving your pardon, Mr. Sharpitlaw,” said the turnkey elect, “that’s what I am not free to do.”

215 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “Free to do, man? what the deil ails ye now?—I maist folk’s are; and yet it’s just like the noop of my thought we had settled a’ that?” elbow, it whiles gets a bit dirl on a corner.” “I dinna ken, sir,” said Ratcliffe; “I hae spoken to this “Weel, Rat,” replied Sharpitlaw, “since ye are nice, Effie—she’s strange to this place and to its ways, and to I’ll speak to the hussy mysell.” a’ our ways, Mr. Sharpitlaw; and she greets, the silly Sharpitlaw, accordingly, caused himself to be intro- tawpie, and she’s breaking her heart already about this duced into the little dark apartment tenanted by the wild chield; and were she the mean’s o’ taking him, she unfortunate Effie Deans. The poor girl was seated on wad break it outright.” her little flock-bed, plunged in a deep reverie. Some food “She wunna hae time, lad,” said Sharpitlaw; “the stood on the table, of a quality better than is usually woodie will hae it’s ain o’ her before that—a woman’s supplied to prisoners, but it was untouched. The person heart takes a lang time o’ breaking.” under whose care she was more particularly placed, said, “That’s according to the stuff they are made o’ sir,” “that sometimes she tasted naething from the tae end replied Ratcliffe— “But to make a lang tale short, I of the four-and-twenty hours to the t’other, except a canna undertake the job. It gangs against my con- drink of water.” science.” Sharpitlaw took a chair, and, commanding the turnkey “Your conscience, Rat?” said Sharpitlaw, with a sneer, to retire, he opened the conversation, endeavouring to which the reader will probably think very natural upon throw into his tone and countenance as much commis- the occasion. eration as they were capable of expressing, for the one “Ou ay, sir,” answered Ratcliffe, calmly, “just my con- was sharp and harsh, the other sly, acute, and selfish. science; a’body has a conscience, though it may be ill “How’s a’ wi’ ye, Effie?—How d’ye find yoursell, wunnin at it. I think mine’s as weel out o’ the gate as hinny?”

216 Sir Walter Scott A deep sigh was the only answer. present occasion, these mixed motives of feeling and “Are the folk civil to ye, Effie?—it’s my duty to in- cunning harmonised together wonderfully; for, said quire.” Sharpitlaw to himself, the greater rogue Robertson is, “Very civil, sir,” said Effie, compelling herself to an- the more will be the merit of bringing him to justice. swer, yet hardly knowing what she said. “He must have been a great villain, indeed,” he again “And your victuals,” continued Sharpitlaw, in the same reiterated; “and I wish I had the skelping o’ him.” condoling tone,— “do you get what you like?—or is there “I may blame mysell mair than him,” said Effie; “I onything you would particularly fancy, as your health was bred up to ken better; but he, poor fellow,”—(she seems but silly?” stopped). “It’s a’ very weel, sir, I thank ye,” said the poor pris- “Was a thorough blackguard a’ his life, I dare say,” oner, in a tone how different from the sportive vivacity said Sharpitlaw. “A stranger he was in this country, and of those of the Lily of St. Leonard’s!— “it’s a’ very a companion of that lawless vagabond, Wilson, I think, gude—ower gude for me.” Effie?” “He must have been a great villain, Effie, who brought “It wad hae been dearly telling him that he had ne’er you to this pass,” said Sharpitlaw. seen Wilson’s face.” The remark was dictated partly by a natural feeling, “That’s very true that you are saying, Effie,” said of which even he could not divest himself, though ac- Sharpitlaw. “Where was’t that Robertson and you were customed to practise on the passions of others, and keep used to howff thegither? Somegate about the Laigh a most heedful guard over his own, and partly by his Calton, I am thinking.” wish to introduce the sort of conversation which might, The simple and dispirited girl had thus far followed best serve his immediate purpose. Indeed, upon the Mr. Sharpitlaw’s lead, because he had artfully adjusted

217 The Heart of Mid-Lothian his observations to the thoughts he was pretty certain “O dinna misca’ him, sir, that never misca’d you!— must be passing through her own mind, so that her an- Robertson?—I am sure I had naething to say against swers became a kind of thinking aloud, a mood into ony man o’ the name, and naething will I say.” which those who are either constitutionally absent in “But if you do not heed your own misfortune, Effie, mind, or are rendered so by the temporary pressure of you should mind what distress he has brought on your misfortune, may be easily led by a skilful train of sug- family,” said the man of law. gestions. But the last observation of the procurator-fis- “O, Heaven help me!” exclaimed poor Effie— “My cal was too much of the nature of a direct interroga- poor father—my dear Jeanie—O, that’s sairest to bide tory, and it broke the charm accordingly. of a’! O, sir, if you hae ony kindness—if ye hae ony “What was it that I was saying?” said Effie, starting touch of compassion—for a’ the folk I see here are as up from her reclining posture, seating herself upright, hard as the wa’-stanes—If ye wad but bid them let and hastily shading her dishevelled hair back from her my sister Jeanie in the next time she ca’s! for when I wasted but still beautiful countenance. She fixed her eyes hear them put her awa frae the door, and canna climb boldly and keenly upon Sharpitlaw— “You are too much up to that high window to see sae muckle as her gown- of a gentleman, sir,—too much of an honest man, to tail, it’s like to pit me out o’ my judgment.” And she take any notice of what a poor creature like me says, looked on him with a face of entreaty, so earnest, yet that can hardly ca’ my senses my ain—God help me!” so humble, that she fairly shook the steadfast purpose “Advantage!—I would be of some advantage to you of his mind. if I could,” said Sharpitlaw, in a soothing tone; “and I “You shall see your sister,” he began, “if you’ll tell ken naething sae likely to serve ye, Effie, as gripping me,”—then interrupting himself, he added, in a more this rascal, Robertson.” hurried tone,— “no, d—n it, you shall see your sister

218 Sir Walter Scott whether you tell me anything or no.” So saying, he rose “And besides, ye donnard carle,” continued Sharpitlaw, up and left the apartment. triumphantly, “the minister did say that he thought he When he had rejoined Ratcliffe, he observed, “You knew something of the features of the birkie that spoke are right, Ratton; there’s no making much of that lassie. to him in the Park, though he could not charge his But ae thing I have cleared—that is, that Robertson memory where or when he had seen them.” has been the father of the bairn, and so I will wager a “It’s evident, then, your honour will be right,” said boddle it will be he that’s to meet wi’ Jeanie Deans this Ratcliffe. night at Muschat’s Cairn, and there we’ll nail him, Rat, “Then, Rat, you and I will go with the party oursells or my name is not Gideon Sharpitlaw.” this night, and see him in grips or we are done wi’ him.” “But,” said Ratcliffe, perhaps because he was in no “I seena muckle use I can be o’ to your honour,” said hurry to see anything which was like to be connected Ratcliffe, reluctantly. with the discovery and apprehension of Robertson, “an “Use?” answered Sharpitlaw— “You can guide the that were the case, Mr. Butler wad hae kend the man in party—you ken the ground. Besides, I do not intend to the King’s Park to be the same person wi’ him in Madge quit sight o’ you, my good friend, till I have him in hand.” Wildfire’s claise, that headed the mob.” “Weel, sir,” said Ratcliffe, but in no joyful tone of ac- “That makes nae difference, man,” replied quiescence; “Ye maun hae it your ain way—but mind Sharpitlaw— “the dress, the light, the confusion, and he’s a desperate man.” maybe a touch o’ a blackit cork, or a slake o’ paint-hout, “We shall have that with us,” answered Sharpitlaw, Ratton, I have seen ye dress your ainsell, that the deevil “that will settle him, if it is necessary.” ye belang to durstna hae made oath t’ye.” “But, sir,” answered Ratcliffe, “I am sure I couldna “And that’s true, too,” said Ratcliffe. undertake to guide you to Muschat’s Cairn in the night-

219 The Heart of Mid-Lothian time; I ken the place as mony does, in fair day-light, but “Weel, Ratcliffe,” replied the procurator-fiscal, “if you how to find it by moonshine, amang sae mony crags and think she can guide us the right way—but take heed to stanes, as like to each other as the collier to the deil, is what you are about—your life depends on your mair than I can tell. I might as soon seek moonshine in behaviour.” water.” “It’s a sair judgment on a man,” said Ratcliffe, “when “What’s the meaning o’ this, Ratcliffe?” said he has ance gane sae far wrang as I hae done, that deil a Sharpitlaw, while he fixed his eye on the recusant, with bit he can be honest, try’t whilk way he will.” a fatal and ominous expression,— “Have you forgotten Such was the reflection of Ratcliffe, when he was left that you are still under sentence of death?” for a few minutes to himself, while the retainer of jus- “No, sir,” said Ratcliffe, “that’s a thing no easily put tice went to procure a proper warrant, and give the nec- out o’ memory; and if my presence be judged necessary, essary directions. nae doubt I maun gang wi’ your honour. But I was gaun The rising moon saw the whole party free from the to tell your honour of ane that has mair skeel o’ the walls of the city, and entering upon the open ground. gate than me, and that’s e’en Madge Wildfire.” Arthur’s Seat, like a couchant lion of immense size— “The devil she has!—Do you think me as mad as she, Salisbury Crags, like a huge belt or girdle of granite, is, to trust to her guidance on such an occasion?” were dimly visible. Holding their path along the south- “Your honour is the best judge,” answered Ratcliffe; ern side of the Canongate, they gained the Abbey of “but I ken I can keep her in tune, and garr her haud the Holyrood House, and from thence found their way by straight path—she often sleeps out, or rambles about step and stile into the King’s Park. They were at first amang thae hills the haill simmer night, the daft four in number—an officer of justice and Sharpitlaw, limmer.” who were well armed with pistols and cutlasses;

220 Sir Walter Scott Ratcliffe, who was not trusted with weapons, lest, he she had already given them so many specimens of her might, peradventure, have used them on the wrong side; clamorous loquacity, that Sharpitlaw half determined and the female. But at the last stile, when they entered to send her back with one of the officers, rather than the Chase, they were joined by other two officers, whom carry forward in his company a person so extremely ill Sharpitlaw, desirous to secure sufficient force for his qualified to be a guide in a secret expedition. It seemed, purpose, and at the same time to avoid observation, had too, as if the open air, the approach to the hills, and the directed to wait for him at this place. Ratcliffe saw this ascent of the moon, supposed to be so portentous over accession of strength with some disquietude, for he had those whose brain is infirm, made her spirits rise in a hitherto thought it likely that Robertson, who was a degree tenfold more loquacious than she had hitherto bold, stout, and active young fellow, might have made exhibited. To silence her by fair means seemed impos- his escape from Sharpitlaw and the single officer, by force sible; authoritative commands and coaxing entreaties or agility, without his being implicated in the matter. she set alike at defiance, and threats only made her sulky But the present strength of the followers of justice was and altogether intractable. overpowering, and the only mode of saving Robertson “Is there no one of you,” said Sharpitlaw, impatiently, (which the old sinner was well disposed to do, providing “that knows the way to this accursed place—this Nichol always he could accomplish his purpose without com- Muschat’s Cairn—excepting this mad clavering idiot?” promising his own safety), must be by contriving that “Deil ane o’ them kens it except mysell,” exclaimed he should have some signal of their approach. It was Madge; “how suld they, the puir fule cowards! But I hae probably with this view that Ratcliffe had requested sat on the grave frae batfleeing time till cook-crow, and the addition of Madge to the party, having considerable had mony a fine crack wi’ Muschat and Ailie Muschat, confidence in her propensity to exert her lungs. Indeed, that are lying sleeping below.”

221 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “The devil take your crazy brain,” said Sharpitlaw; “That’s true,” said Sharpitlaw; “and if he thinks her “will you not allow the men to answer a question?” alone, he’s as like to come towards her as to rin frae her. The officers obtaining a moment’s audience while So set forward—we hae lost ower muckle time already— Ratcliffe diverted Madge’s attention, declared that, see to get her to keep the right road.” though they had a general knowledge of the spot, they “And what sort o’ house does Nichol Muschat and his could not undertake to guide the party to it by the un- wife keep now?” said Ratcliffe to the mad woman, by certain light of the moon, with such accuracy as to in- way of humouring her vein of folly; “they were but sure success to their expedition. thrawn folk lang syne, an a’ tales be true.” “What shall we do, Ratcliffe?” said Sharpitlaw, “if he “Ou, ay, ay, ay—but a’s forgotten now,” replied Madge, sees us before we see him,—and that’s what he is cer- in the confidential tone of a gossip giving the history of tain to do, if we go strolling about, without keeping the her next-door neighbour— “Ye see, I spoke to them straight road,—we may bid gude day to the job, and I mysell, and tauld them byganes suld be byganes—her would rather lose one hundred pounds, baith for the throat’s sair misguggled and mashackered though; she credit of the police, and because the provost says some- wears her corpse-sheet drawn weel up to hide it, but that body maun be hanged for this job o’ Porteous, come o’t canna hinder the bluid seiping through, ye ken. I wussed what likes.” her to wash it in St. Anthony’s Well, and that will cleanse “I think,” said Ratcliffe, “we maun just try Madge; if onything can—But they say bluid never bleaches out and I’ll see if I can get her keepit in ony better order. o’ linen claith—Deacon Sanders’s new cleansing draps And at ony rate, if he suld hear her skirting her auld winna do’t—I tried them mysell on a bit rag we hae at ends o’ sangs, he’s no to ken for that that there’s onybody hame that was mailed wi’ the bluid of a bit skirting wi’ her.” wean that was hurt some gate, but out it winna come—

222 Sir Walter Scott Weel, yell say that’s queer; but I will bring it out to St. “Ye maun just take a grain o’ patience wi’ her, sir,” Anthony’s blessed Well some braw night just like this, said Ratcliffe. “She’ll no gae a foot faster than she likes and I’ll cry up Ailie Muschat, and she and I will hae a herself.” grand bouking-washing, and bleach our claes in the “D—n her,” said Sharpitlaw, “I’ll take care she has beams of the bonny Lady Moon, that’s far pleasanter her time in Bedlam or Bridewell, or both, for she’s both to me than the sun—the sun’s ower het, and ken ye, mad and mischievous.” cummers, my brains are het eneugh already. But the In the meanwhile, Madge, who had looked very pen- moon, and the dew, and the night-wind, they are just sive when she first stopped, suddenly burst into a vehe- like a caller kail-blade laid on my brow; and whiles I ment fit of laughter, then paused and sighed bitterly,— think the moon just shines on purpose to pleasure me, then was seized with a second fit of laughter—then, fix- when naebody sees her but mysell.” ing her eyes on the moon, lifted up her voice and sung,— This raving discourse she continued with prodigious volubility, walking on at a great pace, and dragging “Good even, good fair moon, good even to thee; Ratcliffe along with her, while he endeavoured, in ap- I prithee, dear moon, now show to me pearance at least, if not in reality, to induce her to mod- The form and the features, the speech and degree, erate her voice. Of the man that true lover of mine shall be. All at once she stopped short upon the top of a little hillock, gazed upward fixedly, and said not one word for But I need not ask that of the bonny Lady Moon—I the space of five minutes. “What the devil is the matter ken that weel eneugh mysell—true-love though he with her now?” said Sharpitlaw to Ratcliffe— “Can you wasna—But naebody shall sae that I ever tauld a word not get her forward?” about the matter—But whiles I wish the bairn had

223 The Heart of Mid-Lothian lived—Weel, God guide us, there’s a heaven aboon us “But ye hae sauld it, Ratton—ye hae sauld blood mony a’,”—(here she sighed bitterly), “and a bonny moon, a time. Folk kill wi’ the tongue as weel as wi’ the hand— and sterns in it forby” (and here she laughed once more). wi’ the word as weel as wi’ the gulley!— “Are we to stand, here all night!” said Sharpitlaw, very impatiently. “Drag her forward.” It is the ‘bonny butcher lad, “Ay, sir,” said Ratcliffe, “if we kend whilk way to drag That wears the sleeves of blue, her, that would settle it at ance.—Come, Madge, hinny,” He sells the flesh on Saturday, addressing her, “we’ll no be in time to see Nichol and his On Friday that he slew.” wife, unless ye show us the road.” “In troth and that I will, Ratton,” said she, seizing “And what is that I ain doing now?” thought Ratcliffe. him by the arm, and resuming her route with huge “But I’ll hae nae wyte of Robertson’s young bluid, if I strides, considering it was a female who took them. “And can help it;” then speaking apart to Madge, he asked her, I’ll tell ye, Ratton, blithe will Nichol Muschat be to see “Whether she did not remember ony o’ her auld Sangs?” ye, for he says he kens weel there isna sic a villain out o’ “Mony a dainty ane,” said Madge; “and blithely can I hell as ye are, and he wad be ravished to hae a crack wi’ sing them, for lightsome sangs make merry gate.” And you—like to like ye ken—it’s a proverb never fails—and she sang,— ye are baith a pair o’ the deevil’s peats I trow—hard to ken whilk deserves the hettest corner o’ his ingle-side.” “When the glede’s in the blue cloud, Ratcliffe was conscience-struck, and could not forbear The lavrock lies still; making an involuntary protest against this classifica- When the hound’s in the greenwood. tion. “I never shed blood,” he replied. The hind keeps the hill.”

224 Sir Walter Scott chief. I wish I could set her on again without this blood- “Silence her cursed noise, if you should throttle her,” sucker kenning what I am doing. But he’s as gleg as said Sharpitlaw; “I see somebody yonder.—Keep close, MacKeachan’s elshin,* that ran through sax plies of my boys, and creep round the shoulder of the height. bendleather and half-an-inch into the king’s heel.” George Poinder, stay you with Ratcliffe and tha mad He then began to hum, but in a very low and sup- yelling bitch; and you other two, come with me round pressed tone, the first stanza of a favourite ballad of under the shadow of the brae.” Wildfire’s, the words of which bore some distant anal- And he crept forward with the stealthy pace of an ogy with the situation of Robertson, trusting that the Indian savage, who leads his band to surprise an unsus- power of association would not fail to bring the rest to pecting party of some hostile tribe. Ratcliffe saw them her mind:— glide of, avoiding the moonlight, and keeping as much in: the shade as possible. “There’s a bloodhound ranging Tinwald wood, “Robertson’s done up,” said he to himself; “thae young There’s harness glancing sheen: lads are aye sae thoughtless. What deevil could he hae There’s a maiden sits on Tinwald brae, to say to Jeanie Deans, or to ony woman on earth, that And she sings loud between.” he suld gang awa and get his neck raxed for her? And this mad quean, after cracking like a pen-gun, and Madge had no sooner received the catch-word, than skirling like a pea-hen for the haill night, behoves just she vindicated Ratcliffe’s sagacity by setting off at score to hae hadden her tongue when her clavers might have with the song:— dune some gude! But it’s aye the way wi’ women; if they ever hand their tongues ava’, ye may swear it’s for mis- * Elshin, a shoemaker’s awl. 225 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “O sleep ye sound, Sir James, she said, sued his farther orders: “Ratcliffe, come here, and de- When ye suld rise and ride? tain the woman—George, run and kepp the stile at the There’s twenty men, wi’ bow and blade, Duke’s Walk—Ratcliffe, come here directly—but first Are seeking where ye hide.” knock out that mad bitch’s brains!” “Ye had better rin for it, Madge,” said Ratcliffe, “for Though Ratcliffe was at a considerable distance from it’s ill dealing wi’ an angry man.” the spot called Muschat’s Cairn, yet his eyes, practised Madge Wildfire was not so absolutely void of com- like those of a cat to penetrate darkness, could mark mon sense as not to understand this innuendo; and while that Robertson had caught the alarm. George Poinder, Ratcliffe, in seemingly anxious haste of obedience, has- less keen of sight, or less attentive, was not aware of his tened to the spot where Sharpitlaw waited to deliver up flight any more than Sharpitlaw and his assistants, Jeanie Deans to his custody, she fled with all the des- whose view, though they were considerably nearer to patch she could exert in an opposite direction. Thus the the cairn, was intercepted by the broken nature of the whole party were separated, and in rapid motion of ground under which they were screening themselves. At flight or pursuit, excepting Ratcliffe and Jeanie, whom, length, however, after the interval of five or six min- although making no attempt to escape, he held fast by utes, they also perceived that Robertson had fled, and the cloak, and who remained standing by Muschat’s rushed hastily towards the place, while Sharpitlaw called Cairn. out aloud, in the harshest tones of a voice which resembled a saw-mill at work, “Chase, lads—chase—haud the brae—I see him on the edge of the hill!” Then hol- lowing back to the rear-guard of his detachment, he is-

226 Sir Walter Scott immediately added, “But if you will tell me which way he ran I will let you go.” CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH “I dinna ken, sir,” was all the poor girl could utter; and, indeed, it is the phrase which rises most readily to the lips of any person in her rank, as the readiest reply You have paid the heavens your function, to any embarrassing question. and the prisoner the very debt of your calling. “But,” said Sharpitlaw, “ye ken wha it was ye were speaking wi’, my leddy, on the hill side, and midnight Measure for Measure. sae near; ye surely ken that, my bonny woman?” “I dinna ken, sir,” again iterated Jeanie, who really did not comprehend in her terror the nature of the ques- JEANIE DEANS,—for here our story unites itself with that tions which were so hastily put to her in this moment of part of the narrative which broke off at the end of the surprise. fourteenth chapter,—while she waited, in terror and “We will try to mend your memory by and by, hinny,” amazement, the hasty advance of three or four men to- said Sharpitlaw, and shouted, as we have already told wards her, was yet more startled at their suddenly break- the reader, to Ratcliffe, to come up and take charge of ing asunder, and giving chase in different directions to her, while he himself directed the chase after Robertson, the late object of her terror, who became at that mo- which he still hoped might be successful. As Ratcliffe ment, though she could not well assign a reasonable approached, Sharpitlaw pushed the young woman to- cause, rather the cause of her interest. One of the party wards him with some rudeness, and betaking himself (it was Sharpitlaw) came straight up to her, and saying, to the more important object of his quest, began to scale “Your name is Jeanie Deans, and you are my prisoner,”

227 The Heart of Mid-Lothian crags and scramble up steep banks, with an agility of meet at Muschat’s Cairn at midnight to crack nuts,” which his profession and his general gravity of and he again attempted to take hold of her. demeanour would previously have argued him incapable. “If ye are an officer of justice, sir,” said Jeanie, again In a few minutes there was no one within sight, and eluding his attempt to seize her, “ye deserve to have your only a distant halloo from one of the pursuers to the coat stripped from your back.” other, faintly heard on the side of the hill, argued that “Very true, hinny,” said he, succeeding forcibly in his there was any one within hearing. Jeanie Deans was left attempt to get hold of her, “but suppose I should strip in the clear moonlight, standing under the guard of a your cloak off first?” person of whom she knew nothing, and, what was worse, “Ye are more a man, I am sure, than to hurt me, sir,” concerning whom, as the reader is well aware, she could said Jeanie; “for God’s sake have pity on a half-distracted have learned nothing that would not have increased her creature!” terror. “Come, come,” said Ratcliffe, “you’re a good-looking When all in the distance was silent, Ratcliffe for the wench, and should not be cross-grained. I was going to first time addressed her, and it was in that cold sarcastic be an honest man—but the devil has this very day flung indifferent tone familiar to habitual depravity, whose first a lawyer, and then a woman, in my gate. I’ll tell crimes are instigated by custom rather than by passion. you what, Jeanie, they are out on the hill-side—if you’ll “This is a braw night for ye, dearie,” he said, attempt- be guided by me, I’ll carry you to a wee bit corner in the ing to pass his arm across her shoulder, “to be on the Pleasance, that I ken o’ in an auld wife’s, that a’ the green hill wi’ your jo.” Jeanie extricated herself from prokitors o’ Scotland wot naething o’, and we’ll send his grasp, but did not make any reply. Robertson word to meet us in Yorkshire, for there is a “I think lads and lasses,” continued the ruffian, “dinna set o’ braw lads about the midland counties, that I hae

228 Sir Walter Scott dune business wi’ before now, and sae we’ll leave Mr. “life and mettle” in her heels, and never had she fol- Sharpitlaw to whistle on his thumb.” lowed Dustiefoot, when the cows were in the corn, with It was fortunate for Jeanie, in an emergency like the half so much speed as she now cleared the distance be- present, that she possessed presence of mind and cour- twixt Muschat’s Cairn and her father’s cottage at St. age, so soon as the first hurry of surprise had enabled Leonard’s. To lift the latch—to enter—to shut, bolt, and her to rally her recollection. She saw the risk she was in double bolt the door—to draw against it a heavy article from a ruffian, who not only was such by profession, of furniture (which she could not have moved in a mo- but had that evening been stupifying, by means of strong ment of less energy), so as to make yet farther provi- liquors, the internal aversion which he felt at the busi- sion against violence, was almost the work of a moment, ness on which Sharpitlaw had resolved to employ him. yet done with such silence as equalled the celerity. “Dinna speak sae loud,” said she, in a low voice; “he’s Her next anxiety was upon her father’s account, and up yonder.” she drew silently to the door of his apartment, in order “Who?—Robertson?” said Ratcliffe, eagerly. to satisfy herself whether he had been disturbed by her “Ay,” replied Jeanie; “up yonder;” and she pointed to return. He was awake,—probably had slept but little; the ruins of the hermitage and chapel. but the constant presence of his own sorrows, the dis- “By G—d, then,” said Ratcliffe, “I’ll make my ain of tance of his apartment from the outer door of the house, him, either one way or other—wait for me here.” and the precautions which Jeanie had taken to conceal But no sooner had he set off as fast as he could run, her departure and return, had prevented him from be- towards the chapel, than Jeanie started in an opposite ing sensible of either. He was engaged in his devotions, direction, over high and low, on the nearest path home- and Jeanie could distinctly hear him use these words:— ward. Her juvenile exercise as a herdswoman had put ”And for the other child thou hast given me to be a com-

229 The Heart of Mid-Lothian fort and stay to my old age, may her days be long in the though it instantly vanished, yet she felt a degree of land, according to the promise thou hast given to those composure which she had not experienced for many who shall honour father and mother; may all her pur- days, and could not help being strongly persuaded that, chased and promised blessings be multiplied upon her; by some means or other, she would be called upon, and keep her in the watches of the night, and in the upris- directed, to work out her sister’s deliverance. She went ing of the morning, that all in this land may know that to bed, not forgetting her usual devotions, the more fer- thou hast not utterly hid thy face from those that seek vently made on account of her late deliverance, and she thee in truth and in sincerity.” He was silent, but prob- slept soundly in spite of her agitation. ably continued his petition in the strong fervency of We must return to Ratcliffe, who had started, like a mental devotion. greyhound from the slips when the sportsman cries His daughter retired to her apartment, comforted, that halloo, as soon as Jeanie had pointed to the ruins. while she was exposed to danger, her head had been cov- Whether he meant to aid Robertson’s escape, or to as- ered by the prayers of the just as by an helmet, and sist his pursuers, may be very doubtful; perhaps he did under the strong confidence, that while she walked wor- not himself know but had resolved to be guided by cir- thy of the protection of Heaven, she would experience cumstances. He had no opportunity, however, of doing its countenance. It was in that moment that a vague either; for he had no sooner surmounted the steep as- idea first darted across her mind, that something might cent, and entered under the broken arches of the rains, yet be achieved for her sister’s safety, conscious as she than a pistol was presented at his head, and a harsh now was of her innocence of the unnatural murder with voice commanded him, in the king’s name, to surrender which she stood charged. It came, as she described it, himself prisoner. “Mr. Sharpitlaw!” said Ratcliffe, sur- on her mind, like a sun-blink on a stormy sea; and al- prised, “is this your honour?”

230 Sir Walter Scott “Is it only you, and be d—d to you?” answered the fiscal, still more disappointed— “what made you leave “One woman,” said Sharpitlaw,—for, like all rogues, the woman?” he was a great calumniator of the fair sex,*— “one “She told me she saw Robertson go into the ruins, so I woman is enough to dark the fairest ploy that was ever made what haste I could to cleek the callant.” planned; and how could I be such an ass as to expect to “It’s all over now,” said Sharpitlaw; “we shall see no carry through a job that had two in it? more of him to-night; but he shall hide himself in a But we know how to come by them both, if they are bean-hool, if he remains on Scottish ground without wanted, that’s one good thing.” my finding him. Call back the people, Ratcliffe.” Accordingly, like a defeated general, sad and sulky, he Ratcliffe hollowed to the dispersed officers, who will- led back his discomfited forces to the metropolis, and ingly obeyed the signal; for probably there was no indi- dismissed them for the night. vidual among them who would have been much desir- The next morning early, he was under the necessity of ous of a rencontre, hand to hand, and at a distance from making his report to the sitting magistrate of the day. his comrades, with such an active and desperate fellow The gentleman who occupied the chair of office on this as Robertson. occasion (for the bailies, Anglice’, aldermen, take it by “And where are the two women?” said Sharpitlaw. rotation) chanced to be the same by whom Butler was “Both made their heels serve them, I suspect,” replied committed, a person very generally respected among his Ratcliffe, and he hummed the end of the old song— fellow-citizens. Something he was of a humorist, and rather deficient in general education; but acute, patient, “Then hey play up the rin-awa bride, and upright, possessed of a fortune acquired by honest For she has taen the gee.” * Note L. Calumniator of the Fair Sex. 231 The Heart of Mid-Lothian industry which made him perfectly independent; and, woman in your jail, fallen under the edge of a law so in short, very happily qualified to support the respect- cruel, that it has hung by the wall like unsecured armour, ability of the office, which he held. for twenty years, and is now brought down and whetted Mr. Middleburgh had just taken his seat, and was de- to spill the blood of the most beautiful and most inno- bating in an animated manner, with one of his col- cent creature whom the walls of a prison ever girdled leagues, the doubtful chances of a game at golf which in. Her sister knows of her innocence, as she communi- they had played the day before, when a letter was deliv- cated to her that she was betrayed by a villain.—O that ered to him, addressed “For Bailie Middleburgh; These: high Heaven to be forwarded with speed.” It contained these words:— “Sir,—I know you to be a sensible and a considerate Would put in every honest hand a whip, magistrate, and one who, as such, will be content to To scourge me such a villain through the world! worship God, though the devil bid you. I therefore expect that, notwithstanding the signature of this letter “I write distractedly—But this girl—this Jeanie acknowledges my share in an action, which, in a proper Deans, is a peevish puritan, superstitious and scrupu- time and place, I would not fear either to avow or to lous after the manner of her sect; and I pray your honour, justify, you will not on that account reject what evi- for so my phrase must go, to press upon her, that her dence I place before you. The clergyman, Butler, is in- sister’s life depends upon her testimony. But though she nocent of all but involuntary presence at an action which should remain silent, do not dare to think that the young he wanted spirit to approve of, and from which he en- woman is guilty—far less to permit her execution. Re- deavoured, with his best set phrases, to dissuade us. But member the death of Wilson was fearfully avenged; and it was not for him that it is my hint to speak. There is a those yet live who can compel you to drink the dregs of

232 Sir Walter Scott your poisoned chalice.—I say, remember Porteous, and unable to afford to it. And yet it is certain, if the woman say that you had good counsel from is found guilty under the statute, execution will follow. The crime has been too common, and examples are nec- “One of his Slayers.” essary.” “But if this other wench,” said the city-clerk, “can The magistrate read over this extraordinary letter speak to her sister communicating her situation, it will twice or thrice. At first he was tempted to throw it aside take the case from under the statute.” as the production of a madman, so little did “the scraps “Very true,” replied the Bailie; “and I will walk out from play-books,” as he termed the poetical quotation, one of these days to St. Leonard’s, and examine the girl resemble the correspondence of a rational being. On a myself. I know something of their father Deans—an old re-perusal, however, he thought that, amid its incoher- true-blue Cameronian, who would see house and family ence, he could discover something like a tone of awak- go to wreck ere he would disgrace his testimony by a ened passion, though expressed in a manner quaint and sinful complying with the defections of the times; and unusual. such he will probably uphold the taking an oath before “It is a cruelly severe statute,” said the magistrate to a civil magistrate. If they are to go on and flourish with his assistant, “and I wish the girl could be taken from their bull-headed obstinacy, the legislature must pass under the letter of it. A child may have been born, and an act to take their affirmations, as in the case of Quak- it may have been conveyed away while the mother was ers. But surely neither a father nor a sister will scruple insensible, or it may have perished for want of that rein a case of this kind. As I said before, I will go speak lief which the poor creature herself—helpless, terrified, with them myself, when the hurry of this Porteous in- distracted, despairing, and exhausted—may have been vestigation is somewhat over; their pride and spirit of

233 The Heart of Mid-Lothian contradiction will be far less alarmed, than if they were that it was impossible he could have been concerned in called into a court of justice at once.” any previous machinations of these unhappy rioters, “And I suppose Butler is to remain incarcerated?” said and it is not likely that he should have joined them on a the city-clerk. suddenty.” “For the present, certainly,” said the magistrate. “But “There’s no saying anent that—zeal catches fire at a I hope soon to set him at liberty upon bail.” slight spark as fast as a brunstane match,” observed the “Do you rest upon the testimony of that light-headed secretary. “I hae kend a minister wad be fair gude-day letter?” asked the clerk. and fair gude-e’en wi’ ilka man in the parochine, and “Not very much,” answered the Bailie; “and yet there hing just as quiet as a rocket on a stick, till ye men- is something striking about it too—it seems the letter tioned the word abjuration-oath, or patronage, or siclike, of a man beside himself, either from great agitation, or and then, whiz, he was off, and up in the air an hundred some great sense of guilt.” miles beyond common manners, common sense, and “Yes,” said the town-clerk, “it is very like the letter of common comprehension.” a mad strolling play-actor, who deserves to be hanged “I do not understand,” answered the burgher-magis- with all the rest of his gang, as your honour justly ob- trate, “that the young man Butler’s zeal is of so inflam- serves.” mable a character. But I will make farther investiga- “I was not quite so bloodthirsty,” continued the mag- tion. What other business is there before us?” istrate. “But to the point, Butler’s private character is And they proceeded to minute investigations concern- excellent; and I am given to understand, by some in- ing the affair of Porteous’s death, and other affairs quiries I have been making this morning, that he did through which this history has no occasion to trace them. actually arrive in town only the day before yesterday, so In the course of their business they were interrupted

234 Sir Walter Scott by an old woman of the lower rank, extremely haggard “Who are you?—who is your bairn?” demanded the in look, and wretched in her appearance, who thrust her- magistrate. self into the council room. “Wha am I?—wha suld I be, but Meg Murdockson, “What do you want, gudewife?—Who are you?” said and wha suld my bairn be but Magdalen Murdockson?— Bailie Middleburgh. Your guard soldiers, and your constables, and your of- “What do I want!” replied she, in a sulky tone— “I ficers, ken us weel eneugh when they rive the bits o’ duds want my bairn, or I want naething frae nane o’ ye, for aff our backs, and take what penny o’ siller we hae, and as grand’s ye are.” And she went on muttering to her- harle us to the Correctionhouse in Leith Wynd, and self with the wayward spitefulness of age— “They maun pettle us up wi’ bread and water and siclike sunkets.” hae lordships and honours, nae doubt—set them up, the “Who is she?” said the magistrate, looking round to gutter-bloods! and deil a gentleman amang them.”— some of his people. Then again addressing the sitting magistrate, “Will your “Other than a gude ane, sir,” said one of the city of- honour gie me back my puir crazy bairn?—His ficers, shrugging his shoulders and smiling. honour!—I hae kend the day when less wad ser’d him, “Will ye say sae?” said the termagant, her eye gleam- the oe of a Campvere skipper.” ing with impotent fury; “an I had ye amang the Figgat- “Good woman,” said the magistrate to this shrewish Whins,* wadna I set my ten talents in your wuzzent supplicant— “tell us what it is you want, and do not face for that very word?” and she suited the word to the interrupt the court.” action, by spreading out a set of claws resembling those “That’s as muckle as till say, Bark, Bawtie, and be of St. George’s dragon on a country sign-post. dune wi’t!—I tell ye,” raising her termagant voice, “I * This was a name given to a tract of sand hillocks extending want my bairn! is na that braid Scots?” along the sea-shore from Leith to Portobello, and which at this time were covered with whin-bushes or furze. 235 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “What does she want here?” said the impatient mag- bred thief, that never kend ither folks’ gear frae your istrate— “Can she not tell her business, or go away?” ain since the day ye was cleckit. Honest, say ye?—ye “It’s my bairn!—it’s Magdalen Murdockson I’m pykit your mother’s pouch o’ twalpennies Scots when wantin’,” answered the beldam, screaming at the high- ye were five years auld, just as she was taking leave o’ est pitch of her cracked and mistuned voice— “havena your father at the fit o’ the gallows.” I been telling ye sae this half-hour? And if ye are deaf, “She has you there, George,” said the assistants, and what needs ye sit cockit up there, and keep folk there was a general laugh; for the wit was fitted for the scraughin’ t’ye this gate?” meridian of the place where it was uttered. This general “She wants her daughter, sir,” said the same officer applause somewhat gratified the passions of the old hag; whose interference had given the hag such offence be- the “grim feature” smiled and even laughed—but it was fore— “her daughter, who was taken up last night— a laugh of bitter scorn. She condescended, however, as Madge Wildfire, as they ca’ her.” if appeased by the success of her sally, to explain her “Madge Hellfire, as they ca’ her!” echoed the beldam business more distinctly, when the magistrate, com- “and what business has a blackguard like you to ca’ an manding silence, again desired her either to speak out honest woman’s bairn out o’ her ain name?” her errand, or to leave the place. “An honest woman’s bairn, Maggie?” answered the “Her bairn,” she said, “was her bairn, and she came peace-officer, smiling and shaking his head with an ironi- to fetch her out of ill haft and waur guiding. If she wasna cal emphasis on the adjective, and a calmness calculated sae wise as ither folk, few ither folk had suffered as to provoke to madness the furious old shrew. muckle as she had done; forby that she could fend the “If I am no honest now, I was honest ance,” she re- waur for hersell within the four wa’s of a jail. She could plied; “and that’s mair than ye can say, ye born and prove by fifty witnesses, and fifty to that, that her

236 Sir Walter Scott daughter had never seen Jock Porteous, alive or dead, ter had changed clothes with him, it must have been since he had gien her a laundering wi’ his cane, the neger during her absence at a hamlet about two miles out of that he was! for driving a dead cat at the provost’s wig town, called Duddingstone, where she could prove that on the Elector of Hanover’s birthday.” she passed that eventful night. And, in fact, one of the Notwithstanding the wretched appearance and vio- town-officers, who had been searching for stolen linen lent demeanour of this woman, the magistrate felt the at the cottage of a washer-woman in that village, gave justice of her argument, that her child might be as dear his evidence, that he had seen Maggie Murdockson there, to her as to a more fortunate and more amiable mother. whose presence had considerably increased his suspicion He proceeded to investigate the circumstances which had of the house in which she was a visitor, in respect that led to Madge Murdockson’s (or Wildfire’s) arrest, and as he considered her as a person of no good reputation. it was clearly shown that she had not been engaged in “I tauld ye sae,” said the hag; “see now what it is to the riot, he contented himself with directing that an hae a character, gude or bad!—Now, maybe, after a’, I eye should be kept upon her by the police, but that for could tell ye something about Porteous that you coun- the present she should be allowed to return home with cil-chamber bodies never could find out, for as muckle her mother. During the interval of fetching Madge from stir as ye mak.” the jail, the magistrate endeavoured to discover whether All eyes were turned towards her—all ears were alert. her mother had been privy to the change of dress be- “Speak out!” said the magistrate. twixt that young woman and Robertson. But on this “It will be for your ain gude,” insinuated the town- point he could obtain no light. She persisted in declar- clerk. ing, that she had never seen Robertson since his remark- “Dinna keep the Bailie waiting,” urged the assistants. able escape during service-time; and that, if her daugh- She remained doggedly silent for two or three min-

237 The Heart of Mid-Lothian utes, casting around a malignant and sulky glance, that limmer!” she exclaimed, pushing her daughter before her seemed to enjoy the anxious suspense with which they to the door, with no gentle degree of violence. “I’se tell waited her answer. And then she broke forth at once,— thee what thou is now—thou’s a crazed hellicat Bess o’ “A’ that I ken about him is, that he was neither soldier Bedlam, that sall taste naething but bread and water for nor gentleman, but just a thief and a blackguard, like a fortnight, to serve ye for the plague ye hae gien me— maist o’ yoursells, dears—What will ye gie me for that and ower gude for ye, ye idle taupie!” news, now?—He wad hae served the gude town lang or Madge, however, escaped from her mother at the door, provost or bailie wad hae fund that out, my jo!” ran back to the foot of the table, dropped a very low While these matters were in discussion, Madge Wild- and fantastic courtesy to the judge, and said, with a fire entered, and her first exclamation was, “Eh! see if giggling laugh,— “Our minnie’s sair mis-set, after her there isna our auld ne’er-do-weel deevil’s-buckie o’ a ordinar, sir—She’ll hae had some quarrel wi’ her auld mither—Hegh, sirs! but we are a hopeful family, to be gudeman—that’s Satan, ye ken, sirs.” This explanatory twa o’ us in the Guard at ance—But there were better note she gave in a low confidential tone, and the specta- days wi’ us ance—were there na, mither?” tors of that credulous generation did not hear it with- Old Maggie’s eyes had glistened with something like an out an involuntary shudder. “The gudeman and her expression of pleasure when she saw her daughter set at disna aye gree weel, and then I maun pay the piper; but liberty. But either her natural affection, like that of the my back’s broad eneugh to bear’t a’—an’ if she hae nae tigress, could not be displayed without a strain of feroc- havings, that’s nae reason why wiser folk shouldna hae ity, or there was something in the ideas which Madge’s some.” Here another deep courtesy, when the ungra- speech awakened, that again stirred her cross and savage cious voice of her mother was heard. temper. “What signifies what we, were, ye street-raking “Madge, ye limmer! If I come to fetch ye!”

238 Sir Walter Scott “Hear till her,” said Madge. “But I’ll wun out a gliff Some weeks intervened before Mr. Middleburgh, agree- the night for a’ that, to dance in the moonlight, when ably to his benevolent resolution, found an opportunity her and the gudeman will be whirrying through the blue of taking a walk towards St. Leonard’s, in order to dis- lift on a broom-shank, to see Jean Jap, that they hae cover whether it might be possible to obtain the evi- putten intill the Kirkcaldy Tolbooth—ay, they will hae dence hinted at in the anonymous letter respecting Effie a merry sail ower Inchkeith, and ower a’ the bits o’ bonny Deans. waves that are poppling and plashing against the rocks In fact, the anxious perquisitions made to discover the in the gowden glimmer o’ the moon, ye ken.—I’m com- murderers of Porteous occupied the attention of all con- ing, mother—I’m coming,” she concluded, on hearing a cerned with the administration of justice. scuffle at the door betwixt the beldam and the officers, In the course of these inquiries, two circumstances who were endeavouring to prevent her re-entrance. happened material to our story. Butler, after a close in- Madge then waved her hand wildly towards the ceiling, vestigation of his conduct, was declared innocent of ac- and sung, at the topmost pitch of her voice, cession to the death of Porteous; but, as having been present during the whole transaction, was obliged to find “Up in the air, bail not to quit his usual residence at Liberton, that he On my bonny grey mare, might appear as a witness when called upon. The other And I see, and I see, and I see her yet;” incident regarded the disappearance of Madge Wildfire and her mother from Edinburgh. When they were and with a hop, skip, and jump, sprung out of the room, sought, with the purpose of subjecting them to some as the witches of Macbeth used, in less refined days, to farther interrogatories, it was discovered by Mr. seem to fly upwards from the stage. Sharpitlaw that they had eluded the observation of the

239 The Heart of Mid-Lothian police, and left the city so soon as dismissed from the judicature, and for the second, incapable of holding any council-chamber. No efforts could trace the place of their ecclesiastical preferment in Scotland. retreat. This last order united in a common cause those who In the meanwhile the excessive indignation of the might privately rejoice in Porteous’s death, though they Council of Regency, at the slight put upon their author- dared not vindicate the manner of it, with the more scru- ity by the murder of Porteous, had dictated measures, pulous Presbyterians, who held that even the pronounc- in which their own extreme desire of detecting the ac- ing the name of the “Lords Spiritual” in a Scottish pul- tors in that conspiracy were consulted in preference to pit was, quodammodo, an acknowledgment of prelacy, and the temper of the people and the character of their that the injunction of the legislature was an interference churchmen. An act of Parliament was hastily passed, of the civil government with the jus divinum of offering two hundred pounds reward to those who should Presbytery, since to the General Assembly alone, as rep- inform against any person concerned in the deed, and resenting the invisible head of the kirk, belonged the sole the penalty of death, by a very unusual and severe en- and exclusive right of regulating whatever pertained to actment, was denounced against those who should public worship. Very many also, of different political or harbour the guilty. But what was chiefly accounted ex- religious sentiments, and therefore not much moved by ceptionable, was a clause, appointing the act to be read these considerations, thought they saw, in so violent an in churches by the officiating clergyman, on the first act of parliament, a more vindictive spirit than became Sunday of every month, for a certain period, immedi- the legislature of a great country, and something like an ately before the sermon. The ministers who should refuse attempt to trample upon the rights and independence of to comply with this injunction were declared, for the Scotland. The various steps adopted for punishing the first offence, incapable of sitting or voting in any church city of Edinburgh, by taking away her charter and liber-

240 Sir Walter Scott ties, for what a violent and overmastering mob had done The excursion into the country was somewhat distant, within her walls, were resented by many, who thought a in the opinion of a burgess of those days, although many pretext was too hastily taken for degrading the ancient of the present inhabit suburban villas considerably be- metropolis of Scotland. In short, there was much heart- yond the spot to which we allude. Three-quarters of an burning, discontent, and disaffection, occasioned by these hour’s walk, however, even at a pace of magisterial grav- ill-considered measures.* ity, conducted our benevolent office-bearer to the Crags Amidst these heats and dissensions, the trial of Effie of St. Leonard’s, and the humble mansion of David Deans, after she had been many weeks imprisoned, was Deans. at length about to be brought forward, and Mr. The old man was seated on the deas, or turf-seat, at Middleburgh found leisure to inquire into the evidence the end of his cottage, busied in mending his cart-har- concerning her. For this purpose, he chose a fine day for ness with his own hands; for in those days any sort of his walk towards her father’s house. labour which required a little more skill than usual fell to the share of the goodman himself, and that even when * The magistrates were closely interrogated before the House he was well to pass in the world. With stern and austere of Peers, concerning the particulars of the Porteous Mob, and the patois in which these functionaries made their an- gravity he persevered in his task, after having just raised swers, sounded strange in the ears of the Southern nobles. his head to notice the advance of the stranger. It would The Duke of Newcastle having demanded to know with what have been impossible to have discovered, from his coun- kind of shot the guard which Porteous commanded had loaded their muskets, was answered, naively, “Ow, just sic as tenance and manner, the internal feelings of agony with ane shoots dukes and fools with.” This reply was considered which he contended. Mr. Middleburgh waited an instant, as a contempt of the House of Lords, and the Provost would expecting Deans would in some measure acknowledge have suffered accordingly, but that the Duke of Argyle explained, that the expression, properly rendered into English, his presence, and lead into conversation; but, as he meant ducks and waterfowls. 241 The Heart of Mid-Lothian seemed determined to remain silent, he was himself auld worthy faithfu’ Provost Dick,* when there was a obliged to speak first. true and faithfu’ General Assembly of the Kirk, walk- “My name is Middleburgh—Mr. James Middleburgh, ing hand in hand with the real noble Scottish-hearted one of the present magistrates of the city of barons, and with the magistrates of this and other Edinburgh.” towns, gentles, burgesses, and commons of all ranks, “It may be sae,” answered Deans laconically, and with- seeing with one eye, hearing with one ear, and uphold- out interrupting his labour. ing the ark with their united strength—And then folk “You must understand,” he continued, “that the duty might see men deliver up their silver to the state’s use, of a magistrate is sometimes an unpleasant one.” as if it had been as muckle sclate stanes. My father saw “It may be sae,” replied David; “I hae naething to say them toom the sacks of dollars out o’ Provost Dick’s in the contrair;” and he was again doggedly silent. window intill the carts that carried them to the army at “You must be aware,” pursued the magistrate, “that Dunse Law; and if ye winna believe his testimony, there persons in my situation are often obliged to make pain- is the window itsell still standing in the Luckenbooths— ful and disagreeable inquiries of individuals, merely I think it’s a claith-merchant’s booth the day**—at the because it is their bounden duty.” airn stanchells, five doors abune Gossford’s Close. “It may be sae,” again replied Deans; “I hae naething —But now we haena sic spirit amang us; we think to say anent it, either the tae way or the t’other. But I mair about the warst wallydraigle in our ain byre, than do ken there was ance in a day a just and God-fearing about the blessing which the angel of the covenant gave magistracy in yon town o’ Edinburgh, that did not bear to the Patriarch even at Peniel and Mahanaim, or the the sword in vain, but were a terror to evil-doers, and a * Note M. Sir William Dick of Braid. praise to such as kept the path. In the glorious days of ** I think so too—But if the reader be curious, he may consult Mr. Chambers’s Traditions of Edinburgh. 242 Sir Walter Scott binding obligation of our national vows; and we wad suddenly galled; but instantly composed himself, re- rather gie a pund Scots to buy an unguent to clear out sumed the work which, in the heat of his declamation, auld rannell-trees and our beds o’ the English bugs as he had laid down, and answered with sullen resolution, they ca’ them, than we wad gie a plack to rid the land “Ae daughter, sir—only ane.” of the swarm of Arminian caterpillars, Socinian “I understand you,” said Mr. Middleburgh; “you have pismires, and deistical Miss Katies, that have ascended only one daughter here at home with you—but this un- out of the bottomless pit, to plague this perverse, in- fortunate girl who is a prisoner—she is, I think, your sidious, and lukewarm generation.” youngest daughter?” It happened to Davie Deans on this occasion, as it has The Presbyterian sternly raised his eyes. “After the done to many other habitual orators; when once he be- world, and according to the flesh, she is my daughter; came embarked on his favourite subject, the stream of but when she became a child of Belial, and a company- his own enthusiasm carried him forward in spite of his keeper, and a trader in guilt and iniquity, she ceased to mental distress, while his well-exercised memory sup- be a bairn of mine.” plied him amply with all the types and tropes of rheto- “Alas, Mr. Deans,” said Middleburgh, sitting down by ric peculiar to his sect and cause. him, and endeavouring to take his hand, which the old Mr. Middleburgh contented himself with answering— man proudly withdrew, “we are ourselves all sinners; and ”All this may be very true, my friend; but, as you said the errors of our offspring, as they ought not to sur- just now, I have nothing to say to it at present, either prise us, being the portion which they derive of a com- one way or other.—You have two daughters, I think, mon portion of corruption inherited through us, so they Mr. Deans?” do not entitle us to cast them off because they have lost The old man winced, as one whose smarting sore is themselves.”

243 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “Sir,” said Deans impatiently, “I ken a’ that as weel hearers, gude and waled Christians they were too, that as—I mean to say,” he resumed, checking the irritation some o’ them wad greet mair for a bit drowned calf or he felt at being schooled—a discipline of the mind which stirk than for a’ the defections and oppressions of the those most ready to bestow it on others do themselves day; and that they were some o’ them thinking o’ ae most reluctantly submit to receive— “I mean to say, thing, some o’ anither, and there was Lady Hundleslope that what ye o serve may be just and reasonable—But I thinking o’ greeting Jock at the fireside! And the lady hae nae freedom to enter into my ain private affairs wi’ confessed in my hearing that a drow of anxiety had come strangers—And now, in this great national emergency, ower her for her son that she had left at hame weak of a When there’s the Porteous’ Act has come doun frae Lon- decay*—And what wad he hae said of me if I had ceased don, that is a deeper blow to this poor sinfu’ kingdom to think of the gude cause for a castaway—a—It kills and suffering kirk than ony that has been heard of since me to think of what she is!” the foul and fatal Test—at a time like this—” “But the life of your child, goodman—think of that— “But, goodman,” interrupted Mr. Middleburgh, “you if her life could be saved,” said Middleburgh. must think of your own household first, or else you are “Her life!” exclaimed David— “I wadna gie ane o’ my worse even than the infidels.” grey hairs for her life, if her gude name be gane—And “I tell ye, Bailie Middleburgh,” retorted David Deans, yet,” said he, relenting and retracting as he spoke, “I “if ye be a bailie, as there is little honour in being ane in wad make the niffer, Mr. Middleburgh—I wad gie a’ these evil days—I tell ye, I heard the gracious Saunders these grey hairs that she has brought to shame and sor- Peden—I wotna whan it was; but it was in killing time, row—I wad gie the auld head they grow on for her life, when the plowers were drawing alang their furrows on and that she might hae time to amend and return, for the back of the Kirk of Scotland—I heard him tell his * See Life of Peden, p. 14. 244 Sir Walter Scott what hae the wicked beyond the breath of their the follower of any one, “ye take me up before I fall nosthrils?—but I’ll never see her mair—No!—that— down. I canna see why I suld be termed a Cameronian, that I am determined in—I’ll never see her mair!” His especially now that ye hae given the name of that fa- lips continued to move for a minute after his voice ceased mous and savoury sufferer, not only until a regimental to be heard, as if he were repeating the same vow inter- band of souldiers, [H. M. 26th Foot] whereof I am told nally. many can now curse, swear, and use profane language, “Well, sir,” said Mr. Middleburgh, “I speak to you as a as fast as ever Richard Cameron could preach or pray, man of sense; if you would save your daughter’s life, but also because ye have, in as far as it is in your power, you must use human means.” rendered that martyr’s name vain and contemptible, by “I understand what you mean; but Mr. Novit, who is pipes, drums, and fifes, playing the vain carnal spring the procurator and doer of an honourable person, the called the Cameronian Rant, which too many profes- Laird of Dumbiedikes, is to do what carnal wisdom can sors of religion dance to—a practice maist unbecoming do for her in the circumstances. Mysell am not clear to a professor to dance to any tune whatsoever, more espe- trinquet and traffic wi’ courts o’ justice as they are now cially promiscuously, that is, with the female sex.* A constituted; I have a tenderness and scruple in my mind brutish fashion it is, whilk is the beginning of defection anent them.” with many, as I may hae as muckle cause as maist folk “That is to say,” said Middleburgh, “that you are a to testify.” Cameronian, and do not acknowledge the authority of “Well, but, Mr. Deans,” replied Mr. Middleburgh, “I our courts of judicature, or present government?” only meant to say that you were a Cameronian, or “Sir, under your favour,” replied David, who was too MacMillanite, one of the society people, in short, who proud of his own polemical knowledge to call himself * See Note F. Peter Walker. 245 The Heart of Mid-Lothian think it inconsistent to take oaths under a government a hill, where wind and water shears, avoiding right-hand where the Covenant is not ratified.” snares and extremes, and left-hand way-slidings, as weel “Sir,” replied the controversialist, who forgot even his as Johnny Dodds of Farthing’s Acre, and ae man mair present distress in such discussions as these, “you can- that shall be nameless.” not fickle me sae easily as you do opine. I am not a “I suppose,” replied the magistrate, “that is as much MacMillanite, or a Russelite, or a Hamiltonian, or a as to say, that Johnny Dodds of Farthing’s Acre, and Harleyite, or a Howdenite*—I will be led by the nose David Deans of St. Leonard’s, constitute the only mem- by none—I take my name as a Christian from no vessel bers of the true, real, unsophisticated Kirk of Scotland?” of clay. I have my own principles and practice to answer “God forbid that I suld make sic a vain-glorious speech, for, and am an humble pleader for the gude auld cause when there are sae mony professing Christians!” an- in a legal way.” swered David; “but this I maun say, that all men act “That is to say, Mr. Deans,” said Middleburgh, “that according to their gifts and their grace, ‘sae that it is you are a Deanite, and have opinions peculiar to your- nae marvel that—” self.” “This is all very fine,” interrupted Mr. Middleburgh; “It may please you to say sae,” said David Deans; “but “but I have no time to spend in hearing it. The matter I have maintained my testimony before as great folk, in hand is this—I have directed a citation to be lodged and in sharper times; and though I will neither exalt in your daughter’s hands—If she appears on the day of myself nor pull down others, I wish every man and trial and gives evidence, there is reason to hope she may woman in this land had kept the true testimony, and save her sister’s life—if, from any constrained scruples the middle and straight path, as it were, on the ridge of about the legality of her performing the office of an affectionate sister and a good subject, by appearing in a * All various species of the great genus Cameronian. 246 Sir Walter Scott court held under the authority of the law and govern- doctrine, and assuming the sounding title of “The anti- ment, you become the means of deterring her from the Popish, anti-Prelatic, anti-Erastian, anti-Sectarian, true discharge of this duty, I must say, though the truth may Presbyterian remnant,” were divided into many petty sound harsh in your ears, that you, who gave life to this sects among themselves, even as to the extent of sub- unhappy girl, will become the means of her losing it by mission to the existing laws and rulers, which consti- a premature and violent death.” tuted such an acknowledgment as amounted to sin. So saying, Mr. Middleburgh turned to leave him. At a very stormy and tumultuous meeting, held in “Bide awee—bide awee, Mr. Middleburgh,” said 1682, to discuss these important and delicate points, the Deans, in great perplexity and distress of mind; but the testimonies of the faithful few were found utterly in- Bailie, who was probably sensible that protracted dis- consistent with each other.* cussion might diminish the effect of his best and most The place where this conference took place was remark- forcible argument, took a hasty leave, and declined en- ably well adapted for such an assembly. It was a wild tering farther into the controversy. and very sequestered dell in Tweeddale, surrounded by Deans sunk down upon his seat, stunned with a vari- high hills, and far remote from human habitation. A ety of conflicting emotions. It had been a great source * This remarkable convocation took place upon 15th June of controversy among those holding his opinions in reli- 1682, and an account of its confused and divisive proceed- gious matters how far the government which succeeded ings may be found in Michael Shield’s Faithful Contendings Displayed (first printed at Glasgow, 1780, p. 21). It affords a the Revolution could be, without sin, acknowledged by singular and melancholy example how much a metaphysical true Presbyterians, seeing that it did not recognise the and polemical spirit had crept in amongst these unhappy great national testimony of the Solemn League and sufferers, since amid so many real injuries which they had to sustain, they were disposed to add disagreement and disunion Covenant? And latterly, those agreeing in this general concerning the character and extent of such as were only imaginary. 247 The Heart of Mid-Lothian small river, or rather a mountain torrent, called the Talla, and militia, there was a fierce controversy on the law- breaks down the glen with great fury, dashing succes- fulness of paying the duties levied at ports and bridges, sively over a number of small cascades, which has pro- for maintaining roads and other necessary purposes; that cured the spot the name of Talla Linns. Here the lead- there were some who, repugnant to these imposts for ers among the scattered adherents to the Covenant, men turnpikes and pontages, were nevertheless free in con- who, in their banishment from human society, and in science to make payment of the usual freight at public the recollection of the seventies to which they had been ferries, and that a person of exceeding and punctilious exposed, had become at once sullen in their tempers, zeal, James Russel, one of the slayers of the Archbishop and fantastic in their religious opinions, met with arms of St. Andrews, had given his testimony with great in their hands, and by the side of the torrent discussed, warmth even against this last faint shade of subjection with a turbulence which the noise of the stream could to constituted authority. This ardent and enlightened not drown, points of controversy as empty and unsub- person and his followers had also great scruples about stantial as its foam. the lawfulness of bestowing the ordinary names upon It was the fixed judgment of most of the meeting, the days of the week and the months of the year, which that all payment of cess or tribute to the existing gov- savoured in their nostrils so strongly of paganism, that ernment was utterly unlawful, and a sacrificing to idols. at length they arrived at the conclusion that they who About other impositions and degrees of submission there owned such names as Monday, Tuesday, January, Feb- were various opinions; and perhaps it is the best illus- ruary, and so forth, “served themselves heirs to the same, tration of the spirit of those military fathers of the if not greater punishment, than had been denounced church to say, that while all allowed it was impious to against the idolaters of old.” pay the cess employed for maintaining the standing army David Deans had been present on this memorable oc-

248 Sir Walter Scott casion, although too young to be a speaker among the times, and not falling under the modern model of the polemical combatants. His brain, however, had been church. The reign of Queen Anne had increased his con- thoroughly heated by the noise, clamour, and metaphysi- viction, that the Revolution government was not one cal ingenuity of the discussion, and it was a controversy of the true Presbyterian complexion. But then, more to which his mind had often returned; and though he sensible than the bigots of his sect, he did not confound carefully disguised his vacillation from others, and, per- the moderation and tolerance of these two reigns with haps from himself, he had never been able to come to the active tyranny and oppression exercised in those of any precise line of decision on the subject. In fact, his Charles II. and James II. The Presbyterian form of re- natural sense had acted as a counterpoise to his contro- ligion, though deprived of the weight formerly attached versial zeal. He was by no means pleased with the quiet to its sentences of excommunication, and compelled to and indifferent manner in which King William’s gov- tolerate the coexistence of Episcopacy, and of sects of ernment slurred over the errors of the times, when, far various descriptions, was still the National Church; and from restoring the Presbyterian kirk to its former su- though the glory of the second temple was far inferior premacy, they passed an act of oblivion even to those to that which had flourished from 1639 till the battle of who had been its persecutors, and bestowed on many of Dunbar, still it was a structure that, wanting the them titles, favours, and employments. When, in the strength and the terrors, retained at least the form and first General Assembly which succeeded the Revolution, symmetry, of the original model. Then came the insur- an overture was made for the revival of the League and rection in 1715, and David Deans’s horror for the re- Covenant, it was with horror that Douce David heard vival of the Popish and prelatical faction reconciled him the proposal eluded by the men of carnal wit and policy, greatly to the government of King George, although he as he called them, as being inapplicable to the present grieved that that monarch might be suspected of a lean-

249 The Heart of Mid-Lothian ing unto Erastianism. In short, moved by so many dif- cause he hath had more freedom in his walk than I have ferent considerations, he had shifted his ground at dif- found in mine? I never was a separatist, nor for quarrel- ferent times concerning the degree of freedom which he ling with tender souls about mint, cummin, or other the felt in adopting any act of immediate acknowledgment lesser tithes. My daughter Jean may have a light in this or submission to the present government, which, how- subject that is hid frae my auld een—it is laid on her ever mild and paternal, was still uncovenanted, and now conscience, and not on mine—If she hath freedom to he felt himself called upon, by the most powerful mo- gang before this judicatory, and hold up her hand for tive conceivable, to authorise his daughter’s giving tes- this poor castaway, surely I will not say she steppeth timony in a court of justice, which all who have been over her bounds; and if not”—He paused in his mental since called Cameronians accounted a step of lamen- argument, while a pang of unutterable anguish con- table and direct defection. The voice of nature, how- vulsed his features, yet, shaking it off, he firmly resumed ever, exclaimed loud in his bosom against the dictates the strain of his reasoning— “And if not—God forbid of fanaticism; and his imagination, fertile in the solu- that she should go into defection at bidding of mine! I tion of polemical difficulties, devised an expedient for wunna fret the tender conscience of one bairn—no, not extricating himself from the fearful dilemma, in which to save the life of the other.” he saw, on the one side, a falling off from principle, and, A Roman would have devoted his daughter to death on the other, a scene from which a father’s thoughts from different feelings and motives, but not upon a more could not but turn in shuddering horror. heroic principle of duty. “I have been constant and unchanged in my testimony,” said David Deans; “but then who has said it of me, that I have judged my neighbour over closely, be-

250 Sir Walter Scott rested involuntarily, on entering the room, upon this little couch, with its dark-green coarse curtains, and the CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH ideas connected with it rose so thick upon his soul as almost to incapacitate him from opening his errand to his daughter. Her occupation broke the ice. He found To man, in this his trial state, her gazing on a slip of paper, which contained a citation The privilege is given, When tost by tides of human fate, to her to appear as a witness upon her sister’s trial in To anchor fast on heaven. behalf of the accused. For the worthy magistrate, determined to omit no chance of doing Effie justice, and Watts’s Hymns. to leave her sister no apology for not giving the evidence which she was supposed to possess, had caused the ordinary citation, or subpoena, of the Scottish criminal court, IT WAS WITH a firm step that Deans sought his daughter’s to be served upon her by an officer during his confer- apartment, determined to leave her to the light of her ence with David. own conscience in the dubious point of casuistry in This precaution was so far favourable to Deans, that it which he supposed her to be placed. saved him the pain of entering upon a formal explana- The little room had been the sleeping apartment of tion with his daughter; he only said, with a hollow and both sisters, and there still stood there a small occasional tremulous voice, “I perceive ye are aware of the matter.” bed which had been made for Effie’s accommodation, “O father, we are cruelly sted between God’s laws and when, complaining of illness, she had declined to share, man’s laws—What shall we do?—What can we do?” as in happier times, her sister’s pillow. The eyes of Deans Jeanie, it must be observed, had no hesitation what-

251 The Heart of Mid-Lothian ever about the mere act of appearing in a court of jus- “Daughter,” said David, “it has ever been my mind, tice. She might have heard the point discussed by her that in things of ane doubtful and controversial nature, father more than once; but we have already noticed that ilk Christian’s conscience suld be his ain guide—Where- she was accustomed to listen with reverence to much fore descend into yourself, try your ain mind with suffi- which she was incapable of understanding, and that ciency of soul exercise, and as you sall finally find your- subtle arguments of casuistry found her a patient, but self clear to do in this matter—even so be it.” unedified hearer. Upon receiving the citation, therefore, “But, father,” said Jeanie, whose mind revolted at the her thoughts did not turn upon the chimerical scruples construction which she naturally put upon his language, which alarmed her father’s mind, but to the language “can this-this be a doubtful or controversial matter?— which had been held to her by the stranger at Muschat’s Mind, father, the ninth command— ‘Thou shalt not bear Cairn. In a word, she never doubted but she was to be false witness against thy neighbour.’” dragged forward into the court of justice, in order to David Deans paused; for, still applying her speech to place her in the cruel position of either sacrificing her his preconceived difficulties, it seemed to him as if she, sister by telling the truth, or committing perjury in or- a woman, and a sister, was scarce entitled to be scrupu- der to save her life. And so strongly did her thoughts lous upon this occasion, where he, a man, exercised in run in this channel, that she applied her father’s words, the testimonies of that testifying period, had given in- “Ye are aware of the matter,” to his acquaintance with direct countenance to her following what must have been the advice that had been so fearfully enforced upon her. the natural dictates of her own feelings. But he kept She looked up with anxious surprise, not unmingled with firm his purpose, until his eyes involuntarily rested upon a cast of horror, which his next words, as she interpreted the little settle-bed, and recalled the form of the child and applied them, were not qualified to remove. of his old age, as she sate upon it, pale, emaciated, and

252 Sir Walter Scott broken-hearted. His mind, as the picture arose before way for her falling off from strictness of principle. He, him, involuntarily conceived, and his tongue involun- therefore, suddenly stopped, and changed his tone:— tarily uttered—but in a tone how different from his usual ”Jeanie, I perceive that our vile affections,—so I call dogmatical precision!—arguments for the course of con- them in respect of doing the will of our Father,—cling duct likely to ensure his child’s safety. too heavily to me in this hour of trying sorrow, to per- “Daughter,” he said, “I did not say that your path was mit me to keep sight of my ain duty, or to airt you to free from stumbling—and, questionless, this act may be yours. I will speak nae mair anent this overtrying mat- in the opinion of some a transgression, since he who ter—Jeanie, if ye can, wi’ God and gude conscience, beareth witness unlawfully, and against his conscience, speak in favour of this puir unhappy”—(here his voice doth in some sort bear false witness against his neighbour. faltered)— “She is your sister in the flesh—worthless Yet in matters of compliance, the guilt lieth not in the and castaway as she is, she is the daughter of a saint in compliance sae muckle, as in the mind and conscience of heaven, that was a mother to you, Jeanie, in place of him that doth comply; and, therefore, although my testi- your ain—but if ye arena free in conscience to speak for mony hath not been spared upon public defections, I her in the court of judicature, follow your conscience, haena felt freedom to separate mysell from the commun- Jeanie, and let God’s will be done.” After this adjura- ion of many who have been clear to hear those ministers tion he left the apartment, and his daughter remained who have taken the fatal indulgence because they might in a state of great distress and perplexity. get good of them, though I could not.” It would have been no small addition to the sorrows When David had proceeded thus far, his conscience of David Deans, even in this extremity of suffering, had reproved him, that he might be indirectly undermining he known that his daughter was applying the casuisti- the purity of his daughter’s faith, and smoothing the cal arguments which he had been using, not in the sense

253 The Heart of Mid-Lothian of a permission to follow her own opinion on a dubious to her father, lest she should draw forth an opinion with and disputed point of controversy, but rather as an en- which she could not comply,—wrung with distress on couragement to transgress one of those divine command- her sister’s account, rendered the more acute by reflect- ments which Christians of all sects and denominations ing that the means of saving her were in her power, but unite in holding most sacred. were such as her conscience prohibited her from using,— “Can this be?” said Jeanie, as the door closed on her tossed, in short, like a vessel in an open roadstead dur- father— “Can these be his words that I have heard, or ing a storm, and, like that vessel, resting on one only has the Enemy taken his voice and features to give sure cable and anchor,—faith in Providence, and a reso- weight unto the counsel which causeth to perish?—a lution to discharge her duty. sister’s life, and a father pointing out how to save it!—O Butler’s affection and strong sense of religion would God, deliver me!—this is a fearfu’ temptation.” have been her principal support in these distressing cir- Roaming from thought to thought, she at one time cumstances, but he was still under restraint, which did imagined her father understood the ninth command- not permit him to come to St. Leonard’s Crags; and her ment literally, as prohibiting false witness against our distresses were of a nature, which, with her indifferent neighbour, without extending the denunciation against habits of scholarship, she found it impossible to express falsehood uttered in favour of the criminal. But her clear in writing. She was therefore compelled to trust for guid- and unsophisticated power of discriminating between ance to her own unassisted sense of what was right or good and evil, instantly rejected an interpretation so wrong. It was not the least of Jeanie’s distresses, that, limited, and so unworthy of the Author of the law. She although she hoped and believed her sister to be inno- remained in a state of the most agitating terror and cent, she had not the means of receiving that assurance uncertainty—afraid to communicate her thoughts freely from her own mouth.

254 Sir Walter Scott The double-dealing of Ratcliffe in the matter of rate, they might, from the one or the other, extract some Robertson had not prevented his being rewarded, as information respecting that fugitive. On this subject double-dealers frequently have been, with favour and Jeanie had nothing to tell them. She informed Mr. preferment. Sharpitlaw, who found in him something Middleburgh, that she knew nothing of Robertson, ex- of a kindred genius, had been intercessor in his behalf cept having met him that night by appointment to give with the magistrates, and the circumstance of his hav- her some advice respecting her sister’s concern, the pur- ing voluntarily remained in the prison, when the doors port of which, she said, was betwixt God and her con- were forced by the mob, would have made it a hard mea- science. Of his motions, purposes, or plans, past, present, sure to take the life which he had such easy means of or future, she knew nothing, and so had nothing to com- saving. He received a full pardon; and soon afterwards, municate. James Ratcliffe, the greatest thief and housebreaker in Effie was equally silent, though from a different cause. Scotland, was, upon the faith, perhaps, of an ancient It was in vain that they offered a commutation and al- proverb, selected as a person to be entrusted with the leviation of her punishment, and even a free pardon, if custody of other delinquents. she would confess what she knew of her lover. She an- When Ratcliffe was thus placed in a confidential situ- swered only with tears; unless, when at times driven into ation, he was repeatedly applied to by the sapient pettish sulkiness by the persecution of the interroga- Saddletree and others, who took some interest in the tors, she made them abrupt and disrespectful answers. Deans family, to procure an interview between the sis- At length, after her trial had been delayed for many ters; but the magistrates, who were extremely anxious weeks, in hopes she might be induced to speak out on a for the apprehension of Robertson, had given strict or- subject infinitely more interesting to the magistracy ders to the contrary, hoping that, by keeping them sepa- than her own guilt or innocence, their patience was worn

255 The Heart of Mid-Lothian out, and even Mr. Middleburgh finding no ear lent to farther intercession in her behalf, the day was fixed for the trial to proceed. CHAPTER NINETEENTH It was now, and not sooner, that Sharpitlaw, recollecting his promise to Effie Deans, or rather being dinned into compliance by the unceasing remonstrances of Mrs. Sweet sister, let me live! What sin you do to save a brother’s life, Saddletree, who was his next-door neighbour, and who Nature dispenses with the deed so far, declared it was heathen cruelty to keep the twa broken- That it becomes a virtue. hearted creatures separate, issued the important man- date, permitting them to see each other. Measure for Measure. On the evening which preceded the eventful day of trial, Jeanie was permitted to see her sister—an awful interview, and occurring at a most distressing crisis. This, JEANIE DEANS WAS admitted into the jail by Ratcliffe. however, formed a part of the bitter cup which she was This fellow, as void of shame as of honesty, as he opened doomed to drink, to atone for crimes and follies to which the now trebly secured door, asked her, with a leer which she had no accession; and at twelve o’clock noon, being made her shudder, “whether she remembered him?” the time appointed for admission to the jail, she went to A half-pronounced and timid “No,” was her answer. meet, for the first time for several months, her guilty, “What! not remember moonlight, and Muschat’s erring, and most miserable sister, in that abode of guilt, Cairn, and Rob and Rat?” said he, with the same error, and utter misery. sneer;— “Your memory needs redding up, my jo.” If Jeanie’s distresses had admitted of aggravation, it

256 Sir Walter Scott must have been to find her sister under the charge of speak o’ breaking the Tolbooth, deil a word will I tell such a profligate as this man. He was not, indeed, with- ower, either to do ye good or ill.” out something of good to balance so much that was evil Thus saying, Ratcliffe marshalled her the way to the in his character and habits. In his misdemeanours he apartment where Effie was confined. had never been bloodthirsty or cruel; and in his present Shame, fear, and grief, had contended for mastery in occupation, he had shown himself, in a certain degree, the poor prisoner’s bosom during the whole morning, accessible to touches of humanity. But these good quali- while she had looked forward to this meeting; but when ties were unknown to Jeanie, who, remembering the the door opened, all gave way to a confused and strange scene at Muschat’s Cairn, could scarce find voice to ac- feeling that had a tinge of joy in it, as, throwing herself quaint him, that she had an order from Bailie on her sister’s neck, she ejaculated, “My dear Jeanie!— Middleburgh, permitting her to see her sister. my dear Jeanie! it’s lang since I hae seen ye.” Jeanie “I ken that fa’ weel, my bonny doo; mair by token, I returned the embrace with an earnestness that partook have a special charge to stay in the ward with you a’ the almost of rapture, but it was only a flitting emotion, time ye are thegither.” like a sunbeam unexpectedly penetrating betwixt the “Must that be sae?” asked Jeanie, with an imploring clouds of a tempest, and obscured almost as soon as voice. visible. The sisters walked together to the side of the “Hout, ay, hinny,” replied the turnkey; “and what the pallet bed, and sate down side by side, took hold of each waur will you and your tittie be of Jim Ratcliffe hear- other’s hands, and looked each other in the face, but ing what ye hae to say to ilk other?—Deil a word ye’ll without speaking a word. In this posture they remained say that will gar him ken your kittle sex better than he for a minute, while the gleam of joy gradually faded kens them already; and another thing is, that if ye dinna from their features, and gave way to the most intense

257 The Heart of Mid-Lothian expression, first of melancholy, and then of agony, till, warld!—O, that I were lying dead at my mother’s side, throwing themselves again into each other’s arms, they, in Newbattle kirkyard!” to use the language of Scripture, lifted up their voices, “Hout, lassie,” said Ratcliffe, willing to show the in- and wept bitterly. terest which he absolutely felt, “dinna be sae dooms Even the hardhearted turnkey, who had spent his life doon-hearted as a’ that; there’s mony a tod hunted that’s in scenes calculated to stifle both conscience and feel- no killed. Advocate Langtale has brought folk through ing, could not witness this scene without a touch of waur snappers than a’ this, and there’s no a cleverer human sympathy. It was shown in a trifling action, but agent than Nichil Novit e’er drew a bill of suspension. which had more delicacy in it than seemed to belong to Hanged or unhanged, they are weel aff has sic an agent Ratcliffe’s character and station. The unglazed window and counsel; ane’s sure o’ fair play. Ye are a bonny lass, of the miserable chamber was open, and the beams of a too, an ye wad busk up your cockernony a bit; and a bright sun fell right upon the bed where the sufferers bonny lass will find favour wi’ judge and jury, when they were seated. With a gentleness that had something of would strap up a grewsome carle like me for the fifteenth reverence in it, Ratcliffe partly closed the shutter, and part of a flea’s hide and tallow, d—n them.” seemed thus to throw a veil over a scene so sorrowful. To this homely strain of consolation the mourners re- “Ye are ill, Effie,” were the first words Jeanie could turned no answer; indeed, they were so much lost in their utter; “ye are very ill.” own sorrows as to have become insensible of Ratcliffe’s “O, what wad I gie to be ten times waur, Jeanie!” was presence. “O Effie,” said her elder sister, “how could you the reply— “what wad I gie to be cauld dead afore the conceal your situation from me? O woman, had I de- ten o’clock bell the morn! And our father—but I am his served this at your hand?—had ye spoke but ae word— bairn nae langer now—O, I hae nae friend left in the sorry we might hae been, and shamed we might hae been,

258 Sir Walter Scott but this awfu’ dispensation had never come ower us.” their feet. I little thought, when I was wae for the bit “And what gude wad that hae dune?” answered the silly green bush and its flowers, that I was to gang the prisoner. “Na, na, Jeanie, a’ was ower when ance I for- same gate mysell.” got what I promised when I faulded down the leaf of “O, if ye had spoken ae word,” again sobbed Jeanie,— my Bible. See,” she said, producing the sacred volume, “if I were free to swear that ye had said but ae word of “the book opens aye at the place o’ itsell. O see, Jeanie, how it stude wi’ ye, they couldna hae touched your life what a fearfu’ Scripture!” this day.” Jeanie took her sister’s Bible, and found that the fatal “Could they na?” said Effie, with something like awak- mark was made at this impressive text in the book of ened interest—for life is dear even to those who feel it is Job: “He hath stripped me of my glory, and taken the a burden— “Wha tauld ye that, Jeanie?” crown from my head. He hath destroyed me on every “It was ane that kend what he was saying weel side, and I am gone. And mine hope hath he removed eneugh,” replied Jeanie, who had a natural reluctance like a tree.” at mentioning even the name of her sister’s seducer. “Isna that ower true a doctrine?” said the prisoner “Wha was it?—I conjure you to tell me,” said Effie, “Isna my crown, my honour, removed? And what am I seating herself upright.— “Wha could tak interest in but a poor, wasted, wan-thriven tree, dug up by the roots, sic a cast-by as I am now?—Was it—was it him?” and flung out to waste in the highway, that man and “Hout,” said Ratcliffe, “what signifies keeping the beast may tread it under foot? I thought o’ the bonny poor lassie in a swither? I’se uphaud it’s been Robertson bit them that our father rooted out o’ the yard last May, that learned ye that doctrine when ye saw him at when it had a’ the flush o’ blossoms on it; and then it lay Muschat’s Cairn.” in the court till the beasts had trod them a’ to pieces wi’ “Was it him?” said Effie, catching eagerly at his

259 The Heart of Mid-Lothian words— “was it him, Jeanie, indeed?—O, I see it was good to me at this moment, tell me every word that he him—poor lad, and I was thinking his heart was as hard said, and whether he was sorry for poor Effie or no!” as the nether millstane—and him in sic danger on his “What needs I tell ye onything about it?” said Jeanie. ain part—poor George!” “Ye may be sure he had ower muckle to do to save himsell, Somewhat indignant at this burst of tender feeling to speak lang or muckle about ony body beside.” towards the author of her misery, Jeanie could not help exclaiming— “O Effie, how can ye speak that gate of sic a man as that?” “We maun forgie our enemies, ye ken,” said poor Effie, with a timid look and a subdued voice; for her conscience told her what a different character the feelings with which she regarded her seducer bore, compared with the Christian charity under which she attempted to veil it. “And ye hae suffered a’ this for him, and ye can think of loving him still?” said her sister, in a voice betwixt pity and blame. “Love him!” answered Effie— “If I hadna loved as “That’s no true, Jeanie, though a saunt had said it,” woman seldom loves, I hadna been within these wa’s replied Effie, with a sparkle of her former lively and this day; and trow ye, that love sic as mine is lightly irritable temper. “But ye dinna ken, though I do, how forgotten?—Na, na—ye may hew down the tree, but ye far he pat his life in venture to save mine.” And looking canna change its bend—And, O Jeanie, if ye wad do at Ratcliffe, she checked herself and was silent.

260 Sir Walter Scott “I fancy,” said Ratcliffe, with one of his familiar huzzy? Ye maun ask that of auld Meg Murdockson, if sneers, “the lassie thinks that naebody has een but ye dinna ken ower muckle about it yoursell.” hersell—Didna I see when Gentle Geordie was seeking As his answer destroyed the wild and vague hope which to get other folk out of the Tolbooth forby Jock had suddenly gleamed upon her, the unhappy prisoner Porteous?—but ye are of my mind, hinny—better sit let go her hold of his coat, and fell with her face on the and rue, than flit and rue—ye needna look in my face pavement of the apartment in a strong convulsion fit. sae amazed. I ken mair things than that, maybe.” Jeanie Deans possessed, with her excellently clear un- “O my God! my God!” said Effie, springing up and derstanding, the concomitant advantage of promptitude throwing herself down on her knees before him— “D’ye of spirit, even in the extremity of distress. ken where they hae putten my bairn?—O my bairn! my She did not suffer herself to be overcome by her own bairn! the poor sackless innocent new-born wee ane— feelings of exquisite sorrow, but instantly applied her- bone of my bone, and flesh of my flesh!—O man, if ye self to her sister’s relief, with the readiest remedies which wad e’er deserve a portion in Heaven, or a brokenhearted circumstances afforded; and which, to do Ratcliffe jus- creature’s blessing upon earth, tell me where they hae tice, he showed himself anxious to suggest, and alert in put my bairn—the sign of my shame, and the partner procuring. He had even the delicacy to withdraw to the of my suffering! tell me wha has taen’t away, or what farthest corner of the room, so as to render his official they hae dune wi’t?” attendance upon them as little intrusive as possible, “Hout tout,” said the turnkey, endeavouring to extri- when Effie was composed enough again to resume her cate himself from the firm grasp with which she held conference with her sister. him, “that’s taking me at my word wi’ a witness—Bairn, The prisoner once more, in the most earnest and bro- quo’ she? How the deil suld I ken onything of your bairn, ken tones, conjured Jeanie to tell her the particulars of

261 The Heart of Mid-Lothian the conference with Robertson, and Jeanie felt it was interjections of “Poor fellow,”— “Poor George,” which impossible to refuse her this gratification. escaped in whispers, and betwixt sighs, were the only “Do ye mind,” she said, “Effie, when ye were in the sounds with which she interrupted the story. When it fever before we left Woodend, and how angry your was finished she made a long pause. mother, that’s now in a better place, was wi’ me for gieing “And this was his advice?” were the first words she ye milk and water to drink, because ye grat for it? Ye uttered. were a bairn then, and ye are a woman now, and should “Just sic as I hae tell’d ye,” replied her sister. ken better than ask what canna but hurt you—But come “And he wanted you to say something to yon folks, weal or woe, I canna refuse ye onything that ye ask me that wad save my young life?” wi’ the tear in your ee.” “He wanted,” answered Jeanie, “that I suld be man-sworn.” Again Effie threw herself into her arms, and kissed “And you tauld him,” said Effie, “that ye wadna hear her cheek and forehead, murmuring, “O, if ye kend how o’ coming between me and the death that I am to die, lang it is since I heard his name mentioned?—if ye but and me no aughten year auld yet?” kend how muckle good it does me but to ken onything “I told him,” replied Jeanie, who now trembled at the o’ him, that’s like goodness or kindness, ye wadna won- turn which her sister’s reflection seemed about to take, der that I wish to hear o’ him!” “that I daured na swear to an untruth.” Jeanie sighed, and commenced her narrative of all that “And what d’ye ca’ an untruth?” said Effie, again had passed betwixt Robertson and her, making it as brief showing a touch of her former spirit— “Ye are muckle as possible. Effie listened in breathless anxiety, holding to blame, lass, if ye think a mother would, or could, her sister’s hand in hers, and keeping her eye fixed upon murder her ain bairn—Murder!—I wad hae laid down her face, as if devouring every word she uttered. The my life just to see a blink o’ its ee!”

262 Sir Walter Scott “I do believe,” said Jeanie, “that ye are as innocent of “But that word is a grievous sin, and it’s a deeper offence sic a purpose as the new-born babe itsell.” when it’s a sin wilfully and presumptuously committed.” “I am glad ye do me that justice,” said Effie, haugh- “Weel, weel, Jeanie,” said Effie, “I mind a’ about the tily; “ifs whiles the faut of very good folk like you, Jeanie, sins o’ presumption in the questions—we’ll speak nae that, they think a’ the rest of the warld are as bad as mair about this matter, and ye may save your breath to the warst temptations can make them.” say your carritch and for me, I’ll soon hae nae breath to “I didna deserve this frae ye, Effie,” said her sister, waste on onybody.” sobbing, and feeling at once the injustice of the reproach, “I must needs say,” interposed Ratcliffe, “that it’s d— and compassion for the state of mind which dictated it. d hard, when three words of your mouth would give the “Maybe no, sister,” said Effie. “But ye are angry be- girl the chance to nick Moll Blood,* that you make such cause I love Robertson—How can I help loving him, scrupling about rapping** to them. D—n me, if they that loves me better than body and soul baith?—Here would take me, if I would not rap to all what d’ye he put his life in a niffer, to break the prison to let me callums—Hyssop’s Fables, for her life—I am us’d to’t, out; and sure am I, had it stude wi’ him as it stands wi’ b—t me, for less matters. Why, I have smacked calf- you”—Here she paused and was silent. skin*** fifty times in England for a keg of brandy.” “O, if it stude wi’ me to save ye wi’ risk of my life!” “Never speak mair o’t,” said the prisoner. “It’s just as said Jeanie. weel as it is—and gude-day, sister; ye keep Mr. Ratcliffe “Ay, lass,” said her sister, “that’s lightly said, but no waiting on—Ye’ll come back and see me, I reckon, be- sae lightly credited, frae ane that winna ware a word for fore”—here she stopped and became deadly pale. me; and if it be a wrang word, ye’ll hae time eneugh to * The gallows. repent o’t.” ** Swearing. *** Kissed the book. 263 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “And are we to part in this way,” said Jeanie, “and and me standing up, and such seas of faces all looking you in sic deadly peril? O Effie, look but up, and say up at poor Effie Deans, and asking if it be her that what ye wad hae me to do, and I could find in my heart George Robertson used to call the Lily of St. Leonard’s. amaist to say that I wad do’t.” And then they stretch out their faces, and make mouths, “No, Jeanie,” replied her sister after an effort, “I am and girn at me, and whichever way I look, I see a face better minded now. At my best, I was never half sae laughing like Meg Murdockson, when she tauld me I gude as ye were, and what for suld you begin to mak had seen the last of my wean. God preserve us, Jeanie, yoursell waur to save me, now that I am no worth sav- that carline has a fearsome face!” ing? God knows, that in my sober mind, I wadna wuss She clapped her hands before her eyes as she uttered ony living creature to do a wrang thing to save my life. this exclamation, as if to secure herself against seeing I might have fled frae this Tolbooth on that awfu’ night the fearful object she had alluded to. wi’ ane wad hae carried me through the warld, and Jeanie Deans remained with her sister for two hours, friended me, and fended for me. But I said to them, let during which she endeavoured, if possible, to extract life gang when gude fame is gane before it. But this lang something from her that might be serviceable in her imprisonment has broken my spirit, and I am whiles exculpation. But she had nothing to say beyond what sair left to mysell, and then I wad gie the Indian mines she had declared on her first examination, with the pur- of gold and diamonds, just for life and breath—for I port of which the reader will be made acquainted in think, Jeanie, I have such roving fits as I used to hae in proper time and place. “They wadna believe her,” she the fever; but, instead of the fiery een and wolves, and said, “and she had naething mair to tell them.” Widow Butler’s bullseg, that I used to see spieling upon At length, Ratcliffe, though reluctantly, informed the my bed, I am thinking now about a high, black gibbet, sisters that there was a necessity that they should part.

264 Sir Walter Scott “Mr. Novit,” he said, “was to see the prisoner, and maybe But maybe ye are keeping your ain counsel—weel, Mr. Langtale too. Langtale likes to look at a bonny lass, weel, there’s nae harm in that. As for your sister, I’se see whether in prison or out o’ prison.” that she gets her meat clean and warm, and I’ll try to Reluctantly, therefore, and slowly, after many a tear, and gar her lie down and take a sleep after dinner, for deil a many an embrace, Jeanie retired from the apartment, and ee she’ll close the night. I hae gude experience of these heard its jarring bolts turned upon the dear being from matters. The first night is aye the warst o’t. I hae never whom she was separated. Somewhat familiarised now even heard o’ ane that sleepit the night afore trial, but of with her rude conductor, she offered him a small present in mony a ane that sleepit as sound as a tap the night be- money, with a request he would do what he could for her fore their necks were straughted. And it’s nae wonder— sister’s accommodation. To her surprise, Ratcliffe declined the warst may be tholed when it’s kend—Better a fin- the fee. “I wasna bloody when I was on the pad,” he said, ger aff as aye wagging.” “and I winna be greedy—that is, beyond what’s right and reasonable—now that I am in the lock.—Keep the siller; and for civility, your sister sall hae sic as I can bestow; but I hope you’ll think better on it, and rap an oath for her— deil a hair ill there is in it, if ye are rapping again the crown. I kend a worthy minister, as gude a man, bating the deed they deposed him for, as ever ye heard claver in a pu’pit, that rapped to a hogshead of pigtail tobacco, just for as muckle as filled his spleuchan.*

* Tobacco-pouch. 265 The Heart of Mid-Lothian possessed, in order to her sister’s exculpation. At length, after a minute of apprehensive hesitation, he looked at CHAPTER TWENTIETH her dress to discover whether it seemed to be in her contemplation to go abroad that morning. Her apparel was neat and plain, but such as conveyed no exact intima- Yet though thou mayst be dragg’d in scorn tion of her intentions to go abroad. She had exchanged To yonder ignominious tree, Thou shalt not want one faithful friend her usual garb for morning labour, for one something To share the cruel fates’ decree. inferior to that with which, as her best, she was wont to dress herself for church, or any more rare occasion of Jemmy Dawson. going into society. Her sense taught her, that it was respectful to be decent in her apparel on such an occasion, while her feelings induced her to lay aside the use of the AFTER SPENDING the greater part of the morning in his very few and simple personal ornaments, which, on other devotions (for his benevolent neighbours had kindly in- occasions, she permitted herself to wear. So that there sisted upon discharging his task of ordinary labour), occurred nothing in her external appearance which could David Deans entered the apartment when the break- mark out to her father, with anything like certainty, her fast meal was prepared. His eyes were involuntarily cast intentions on this occasion. down, for he was afraid to look at Jeanie, uncertain as The preparations for their humble meal were that he was whether she might feel herself at liberty, with a morning made in vain. The father and daughter sat, each good conscience, to attend the Court of Justiciary that assuming the appearance of eating, when the other’s day, to give the evidence which he understood that she eyes were turned to them, and desisting from the effort

266 Sir Walter Scott with disgust, when the affectionate imposture seemed adopt, with all its natural and necessary consequences; no longer necessary. while her father, ignorant of every other circumstance, At length these moments of constraint were removed. tormented himself with imagining what the one sister The sound of St. Giles’s heavy toll announced the hour might say or swear, or what effect her testimony might previous to the commencement of the trial; Jeanie arose, have upon the awful event of the trial. and with a degree of composure for which she herself He watched his daughter, with a faltering and indeci- could not account, assumed her plaid, and made her sive look, until she looked back upon him, with a look other preparations for a distant walking. It was a strange of unutterable anguish, as she was about to leave the contrast between the firmness of her demeanour, and apartment. the vacillation and cruel uncertainty of purpose indi- “My dear lassie,” said he, “I will.” His action, hastily cated in all her father’s motions; and one unacquainted and confusedly searching for his worsted mittans* and with both could scarcely have supposed that the former staff, showed his purpose of accompanying her, though was, in her ordinary habits of life, a docile, quiet, gentle, his tongue failed distinctly to announce it. and even timid country maiden, while her father, with a “Father,” said Jeanie, replying rather to his action than mind naturally proud and strong, and supported by re- his words, “ye had better not.” ligious opinions of a stern, stoical, and unyielding char- “In the strength of my God,” answered Deans, assum- acter, had in his time undergone and withstood the most ing firmness, “I will go forth.” severe hardships, and the most imminent peril, without And, taking his daughter’s arm under his, he began to depression of spirit, or subjugation of his constancy. walk from the door with a step so hasty, that she was The secret of this difference was, that Jeanie’s mind had almost unable to keep up with him. A trifling circum- already anticipated the line of conduct which she must * A kind of worsted gloves, used by the lower orders. 267 The Heart of Mid-Lothian stance, but which marked the perturbed state of his metropolis, that modern taste had substituted, at great mind, checked his course. apparent expense, a pile so utterly inconsistent with “Your bonnet, father?” said Jeanie, who observed he every monument of antiquity around, and in itself so had come out with his grey hairs uncovered. He turned clumsy at the same time and fantastic, that it may be back with a slight blush on his cheek, being ashamed to likened to the decorations of Tom Errand the porter, in have been detected in an omission which indicated so the Trip to the Jubilee, when he appears bedizened with much mental confusion, assumed his large blue Scot- the tawdry finery of Beau Clincher. Sed transeat cum tish bonnet, and with a step slower, but more composed, caeteris erroribus. as if the circumstance, had obliged him to summon up The small quadrangle, or Close, if we may presume his resolution, and collect his scattered ideas, again still to give it that appropriate, though antiquated title, placed his daughter’s arm under his, and resumed the which at Lichfield, Salisbury, and elsewhere, is properly way to Edinburgh. applied to designate the enclosure adjacent to a cathe- The courts of justice were then, and are still, held in dral, already evinced tokens of the fatal scene which what is called the Parliament Close, or, according to was that day to be acted. The soldiers of the City Guard modern phrase, Parliament Square, and occupied the were on their posts, now enduring, and now rudely re- buildings intended for the accommodation of the Scot- pelling with the butts of their muskets, the motley crew tish Estates. This edifice, though in an imperfect and who thrust each other forward, to catch a glance at the corrupted style of architecture, had then a grave, de- unfortunate object of trial, as she should pass from the cent, and, as it were, a judicial aspect, which was at least adjacent prison to the Court in which her fate was to be entitled to respect from its antiquity. For which vener- determined. All must have occasionally observed, with able front, I observed, on my last occasional visit to the disgust, the apathy with which the vulgar gaze on scenes

268 Sir Walter Scott of this nature, and how seldom, unless when their sym- “Ye’re welcome, whigs, pathies are called forth by some striking and extraordi- Frae Bothwell briggs,” nary circumstance, the crowd evince any interest deeper than that of callous, unthinking bustle, and brutal cu- sung one fellow (for the mob of Edinburgh were at that riosity. They laugh, jest, quarrel, and push each other time jacobitically disposed, probably because that was to and fro, with the same unfeeling indifference as if the line of sentiment most diametrically opposite to they were assembled for some holiday sport, or to see an existing authority). idle procession. Occasionally, however, this demeanour, so natural to the degraded populace of a large town, is “Mess David Williamson, exchanged for a temporary touch of human affections; Chosen of twenty, and so it chanced on the present occasion. Ran up the pu’pit stair, When Deans and his daughter presented themselves And sang Killiecrankie,” in the Close, and endeavoured to make their way forward to the door of the Court-house, they became in- chanted a siren, whose profession might be guessed by volved in the mob, and subject, of course, to their inso- her appearance. A tattered caidie, or errand-porter, lence. As Deans repelled with some force the rude pushes whom David Deans had jostled in his attempt to extri- which he received on all sides, his figure and antiquated cate himself from the vicinity of these scorners, ex- dress caught the attention of the rabble, who often show claimed in a strong north-country tone, “Ta deil ding an intuitive sharpness in ascribing the proper character out her Cameronian een—what gies her titles to dunch from external appearance,— gentlemans about?” “Make room for the ruling elder,” said yet another;

269 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “he comes to see a precious sister glorify God in the them into the Court-house. No opposition was offered Grassmarket!” to their entrance either by the guards or doorkeepers; “Whisht; shame’s in ye, sirs,” said the voice of a man and it is even said that one of the latter refused a shil- very loudly, which, as quickly sinking, said in a low but ling of civility-money tendered him by the Laird of distinct tone, “It’s her father and sister.” Dumbiedikes, who was of opinion that “siller wad make All fell back to make way for the sufferers; and all, a’ easy.” But this last incident wants confirmation. even the very rudest and most profligate, were struck Admitted within the precincts of the Court-house, with shame and silence. In the space thus abandoned to they found the usual number of busy office-bearers, and them by the mob, Deans stood, holding his daughter by idle loiterers, who attend on these scenes by choice, or the hand, and said to her, with a countenance strongly from duty. Burghers gaped and stared; young lawyers and sternly expressive of his internal emotion, “Ye hear sauntered, sneered, and laughed, as in the pit of the with your ears, and ye see with your eyes, where and to theatre; while others apart sat on a bench retired, and whom the backslidings and defections of professors are reasoned highly, inter apices juris, on the doctrines of ascribed by the scoffers. Not to themselves alone, but to constructive crime, and the true import of the statute. the kirk of which they are members, and to its blessed The bench was prepared for the arrival of the judges. and invisible Head. Then, weel may we take wi’ patience The jurors were in attendance. The crown-counsel, em- our share and portion of this outspreading reproach.” ployed in looking over their briefs and notes of evidence, The man who had spoken, no other than our old friend, looked grave, and whispered with each other. They oc- Dumbiedikes, whose mouth, like that of the prophet’s cupied one side of a large table placed beneath the bench; ass, had been opened by the emergency of the case, now on the other sat the advocates, whom the humanity of joined them, and, with his usual taciturnity, escorted the Scottish law (in this particular more liberal than

270 Sir Walter Scott that of the sister-country) not only permits, but enjoins, macers, a seat for Deans, in a situation where he was to appear and assist with their advice and skill all per- hidden from the general eye by the projecting corner of sons under trial. Mr. Nichil Novit was seen actively in- the bench. structing the counsel for the panel (so the prisoner is “It’s gude to have a friend at court,” he said, continu- called in Scottish law-phraseology), busy, bustling, and ing his heartless harangues to the passive auditor, who important. When they entered the Court-room, Deans neither heard nor replied to them; “few folk but mysell asked the Laird, in a tremulous whisper, “Where will could hae sorted ye out a seat like this—the Lords will she sit?” be here incontinent, and proceed instanter to trial. They Dumbiedikes whispered Novit, who pointed to a va- wunna fence the Court as they do at the Circuit—the cant space at the bar, fronting the judges, and was about High Court of Justiciary is aye fenced.—But, Lord’s to conduct Deans towards it. sake, what’s this o’t—Jeanie, ye are a cited witness— “No!” he said; “I cannot sit by her—I cannot own Macer, this lass is a witness—she maun be enclosed— her—not as yet, at least—I will keep out of her sight, she maun on nae account be at large.—Mr. Novit, suldna and turn mine own eyes elsewhere—better for us baith.” Jeanie Deans be enclosed?” Saddletree, whose repeated interference with the coun- Novit answered in the affirmative, and offered to con- sel had procured him one or two rebuffs, and a special duct Jeanie to the apartment, where, according to the request that he would concern himself with his own scrupulous practice of the Scottish Court, the witnesses matters, now saw with pleasure an opportunity of play- remain in readiness to be called into Court to give evi- ing the person of importance. He bustled up to the poor dence; and separated, at the same time, from all who old man, and proceeded to exhibit his consequence, by might influence their testimony, or give them informa- securing, through his interest with the bar-keepers and tion concerning that which was passing upon the trial.

271 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “Is this necessary?” said Jeanie, still reluctant to quit The audience rose to receive them; and the bustle occa- her father’s hand. sioned by their entrance was hardly composed, when a “A matter of absolute needcessity,” said Saddletree, great noise and confusion of persons struggling, and forc- “wha ever heard of witnesses no being enclosed?” ibly endeavouring to enter at the doors of the Court-room, “It is really a matter of necessity,” said the younger and of the galleries, announced that the prisoner was counsellor, retained for her sister; and Jeanie reluctantly about to be placed at the bar. This tumult takes place followed the macer of the Court to the place appointed. when the doors, at first only opened to those either hav- “This, Mr. Deans,” said Saddletree, “is ca’d sequestering right to be present, or to the better and more quali- ing a witness; but it’s clean different (whilk maybe ye fied ranks, are at length laid open to all whose curiosity wadna fund out o’ yoursell) frae sequestering ane’s es- induces them to be present on the occasion. With inflamed tate or effects, as in cases of bankruptcy. I hae aften countenances and dishevelled dresses, struggling with, and been sequestered as a witness, for the Sheriff is in the sometimes tumbling over each other, in rushed the rude use whiles to cry me in to witness the declarations at multitude, while a few soldiers, forming, as it were, the precognitions, and so is Mr. Sharpitlaw; but I was ne’er centre of the tide, could scarce, with all their efforts, clear like to be sequestered o’ land and gudes but ance, and a passage for the prisoner to the place which she was to that was lang syne, afore I was married. But whisht, occupy. By the authority of the Court, and the exertions whisht! here’s the Court coming.” of its officers, the tumult among the spectators was at As he spoke, the five Lords of Justiciary, in their long length appeased, and the unhappy girl brought forward, robes of scarlet, faced with white, and preceded by their and placed betwixt two sentinels with drawn bayonets, mace-bearer, entered with the usual formalities, and took as a prisoner at the bar, where she was to abide her deliv- their places upon the bench of judgment. erance for good or evil, according to the issue of her trial.

272 Sir Walter Scott man countenances, and instinctively obeyed a command, which rung in her ears like the trumpet of the judg- CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST ment-day. “Put back your hair, Effie,” said one of the macers. For her beautiful and abundant tresses of long fair hair, We have strict statutes, and most biting laws— which, according to the costume of the country, unmar- The needful bits and curbs for headstrong steeds— Which, for these fourteen years, we have let sleep, ried women were not allowed to cover with any sort of Like to an o’ergrown lion in a cave, cap, and which, alas! Effie dared no longer confine with That goes not out to prey. the snood or riband, which implied purity of maiden- fame, now hung unbound and dishevelled over her face, Measure for Measure. and almost concealed her features. On receiving this hint from the attendant, the unfortunate young woman, with a hasty, trembling, and apparently mechanical compli- “EUPHEMIA DEANS,” said the presiding Judge, in an ac- ance, shaded back from her face her luxuriant locks, and cent in which pity was blended with dignity, “stand up showed to the whole court, excepting one individual, a and listen to the criminal indictment now to be preferred countenance, which, though pale and emaciated, was against you.” so lovely amid its agony, that it called forth a universal The unhappy girl, who had been stupified by the con- murmur of compassion and sympathy. Apparently the fusion through which the guards had forced a passage, expressive sound of human feeling recalled the poor girl cast a bewildered look on the multitude of faces around from the stupor of fear, which predominated at first over her, which seemed to tapestry, as it were, the walls, in every other sensation, and awakened her to the no less one broad slope from the ceiling to the floor, with hu- 273 The Heart of Mid-Lothian painful sense of shame and exposure attached to her usual, and the prisoner was asked if she was Guilty, or present situation. Her eye, which had at first glanced Not Guilty. wildly around, was turned on the ground; her cheek, at “Not guilty of my poor bairn’s death,” said Effie first so deadly pale, began gradually to be overspread Deans, in an accent corresponding in plaintive softness with a faint blush, which increased so fast, that, when of tone to the beauty of her features, and which was in agony of shame she strove to conceal her face, her not heard by the audience without emotion. temples, her brow, her neck, and all that her slender fin- The presiding Judge next directed the counsel to plead gers and small palms could not cover, became of the to the relevancy; that is, to state on either part the ar- deepest crimson. guments in point of law, and evidence in point of fact, All marked and were moved by these changes, except- against and in favour of the criminal; after which it is ing one. It was old Deans, who, motionless in his seat, the form of the Court to pronounce a preliminary judg- and concealed, as we have said, by the corner of the ment, sending the cause to the cognisance of the jury, bench, from seeing or being seen, did nevertheless keep or assize. his eyes firmly fixed on the ground, as if determined The counsel for the crown briefly stated the frequency that, by no possibility whatever, would he be an ocular of the crime of infanticide, which had given rise to the witness of the shame of his house. special statute under which the panel stood indicted. “Ichabod!” he said to himself— “Ichabod! my glory He mentioned the various instances, many of them is departed!” marked with circumstances of atrocity, which had at While these reflections were passing through his mind, length induced the King’s Advocate, though with great the indictment, which set forth in technical form the reluctance, to make the experiment, whether, by strictly crime of which the panel stood accused, was read as enforcing the Act of Parliament which had been made

274 Sir Walter Scott to prevent such enormities, their occurrence might be most likely to be the consequence of her culpable and prevented. “He expected,” he said, “to be able to estab- cruel concealment. And if, under such circumstances, lish by witnesses, as well as by the declaration of the she could not alternatively show by proof that the in- panel herself, that she was in the state described by the fant had died a natural death, or produce it still in life, statute. According to his information, the panel had she must, under the construction of the law, be held to communicated her pregnancy to no one, nor did she al- have murdered it, and suffer death accordingly.” lege in her own declaration that she had done so. This The counsel for the prisoner, Mr. Fairbrother, a man secrecy was the first requisite in support of the indict- of considerable fame in his profession, did not pretend ment. The same declaration admitted, that she had directly to combat the arguments of the King’s Advo- borne a male child, in circumstances which gave but too cate. He began by lamenting that his senior at the bar, much reason to believe it had died by the hands, or at Mr. Langtale, had been suddenly called to the county least with the knowledge or consent, of the unhappy of which he was sheriff, and that he had been applied mother. It was not, however, necessary for him to bring to, on short warning, to give the panel his assistance in positive proof that the panel was accessory to the mur- this interesting case. He had had little time, he said, to der, nay, nor even to prove, that the child was murdered make up for his inferiority to his learned brother by long at all. It was sufficient to support the indictment, that and minute research; and he was afraid he might give a it could not be found. According to the stern, but neces- specimen of his incapacity, by being compelled to ad- sary severity of this statute, she who should conceal her mit the accuracy of the indictment under the statute. pregnancy, who should omit to call that assistance which “It was enough for their Lordships,” he observed, “to is most necessary on such occasions, was held already to know that such was the law, and he admitted the advo- have meditated the death of her offspring, as an event cate had a right to call for the usual interlocutor of rel-

275 The Heart of Mid-Lothian evancy.” But he stated, “that when he came to establish even rigid morals, or the merit of training up their chil- his case by proof, he trusted to make out circumstances dren in the fear of God; and yet it was the daughter of which would satisfactorily elide the charge in the libel. such a person whom a jury would shortly be called upon, His client’s story was a short, but most melancholy one. in the absence of evidence, and upon mere presump- She was bred up in the strictest tenets of religion and tions, to convict of a crime more properly belonging to virtue, the daughter of a worthy and conscientious per- a heathen, or a savage, than to a Christian and civilised son, who, in evil times, had established a character for country. It was true,” he admitted, “that the excellent courage and religion, by becoming a sufferer for con- nurture and early instruction which the poor girl had science’ sake.” received, had not been sufficient to preserve her from David Deans gave a convulsive start at hearing him- guilt and error. She had fallen a sacrifice to an inconsid- self thus mentioned, and then resumed the situation, in erate affection for a young man of prepossessing man- which, with his face stooped against his hands, and both ners, as he had been informed, but of a very dangerous resting against the corner of the elevated bench on which and desperate character. She was seduced under prom- the Judges sate, he had hitherto listened to the proce- ise of marriage—a promise, which the fellow might have, dure in the trial. The Whig lawyers seemed to be inter- perhaps, done her justice by keeping, had he not at that ested; the Tories put up their lip. time been called upon by the law to atone for a crime, “Whatever may be our difference of opinion,” resumed violent and desperate in itself, but which became the the lawyer, whose business it was to carry his whole au- preface to another eventful history, every step of which dience with him if possible, “concerning the peculiar was marked by blood and guilt, and the final termina- tenets of these people” (here Deans groaned deeply), tion of which had not even yet arrived. He believed that “it is impossible to deny them the praise of sound, and no one would hear him without surprise, when he stated

276 Sir Walter Scott that the father of this infant now amissing, and said by done so?—Because she expected daily to be restored to the learned Advocate to have been murdered, was no character, by her seducer doing her that justice which other than the notorious George Robertson, the accom- she knew to be in his power, and believed to be in his plice of Wilson, the hero of the memorable escape from inclination. Was it natural—was it reasonable—was it the Tolbooth Church, and as no one knew better than fair, to expect that she should in the interim, become his learned friend the Advocate, the principal actor in felo de se of her own character, and proclaim her frailty the Porteous conspiracy.” to the world, when she had every reason to expect, that, “I am sorry to interrupt a counsel in such a case as by concealing it for a season, it might be veiled for ever? the present,” said, the presiding Judge; “but I must re- Was it not, on the contrary, pardonable, that, in such mind the learned gentleman that he is travelling out of an emergency, a young woman, in such a situation, the case before us.” should be found far from disposed to make a confidant The counsel bowed and resumed. “He only judged it of every prying gossip, who, with sharp eyes, and eager necessary,” he said, “to mention the name and situation ears, pressed upon her for an explanation of suspicious of Robertson, because the circumstance in which that circumstances, which females in the lower—he might character was placed, went a great way in accounting say which females of all ranks, are so alert in noticing, for the silence on which his Majesty’s counsel had laid that they sometimes discover them where they do not so much weight, as affording proof that his client pro- exist? Was it strange or was it criminal, that she should posed to allow no fair play for its life to the helpless have repelled their inquisitive impertinence with petu- being whom she was about to bring into the world. She lant denials? The sense and feeling of all who heard him had not announced to her friends that she had been se- would answer directly in the negative. But although his duced from the path of honour—and why had she not client had thus remained silent towards those to whom

277 The Heart of Mid-Lothian she was not called upon to communicate her situation,— not, by a former marriage, upon the perils and distress to whom,” said the learned gentleman, “I will add, it of her unhappy situation.” would have been unadvised and improper in her to have “If, indeed, you are able to instruct that point, Mr. done so; yet, I trust, I shall remove this case most tri- Fairbrother,” said the presiding Judge. umphantly from under the statute, and obtain the un- “If I am indeed able to instruct that point, my Lord,” fortunate young woman an honourable dismission from resumed Mr. Fairbrother, “I trust not only to serve my your Lordships’ bar, by showing that she did, in due client, but to relieve your Lordships from that which I time and place, and to a person most fit for such confi- know you feel the most painful duty of your high office; dence, mention the calamitous circumstances in which and to give all who now hear me the exquisite pleasure she found herself. This occurred after Robertson’s con- of beholding a creature, so young, so ingenuous, and so viction, and when he was lying in prison in expectation beautiful, as she that is now at the bar of your Lord- of the fate which his comrade Wilson afterwards suf- ships’ Court, dismissed from thence in safety and in fered, and from which he himself so strangely escaped. honour.” It was then, when all hopes of having her honour re- This address seemed to affect many of the audience, paired by wedlock vanished from her eyes,—when an and was followed by a slight murmur of applause. Deans, union with one in Robertson’s situation, if still practi- as he heard his daughter’s beauty and innocent appear- cable, might, perhaps, have been regarded rather as an ance appealed to, was involuntarily about to turn his addition to her disgrace,—it was then, that I trust to be eyes towards her; but, recollecting himself, he bent them able to prove that the prisoner communicated and con- again on the ground with stubborn resolution. sulted with her sister, a young woman several years older “Will not my learned brother, on the other side of the than herself, the daughter of her father, if I mistake bar,” continued the advocate, after a short pause, “share

278 Sir Walter Scott in this general joy, since, I know, while he discharges his having suppressed the truth in this instance, at what- duty in bringing an accused person here, no one rejoices ever risk to herself; and I incline most to her erroneous more in their being freely and honourably sent hence? fear of criminating her sister, because I observe she has My learned brother shakes his head doubtfully, and lays had a similar tenderness towards her lover (however un- his hand on the panel’s declaration. I understand him deserved on his part), and has never once mentioned perfectly—he would insinuate that the facts now stated Robertson’s name from beginning to end of her decla- to your Lordships are inconsistent with the confession ration. of Euphemia Deans herself. I need not remind your “But, my Lords,” continued Fairbrother, “I am aware Lordships, that her present defence is no whit to be nar- the King’s Advocate will expect me to show, that the rowed within the bounds of her former confession; and proof I offer is consistent with other circumstances of that it is not by any account which she may formerly the case, which I do not and cannot deny. He will de- have given of herself, but by what is now to be proved mand of me how Effie Deans’s confession to her sister, for or against her, that she must ultimately stand or fall. previous to her delivery, is reconcilable with the mys- I am not under the necessity of accounting for her choos- tery of the birth,—with the disappearance, perhaps the ing to drop out of her declaration the circumstances of murder (for I will not deny a possibility which I cannot her confession to her sister. She might not be aware of disprove) of the infant. My Lords, the explanation of its importance; she might be afraid of implicating her this is to be found in the placability, perchance, I may sister; she might even have forgotten the circumstance say, in the facility and pliability, of the female sex. The entirely, in the terror and distress of mind incidental to dulcis Amaryllidis irae, as your Lordships well know, are the arrest of so young a creature on a charge so heinous. easily appeased; nor is it possible to conceive a woman Any of these reasons are sufficient to account for her so atrociously offended by the man whom she has loved,

279 The Heart of Mid-Lothian but that she will retain a fund of forgiveness, upon which terness to the woe denounced against our original his penitence, whether real or affected, may draw largely, mother. What purpose Robertson had in all this, it is with a certainty that his bills will be answered. We can hard to tell, or even to guess. He may have meant to prove, by a letter produced in evidence, that this villain marry the girl, for her father is a man of substance. Robertson, from the bottom of the dungeon whence he But, for the termination of the story, and the conduct already probably meditated the escape, which he after- of the woman whom he had placed about the person of wards accomplished by the assistance of his comrade, Euphemia Deans, it is still more difficult to account. contrived to exercise authority over the mind, and to The unfortunate young woman was visited by the fever direct the motions, of this unhappy girl. It was in com- incidental to her situation. In this fever she appears to pliance with his injunctions, expressed in that letter, that have been deceived by the person that waited on her, the panel was prevailed upon to alter the line of con- and, on recovering her senses, she found that she was duct which her own better thoughts had suggested; and, childless in that abode of misery. Her infant had been instead of resorting, when her time of travail ap- carried off, perhaps for the worst purposes, by the wretch proached, to the protection of her own family, was in- that waited on her. It may have been murdered, for what duced to confide herself to the charge of some vile agent I can tell.” of this nefarious seducer, and by her conducted to one He was here interrupted by a piercing shriek, uttered of those solitary and secret purlieus of villany, which, by the unfortunate prisoner. She was with difficulty to the shame of our police, still are suffered to exist in brought to compose herself. Her counsel availed him- the suburbs of this city, where, with the assistance, and self of the tragical interruption, to close his pleading under the charge, of a person of her own sex, she bore a with effect. male child, under circumstances which added treble bit- “My Lords,” said he, “in that piteous cry you heard

280 Sir Walter Scott the eloquence of maternal affection, far surpassing the that the defence, that the panel had communicated her force of my poor words—Rachel weeping for her chil- situation to her sister, was a relevant defence: And, fi- dren! Nature herself bears testimony in favour of the nally, appointed the said indictment and defence to be tenderness and acuteness of the prisoner’s parental feel- submitted to the judgment of an assize. ings. I will not dishonour her plea by adding a word more.” “Heard ye ever the like o’ that, Laird?” said Saddletree to Dumbiedikes, when the counsel had ended his speech. “There’s a chield can spin a muckle pirn out of a wee tait of tow! Deil haet he kens mair about it than what’s in the declaration, and a surmise that Jeanie Deans suld hae been able to say something about her sister’s situation, whilk surmise, Mr. Crossmyloof says, rests on sma’ authority. And he’s cleckit this great muckle bird out o’ this wee egg! He could wile the very flounders out o’ the Firth.—What garr’d my father no send me to Utrecht?—But whisht, the Court is gaun to pronounce the interlocutor of relevancy.” And accordingly the Judges, after a few words, recorded their judgment, which bore, that the indictment, if proved, was relevant to infer the pains of law: And

281 The Heart of Mid-Lothian amounted to an angry and petulant denial of what they charged her with. But, as very frequently happens, the CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND declaration of the panel or accused party herself was the evidence which bore hardest upon her case. In the event of these tales ever finding their way across Most righteous judge! a sentence.—Come, prepare. the Border, it may be proper to apprise the southern reader that it is the practice in Scotland, on apprehend- Merchant of Venice. ing a suspected person, to subject him to a judicial examination before a magistrate. He is not compelled to answer any of the questions asked of him, but may re- IT IS BY NO MEANS my intention to describe minutely the main silent if he sees it his interest to do so. But what- forms of a Scottish criminal trial, nor am I sure that I ever answers he chooses to give are formally written could draw up an account so intelligible and accurate as down, and being subscribed by himself and the magis- to abide the criticism of the gentlemen of the long robe. trate, are produced against the accused in case of his It is enough to say that the jury was impanelled, and being brought to trial. It is true, that these declarations the case proceeded. The prisoner was again required to are not produced as being in themselves evidence prop- plead to the charge, and she again replied, “Not Guilty,” erly so called, but only as adminicles of testimony, tend- in the same heart-thrilling tone as before. ing to corroborate what is considered as legal and proper The crown counsel then called two or three female wit- evidence. Notwithstanding this nice distinction, how- nesses, by whose testimony it was established, that ever, introduced by lawyers to reconcile this procedure Effie’s situation had been remarked by them, that they to their own general rule, that a man cannot be required had taxed her with the fact, and that her answers had 282 Sir Walter Scott to bear witness against himself, it nevertheless usually given in the judicial form, in which they may still be happens that these declarations become the means of found in the Books of Adjournal. condemning the accused, as it were, out of their own The declarant admitted a criminal intrigue with an mouths. The prisoner, upon these previous examina- individual whose name she desired to conceal. “Being tions, has indeed the privilege of remaining silent if he interrogated, what her reason was for secrecy on this pleases; but every man necessarily feels that a refusal to point? She declared, that she had no right to blame that answer natural and pertinent interrogatories, put by person’s conduct more than she did her own, and that judicial authority, is in itself a strong proof of guilt, she was willing to confess her own faults, but not to say and will certainly lead to his being committed to prison; anything which might criminate the absent. Interro- and few can renounce the hope of obtaining liberty by gated, if she confessed her situation to any one, or made giving some specious account of themselves, and show- any preparation for her confinement? Declares, she did ing apparent frankness in explaining their motives and not. And being interrogated, why she forbore to take accounting for their conduct. It, therefore, seldom hap- steps which her situation so peremptorily required? pens that the prisoner refuses to give a judicial declara- Declares, she was ashamed to tell her friends, and she tion, in which, nevertheless, either by letting out too trusted the person she has mentioned would provide for much of the truth, or by endeavouring to substitute a her and the infant. Interrogated if he did so? Declares, fictitious story, he almost always exposes himself to that he did not do so personally; but that it was not his suspicion and to contradictions, which weigh heavily in fault, for that the declarant is convinced he would have the minds of the jury. laid down his life sooner than the bairn or she had come The declaration of Effie Deans was uttered on other to harm. Interrogated, what prevented him from keep- principles, and the following is a sketch of its contents, ing his promise? Declares, that it was impossible for him

283 The Heart of Mid-Lothian to do so, he being under trouble at the time, and de- house of Mr. Saddletree, she went up or down the street? clines farther answer to this question. Interrogated, Declares and refuses to answer the question. Interro- where she was from the period she left her master, Mr. gated, whether she had ever seen the woman before she Saddletree’s family, until her appearance at her father’s, was wished to her, as she termed it, by the person whose at St. Leonard’s, the day before she was apprehended? name she refuses to answer? Declares and replies, not to Declares, she does not remember. And, on the interroga- her knowledge. Interrogated, whether this woman was tory being repeated, declares, she does not mind muckle introduced to her by the said person verbally, or by word about it, for she was very ill. On the question being again of mouth? Declares, she has no freedom to answer this repeated, she declares, she will tell the truth, if it should question. Interrogated, if the child was alive when it be the undoing of her, so long as she is not asked to tell was born? Declares, that—God help her and it!—it cer- on other folk; and admits, that she passed that interval tainly was alive. Interrogated, if it died a natural death of time in the lodging of a woman, an acquaintance of after birth? Declares, not to her knowledge. Interro- that person who had wished her to that place to be de- gated, where it now is? Declares, she would give her right livered, and that she was there delivered accordingly of hand to ken, but that she never hopes to see mair than a male child. Interrogated, what was the name of that the banes of it. And being interrogated, why she sup- person? Declares and refuses to answer this question. poses it is now dead? the declarant wept bitterly and Interrogated, where she lives? Declares, she has no cer- made no answer. Interrogated, if the woman, in whose tainty, for that she was taken to the lodging aforesaid lodging she was, seemed to be a fit person to be with her under cloud of night. Interrogated, if the lodging was in that situation? Declares, she might be fit enough for in the city or suburbs? Declares and refuses to answer skill, but that she was an hard-hearted bad woman. In- that question. Interrogated, whether, when she left the terrogated, if there was any other person in the lodging

284 Sir Walter Scott excepting themselves two? Declares, that she thinks might be the occasion of more. Interrogated, whether there was another woman; but her head was so carried she had herself, at any time, had any purpose of putting with pain of body and trouble of mind, that she minded away the child by violence? Declares, never; so might God her very little. Interrogated, when the child was taken be merciful to her—and then again declares, never, when away from her? Declared that she fell in a fever, and she was in her perfect senses; but what bad thoughts the was light-headed, and when she came to her own mind, Enemy might put into her brain when she was out of the woman told her the bairn was dead; and that the herself, she cannot answer. And again solemnly interro- declarant answered, if it was dead it had had foul play. gated, declares, that she would have been drawn with wild That, thereupon, the woman was very sair on her, and horses, rather than have touched the bairn with an gave her much ill language; and that the deponent was unmotherly hand. Interrogated, declares, that among the frightened, and crawled out of the house when her back ill-language the woman gave her, she did say sure enough was turned, and went home to Saint Leonard’s Crags, that the declarant had hurt the bairn when she was in as well as a woman in her condition dought.* the brain fever; but that the declarant does not believe Interrogated, why she did not tell her story to her sister that she said this from any other cause than to frighten and father, and get force to search the house for her child, her, and make her be silent. Interrogated, what else the dead or alive? Declares, it was her purpose to do so, but woman said to her? Declares, that when the declarant she had not time. Interrogated, why she now conceals cried loud for her bairn, and was like to raise the the name of the woman, and the place of her abode? The neighbours, the woman threatened her, that they that declarant remained silent for a time, and then said, that could stop the wean’s skirling would stop hers, if she did to do so could not repair the skaith that was done, but not keep a’ the founder.*

* i.e. Was able to do. * i.e. The quieter. 285 The Heart of Mid-Lothian And that this threat, with the manner of the woman, of a matter which she has since learned. And declares, made the declarant conclude, that the bairn’s life was in general, that she is wearied, and will answer no more gone, and her own in danger, for that the woman was a questions at this time.” desperate bad woman, as the declarant judged from the Upon a subsequent examination, Euphemia Deans ad- language she used. Interrogated, declares, that the fe- hered to the declaration she had formerly made, with ver and delirium were brought on her by hearing bad this addition, that a paper found in her trunk being news, suddenly told to her, but refuses to say what the shown to her, she admitted that it contained the cre- said news related to. Interrogated, why she does not now dentials, in consequence of which she resigned herself communicate these particulars, which might, perhaps, to the conduct of the woman at whose lodgings she was enable the magistrate to ascertain whether the child is delivered of the child. Its tenor ran thus:— living or dead; and requested to observe, that her refus- “Dearest Effie,—I have gotten the means to send to ing to do so, exposes her own life, and leaves the child in you by a woman who is well qualified to assist you in bad hands; as also that her present refusal to answer on your approaching streight; she is not what I could wish such points is inconsistent with her alleged intention to her, but I cannot do better for you in my present condi- make a clean breast to her sister? Declares, that she kens tion. I am obliged to trust to her in this present calam- the bairn is now dead, or, if living, there is one that will ity, for myself and you too. I hope for the best, though I look after it; that for her own living or dying, she is in am now in a sore pinch; yet thought is free—I think God’s hands, who knows her innocence of harming her Handie Dandie and I may queer the stifler* for all that bairn with her will or knowledge; and that she has al- is come and gone. tered her resolution of speaking out, which she enter- You will be angry for me writing this to my little tained when she left the woman’s lodging, on account * Avoid the gallows. 286 Sir Walter Scott Cameronian Lily; but if I can but live to be a comfort to The first witnesses were examined upon the girl’s char- you, and a father to your babie, you will have plenty of acter. All gave her an excellent one, but none with more time to scold.—Once more, let none knew your coun- feeling than worthy Mrs. Saddletree, who, with the tears sel—my life depends on this hag, d—n her—she is both on her cheeks, declared, that she could not have had a deep and dangerous, but she has more wiles and wit than higher opinion of Effie Deans, nor a more sincere re- ever were in a beldam’s head, and has cause to be true gard for her, if she had been her own daughter. All to me. Farewell, my Lily—Do not droop on my ac- present gave the honest woman credit for her goodness count—in a week I will be yours or no more my own.” of heart, excepting her husband, who whispered to Then followed a postscript. “If they must truss me, I Dumbiedikes, “That Nichil Novit of yours is but a raw will repent of nothing so much, even at the last hard hand at leading evidence, I’m thinking. What signified pinch, as of the injury I have done my Lily.” his bringing a woman here to snotter and snivel, and Effie refused to say from whom she had received this bather their Lordships? He should hae ceeted me, sir, letter, but enough of the story was now known, to as- and I should hae gien them sic a screed o’ testimony, certain that it came from Robertson; and from the date, they shauldna hae touched a hair o’ her head.” it appeared to have been written about the time when “Hadna ye better get up and tryt yet?” said the Laird. Andrew Wilson (called for a nickname Handie Dandie) “I’ll mak a sign to Novit.” and he were meditating their first abortive attempt to “Na, na,” said Saddletree, “thank ye for naething, escape, which miscarried in the manner mentioned in neighbour—that would be ultroneous evidence, and I the beginning of this history. ken what belangs to that; but Nichil Novit suld hae had The evidence of the Crown being concluded, the coun- me ceeted debito tempore.” And wiping his mouth with sel for the prisoner began to lead a proof in her defence. his silk handkerchief with great importance, he resumed

287 The Heart of Mid-Lothian the port and manner of an edified and intelligent audi- advanced to the foot of the table, Effie, with the whole tor. expression of her countenance altered, from that of con- Mr. Fairbrother now premised, in a few words, “that fused shame and dismay, to an eager, imploring, and al- he meant to bring forward his most important witness, most ecstatic earnestness of entreaty, with outstretched upon whose evidence the cause must in a great measure hands, hair streaming back, eyes raised eagerly to her depend. What his client was, they had learned from the sister’s face, and glistening through tears, exclaimed in preceding witnesses; and so far as general character, given a tone which went through the heart of all who heard in the most forcible terms, and even with tears, could her,— “O Jeanie, Jeanie, save me, save me!” interest every one in her fate, she had already gained With a different feeling, yet equally appropriated to his that advantage. It was necessary, he admitted, that he proud and self-dependent character, old Deans drew him- should produce more positive testimony of her innocence self back still farther under the cover of the bench; so that than what arose out of general character, and this he when Jeanie, as she entered the court, cast a timid glance undertook to do by the mouth of the person to whom towards the place at which she had left him seated, his she had communicated her situation—by the mouth of venerable figure was no longer visible. He sate down on the her natural counsellor and guardian—her sister.—Macer, other side of Dumbiedikes, wrung his hand hard, and whis- call into court, Jean, or Jeanie Deans, daughter of David pered, “Ah, Laird, this is warst of a’—if I can but win Deans, cowfeeder, at Saint Leonard’s Crags!” ower this part—I feel my head unco dizzy; but my Master When he uttered these words, the poor prisoner in- is strong in his servant’s weakness.” After a moment’s stantly started up, and stretched herself half-way over mental prayer, he again started up, as if impatient of con- the bar, towards the side at which her sister was to en- tinuing in any one posture, and gradually edged himself ter. And when, slowly following the officer, the witness forward towards the place he had just quitted.

288 Sir Walter Scott Jeanie in the meantime had advanced to the bottom fails to make impression even on the most hardened char- of the table, when, unable to resist the impulse of affec- acters, and to strike with fear even the most upright. tions she suddenly extended her hand to her sister. Effie Jeanie, educated in deep and devout reverence for the was just within the distance that she could seize it with name and attributes of the Deity, was, by the solem- both hers, press it to her mouth, cover it with kisses, nity of a direct appeal to his person and justice, awed, and bathe it in tears, with the fond devotion that a but at the same time elevated above all considerations, Catholic would pay to a guardian saint descended for save those which she could, with a clear conscience, call his safety; while Jeanie, hiding her own face with her Him to witness. She repeated the form in a low and rev- other hand, wept bitterly. The sight would have moved erent, but distinct tone of voice, after the Judge, to a heart of stone, much more of flesh and blood. Many whom, and not to any inferior officer of the Court, the of the spectators shed tears, and it was some time be- task is assigned in Scotland of directing the witness in fore the presiding Judge himself could so far subdue his that solemn appeal which is the sanction of his testi- emotion as to request the witness to compose herself, mony. and the prisoner to forbear those marks of eager affec- When the Judge had finished the established form, he tion, which, however natural, could not be permitted at added in a feeling, but yet a monitory tone, an advice, that time, and in that presence. which the circumstances appeared to him to call for. The solemn oath,— “the truth to tell, and no truth to “Young woman,” these were his words, “you come be- conceal, as far as she knew or should be asked,” was fore this Court in circumstances, which it would be worse then administered by the Judge “in the name of God, than cruel not to pity and to sympathise with. Yet it is and as the witness should answer to God at the great my duty to tell you, that the truth, whatever its conse- day of judgment;” an awful adjuration, which seldom quences may be, the truth is what you owe to your coun-

289 The Heart of Mid-Lothian try, and to that God whose word is truth, and whose was disposed to make some instant inquiry after this name you have now invoked. Use your own time in an- Widow of Tekoah, who, as he construed the matter, had swering the questions that gentleman” (pointing to the been tampering with the evidence. But the presiding counsel) “shall put to you.—But remember, that what Judge, better versed in Scripture history, whispered to you may be tempted to say beyond what is the actual his learned brother the necessary explanation; and the truth, you must answer both here and hereafter.” pause occasioned by this mistake had the good effect of The usual questions were then put to her:—Whether giving Jeanie Deans time to collect her spirits for the any one had instructed her what evidence she had to painful task she had to perform. deliver? Whether any one had given or promised her any Fairbrother, whose practice and intelligence were con- good deed, hire, or reward, for her testimony? Whether siderable, saw the necessity of letting the witness com- she had any malice or ill-will at his Majesty’s Advocate, pose herself. In his heart he suspected that she came to being the party against whom she was cited as a wit- bear false witness in her sister’s cause. ness? To which questions she successively answered by “But that is her own affair,” thought Fairbrother; “and a quiet negative. But their tenor gave great scandal and it is my business to see that she has plenty of time to offence to her father, who was not aware that they are regain composure, and to deliver her evidence, be it true, put to every witness as a matter of form. or be it false—valeat quantum.” “Na, na,” he exclaimed, loud enough to be heard, “my Accordingly, he commenced his interrogatories with un- bairn is no like the Widow of Tekoah—nae man has interesting questions, which admitted of instant reply. putten words into her mouth.” “You are, I think, the sister of the prisoner?” One of the judges, better acquainted, perhaps, with “Yes, sir.” the Books of Adjournal than with the Book of Samuel, “Not the full sister, however?”

290 Sir Walter Scott “No, sir—we are by different mothers.” examining, as to convey to a witness the least intima- “True; and you are, I think, several years older than tion of the nature of the answer which is desired from your sister?” him. These scruples, though founded on an excellent “Yes, sir,” etc. principle, are sometimes carried to an absurd pitch of After the advocate had conceived that, by these pre- nicety, especially as it is generally easy for a lawyer who liminary and unimportant questions, he had familiarised has his wits about him to elude the objection. the witness with the situation in which she stood, he Fairbrother did so in the present case. asked, “whether she had not remarked her sister’s state “It is not necessary to waste the time of the Court, of health to be altered, during the latter part of the my Lord since the King’s Counsel thinks it worth while term when she had lived with Mrs. Saddletree?” to object to the form of my question, I will shape it Jeanie answered in the affirmative. otherwise.—Pray, young woman, did you ask your sis- “And she told you the cause of it, my dear, I suppose?” ter any question when you observed her looking un- said Fairbrother, in an easy, and, as one may say, an in- well?—take courage—speak out.” ductive sort of tone. “I asked her,” replied Jeanie, “what ailed her.” “I am sorry to interrupt my brother,” said the Crown “Very well—take your own time—and what was the Counsel, rising; “but I am in your Lordships’ judgment, answer she made?” continued Mr. Fairbrother. whether this be not a leading question?” Jeanie was silent, and looked deadly pale. It was not “If this point is to be debated,” said the presiding that she at any one instant entertained an idea of the Judge, “the witness must be removed.” possibility of prevarication—it was the natural hesita- For the Scottish lawyers regard with a sacred and scru- tion to extinguish the last spark of hope that remained pulous horror every question so shaped by the counsel for her sister.

291 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “Take courage, young woman,” said Fairbrother.— “I spite of himself, he had still secretly clung, had now dis- asked what your sister said ailed her when you inquired?” solved, and the venerable old man fell forward senseless “Nothing,” answered Jeanie, with a faint voice, which on the floor of the Court-house, with his head at the was yet heard distinctly in the most distant corner of foot of his terrified daughter. The unfortunate prisoner, the Court-room,—such an awful and profound silence with impotent passion, strove with the guards betwixt had been preserved during the anxious interval, which whom she was placed. “Let me gang to my father!—I had interposed betwixt the lawyer’s question and the will gang to him—I will gang to him—he is dead—he is answer of the witness. killed—I hae killed him!”—she repeated, in frenzied Fairbrother’s countenance fell; but with that ready tones of grief, which those who heard them did not presence of mind, which is as useful in civil as in mili- speedily forget. tary emergencies, he immediately rallied.— “Nothing? Even in this moment of agony and general confusion, True; you mean nothing at first—but when you asked Jeanie did not lose that superiority, which a deep and her again, did she not tell you what ailed her?” firm mind assures to its possessor under the most trying The question was put in a tone meant to make her circumstances. comprehend the importance of her answer, had she not “He is my father—he is our father,” she mildly re- been already aware of it. The ice was broken, however, peated to those who endeavoured to separate them, as and with less pause than at first, she now replied,— she stooped,—shaded aside his grey hairs, and began “Alack! alack! she never breathed word to me about it.” assiduously to chafe his temples. A deep groan passed through the Court. It was ech- The Judge, after repeatedly wiping his eyes, gave di- oed by one deeper and more agonised from the unfortu- rections that they should be conducted into a nate father. The hope to which unconsciously, and in neighbouring apartment, and carefully attended. The

292 Sir Walter Scott prisoner, as her father was borne from the Court, and nected with the perpetrators. He briefly reviewed the her sister slowly followed, pursued them with her eyes proof, in which he showed that all the circumstances of so earnestly fixed, as if they would have started from the case concurred with those required by the act under their sockets. But when they were no longer visible, she which the unfortunate prisoner was tried: That the coun- seemed to find, in her despairing and deserted state, a sel for the panel had totally failed in proving, that courage which she had not yet exhibited. Euphemia Deans had communicated her situation to “The bitterness of it is now past,” she said, and then her sister: That, respecting her previous good character, boldly, addressed the Court. “My Lords, if it is your plea- he was sorry to observe, that it was females who pos- sure to gang on wi’ this matter, the weariest day will sessed the world’s good report, and to whom it was justly hae its end at last.” valuable, who were most strongly tempted, by shame The Judge, who, much to his honour, had shared deeply and fear of the world’s censure, to the crime of infanti- in the general sympathy, was surprised at being recalled cide: That the child was murdered, he professed to en- to his duty by the prisoner. He collected himself, and tertain no doubt. The vacillating and inconsistent dec- requested to know if the panel’s counsel had more evi- laration of the prisoner herself, marked as it was by dence to produce. Fairbrother replied, with an air of numerous refusals to speak the truth on subjects, when, dejection, that his proof was concluded. according to her own story, it would have been natural, The King’s Counsel addressed the jury for the crown. as well as advantageous, to have been candid; even this He said in a few words, that no one could be more con- imperfect declaration left no doubt in his mind as to the cerned than he was for the distressing scene which they fate of the unhappy infant. Neither could he doubt that had just witnessed. But it was the necessary consequence the panel was a partner in this guilt. Who else had an of great crimes to bring distress and ruin upon all con- interest in a deed so inhuman? Surely neither Robertson,

293 The Heart of Mid-Lothian nor Robertson’s agent, in whose house she was deliv- crime libelled had actually been committed, which law- ered, had the least temptation to commit such a crime, yers called proving the corpus delicti. But this statute, unless upon her account, with her connivance, and for made doubtless with the best intentions, and under the the sake of saying her reputation. But it was not re- impulse of a just horror for the unnatural crime of inquired of him, by the law, that he should bring precise fanticide, ran the risk of itself occasioning the worst of proof of the murder, or of the prisoner’s accession to it. murders, the death of an innocent person, to atone for a It was the very purpose of the statute to substitute a supposed crime which may never have been committed certain chain of presumptive evidence in place of a pro- by anyone. He was so far from acknowledging the al- bation, which, in such cases, it was peculiarly difficult leged probability of the child’s violent death, that he to obtain. The jury might peruse the statute itself, and could not even allow that there was evidence of its hav- they had also the libel and interlocutor of relevancy to ing ever lived.” direct them in point of law. He put it to the conscience The King’s Counsel pointed to the woman’s declara- of the jury, that under both he was entitled to a verdict tion; to which the counsel replied— “A production con- of Guilty. cocted in a moment of terror and agony, and which ap- The charge of Fairbrother was much cramped by his proached to insanity,” he said, “his learned brother well having failed in the proof which he expected to lead. knew was no sound evidence against the party who emit- But he fought his losing cause with courage and con- ted it. It was true, that a judicial confession, in presence stancy. He ventured to arraign the severity of the stat- of the Justices themselves, was the strongest of all proof, ute under which the young woman was tried. “In all insomuch that it is said in law, that ‘in confitentem nullae other cases,” he said, “the first thing required of the sunt partes judicis.’ But this was true of judicial confes- criminal prosecutor was to prove unequivocally that the sion only, by which law meant that which is made in pres-

294 Sir Walter Scott ence of the justices, and the sworn inquest. Of extrajudi- It was now the presiding Judge’s turn to address the cial confession, all authorities held with the illustrious jury. He did so briefly and distinctly. Farinaceus and Matthaeus, ‘confessio extrajudicialis in se “It was for the jury,” he said, “to consider whether nulla est; et quod nullum est, non potest adminiculari.’ It the prosecutor had made out his plea. For himself, he was totally inept, and void of all strength and effect from sincerely grieved to say, that a shadow of doubt remained the beginning; incapable, therefore, of being bolstered up not upon his mind concerning the verdict which the in- or supported, or, according to the law phrase, quest had to bring in. He would not follow the prisoner’s adminiculated, by other presumptive circumstances. In counsel through the impeachment which he had brought the present case, therefore, letting the extrajudicial con- against the statute of King William and Queen Mary. fession go, as it ought to go, for nothing,” he contended, He and the jury were sworn to judge according to the “the prosecutor had not made out the second quality of laws as they stood, not to criticise, or evade, or even to the statute, that a live child had been born; and that, at justify them. In no civil case would a counsel have been least, ought to be established before presumptions were permitted to plead his client’s case in the teeth of the received that it had been murdered. If any of the assize,” law; but in the hard situation in which counsel were of- he said, “should be of opinion that this was dealing rather ten placed in the Criminal Court, as well as out of favour narrowly with the statute, they ought to consider that it to all presumptions of innocence, he had not inclined to was in its nature highly penal, and therefore entitled to interrupt the learned gentleman, or narrow his plea. The no favourable construction.” present law, as it now stood, had been instituted by the He concluded a learned speech, with an eloquent per- wisdom of their fathers, to check the alarming progress oration on the scene they had just witnessed, during of a dreadful crime; when it was found too severe for its which Saddletree fell fast asleep. purpose it would doubtless be altered by the wisdom of

295 The Heart of Mid-Lothian the Legislature; at present it was the law of the land, that of her state and condition at her return to her the rule of the Court, and, according to the oath which father’s, could have any doubt that the fact of delivery they had taken, it must be that of the jury. This un- had taken place, as set forth in her own declaration, happy girl’s situation could not be doubted; that she which was, therefore, not a solitary piece of testimony, had borne a child, and that the child had disappeared, but adminiculated and supported by the strongest cir- were certain facts. The learned counsel had failed to show cumstantial proof. that she had communicated her situation. All the requi- “He did not,” he said, “state the impression upon his sites of the case required by the statute were therefore own mind with the purpose of biassing theirs. He had before the jury. The learned gentleman had, indeed, de- felt no less than they had done from the scene of do- sired them to throw out of consideration the panel’s own mestic misery which had been exhibited before them; confession, which was the plea usually urged, in penury and if they, having God and a good conscience, the sanc- of all others, by counsel in his situation, who usually tity of their oath, and the regard due to the law of the felt that the declarations of their clients bore hard on country, before their eyes, could come to a conclusion them. But that the Scottish law designed that a certain favourable to this unhappy prisoner, he should rejoice weight should be laid on these declarations, which, he as much as anyone in Court; for never had he found his admitted, were quodammodo extrajudicial, was evident duty more distressing than in discharging it that day, from the universal practice by which they were always and glad he would be to be relieved from the still more produced and read, as part of the prosecutor’s proba- painful task which would otherwise remain for him.” tion. In the present case, no person who had heard the The jury, having heard the Judge’s address, bowed and witnesses describe the appearance of the young woman retired, preceded by a macer of Court, to the apartment before she left Saddletree’s house, and contrasted it with destined for their deliberation.

296 Sir Walter Scott writing. The jury remained standing while the Judge broke the seals, and having perused the paper, handed CHAPTER TWENTY-THIRD it with an air of mournful gravity down to the clerk of Court, who proceeded to engross in the record the yet unknown verdict, of which, however, all omened the Law, take thy victim—May she find the mercy tragical contents. A form still remained, trifling and In yon mild heaven, which this hard world denies her! unimportant in itself, but to which imagination adds a sort of solemnity, from the awful occasion upon which it is used. A lighted candle was placed on the table, the IT WAS AN HOUR ere the jurors returned, and as they tra- original paper containing the verdict was enclosed in a versed the crowd with slow steps, as men about to dis- sheet of paper, and, sealed with the Judge’s own signet, charge themselves of a heavy and painful responsibil- was transmitted to the Crown Office, to be preserved ity, the audience was hushed into profound, earnest, and among other records of the same kind. As all this is trans- awful silence. acted in profound silence, the producing and extinguish- “Have you agreed on your chancellor, gentlemen?” was ing the candle seems a type of the human spark which the first question of the Judge. is shortly afterwards doomed to be quenched, and ex- The foreman, called in Scotland the chancellor of the cites in the spectators something of the same effect jury, usually the man of best rank and estimation among which in England is obtained by the Judge assuming the assizers, stepped forward, and with a low reverence, the fatal cap of judgment. When these preliminary delivered to the Court a sealed paper, containing the forms had been gone through, the Judge required verdict, which, until of late years, that verbal returns Euphemia Deans to attend to the verdict to be read. are in some instances permitted, was always couched in

297 The Heart of Mid-Lothian After the usual words of style, the verdict set forth, painful office, dispersed themselves among the mass of that the Jury having made choice of John Kirk, Esq., bystanders. to be their chancellor, and Thomas Moore, merchant, to The Court then asked Mr. Fairbrother whether he had be their clerk, did, by a plurality of voices, find the said anything to say, why judgment should not follow on the Euphemia Deans Guilty of the crime libelled; but, in verdict? The counsel had spent some time in persuing consideration of her extreme youth, and the cruel cir- and reperusing the verdict, counting the letters in each cumstances of her case, did earnestly entreat that the juror’s name, and weighing every phrase, nay, every syl- Judge would recommend her to the mercy of the Crown. lable, in the nicest scales of legal criticism. But the clerk “Gentlemen,” said the Judge, “you have done your of the jury had understood his business too well. No duty—and a painful one it must have been to men of flaw was to be found, and Fairbrother mournfully inti- humanity like you. I will undoubtedly transmit your mated, that he had nothing to say in arrest of judg- recommendation to the throne. But it is my duty to tell ment. all who now hear me, but especially to inform that un- The presiding Judge then addressed the unhappy pris- happy young woman, in order that her mind may be oner:— “Euphemia Deans, attend to the sentence of settled accordingly, that I have not the least hope of a the Court now to be pronounced against you.” pardon being granted in the present case. You know the She rose from her seat, and with a composure far crime has been increasing in this land, and I know far- greater than could have been augured from her ther, that this has been ascribed to the lenity in which demeanour during some parts of the trial, abode the the laws have been exercised, and that there is therefore conclusion of the awful scene. So nearly does the men- no hope whatever of obtaining a remission for this of- tal portion of our feelings resemble those which are cor- fence.” The jury bowed again, and, released from their poreal, that the first severe blows which we receive bring

298 Sir Walter Scott with them a stunning apathy, which renders us indiffer- of—whether it was dealt upon by another, or by your- ent to those that follow them. Thus said Mandrin, when self—whether the extraordinary story you have told is he was undergoing the punishment of the wheel; and so partly false, or altogether so, is between God and your have all felt, upon whom successive inflictions have de- own conscience. I will not aggravate your distress by scended with continuous and reiterated violence.* pressing on that topic, but I do most solemnly adjure “Young woman,” said the Judge, “it is my painful duty you to employ the remaining space of your time in mak- to tell you, that your life is forfeited under a law, which, ing your peace with God, for which purpose such rever- if it may seem in some degree severe, is yet wisely so, to end clergymen, as you yourself may name, shall have render those of your unhappy situation aware what risk access to you. Notwithstanding the humane recommen- they run, by concealing, out of pride or false shame, dation of the jury, I cannot afford to you, in the present their lapse from virtue, and making no preparation to circumstances of the country, the slightest hope that save the lives of the unfortunate infants whom they are your life will be prolonged beyond the period assigned to bring into the world. When you concealed your situ- for the execution of your sentence. Forsaking, therefore, ation from your mistress, your sister, and other worthy the thoughts of this world, let your mind be prepared and compassionate persons of your own sex, in whose by repentance for those of more awful moments—for favour your former conduct had given you a fair place, death, judgment, and eternity.—Doomster, read the sen- you seem to me to have had in your contemplation, at tence.”* least, the death of the helpless creature, for whose life When the Doomster showed himself, a tall haggard you neglected to provide. How the child was disposed figure, arrayed in a fantastic garment of black and grey, passmented with silver lace, all fell back with a sort of * The notorious Mandrin was known as the Captain-General of French & smugglers. See a Tract on his exploits, printed 1753. * Note N. Doomster, or Dempster, of Court. 299 The Heart of Mid-Lothian instinctive horror, and made wide way for him to ap- a gibbet. “And this,” said the Doomster, aggravating his proach the foot of the table. As this office was held by harsh voice, “I pronounce for doom.” the common executioner, men shouldered each other He vanished when he had spoken the last emphatic backward to avoid even the touch of his garment, and word, like a foul fiend after the purpose of his visitation some were seen to brush their own clothes, which had had been accomplished; but the impression of horror accidentally become subject to such contamination. A excited by his presence and his errand, remained upon sound went through the Court, produced by each per- the crowd of spectators. son drawing in their breath hard, as men do when they The unfortunate criminal,—for so she must now be expect or witness what is frightful, and at the same time termed,—with more susceptibility, and more irritable affecting. The caitiff villain yet seemed, amid his hard- feelings than her father and sister, was found, in this ened brutality, to have some sense of his being the ob- emergence, to possess a considerable share of their cour- ject of public detestation, which made him impatient age. She had remained standing motionless at the bar of being in public, as birds of evil omen are anxious to while the sentence was pronounced, and was observed escape from daylight, and from pure air. to shut her eyes when the Doomster appeared. But she Repeating after the Clerk of Court, he gabbled over was the first to break silence when that evil form had the words of the sentence, which condemned Euphemia left his place. Deans to be conducted back to the Tolbooth of “God forgive ye, my Lords,” she said, “and dinna be Edinburgh, and detained there until Wednesday the day angry wi’ me for wishing it—we a’ need forgiveness.— of —; and upon that day, betwixt the hours of two and As for myself, I canna blame ye, for ye act up to your four o’clock afternoon, to be conveyed to the common lights; and if I havena killed my poor infant, ye may place of execution, and there hanged by the neck upon witness a’ that hae seen it this day, that I hae been the

300 Sir Walter Scott means of killing my greyheaded father—I deserve the that the poor lassie behoved to die, when Mr. John Kirk, warst frae man, and frae God too—But God is mair as civil a gentleman as is within the ports of the town, mercifu’ to us than we are to each other.” took the pains to prigg for her himsell.” With these words the trial concluded. The crowd “Ay, but, neighbour,” said Miss Damahoy, drawing up rushed, bearing forward and shouldering each other, out her thin maidenly form to its full height of prim dig- of the Court, in the same tumultuary mode in which nity— “I really think this unnatural business of having they had entered; and, in excitation of animal motion bastard-bairns should be putten a stop to.—There isna and animal spirits, soon forgot whatever they had felt a hussy now on this side of thirty that you can bring as impressive in the scene which they had witnessed. within your doors, but there will be chields—writer-lads, The professional spectators, whom habit and theory had prentice-lads, and what not—coming traiking after them rendered as callous to the distress of the scene as medi- for their destruction, and discrediting ane’s honest house cal men are to those of a surgical operation, walked into the bargain—I hae nae patience wi’ them.” homeward in groups, discussing the general principle “Hout, neighbour,” said Mrs. Howden, “we suld live of the statute under which the young woman was con- and let live—we hae been young oursells, and we are no demned, the nature of the evidence, and the arguments aye to judge the warst when lads and lasses forgather.” of the counsel, without considering even that of the “Young oursells! and judge the warst!” said Miss Judge as exempt from their criticism. Damahoy. “I am no sae auld as that comes to, Mrs. The female spectators, more compassionate, were loud Howden; and as for what ye ca’ the warst, I ken neither in exclamation against that part of the Judge’s speech good nor bad about the matter, I thank my stars!” which seemed to cut off the hope of pardon. “Ye are thankfu’ for sma’ mercies, then,” said Mrs. “Set him up, indeed,” said Mrs. Howden, “to tell us Howden with a toss of her head; “and as for you and

301 The Heart of Mid-Lothian young—I trow ye were doing for yoursell at the last riding scornful. “They speak about stopping the frequency of of the Scots Parliament, and that was in the gracious child-murder,” said he, in a contemptuous tone; “do ye year seven, sae ye can be nae sic chicken at ony rate.” think our auld enemies of England, as Glendook aye ca’s Plumdamas, who acted as squire of the body to the them in his printed Statute-book, care a boddle whether two contending dames, instantly saw the hazard of en- we didna kill ane anither, skin and birn, horse and foot, tering into such delicate points of chronology, and being man, woman, and bairns, all and sindry, omnes et singulos, a lover of peace and good neighbourhood, lost no time in as Mr. Crossmyloof says? Na, na, it’s no that hinders them bringing back the conversation to its original subject. frae pardoning the bit lassie. But here is the pinch of the “The Judge didna tell us a’ he could hae tell’d us, if he plea. The king and queen are sae ill pleased wi’ that mistak had liked, about the application for pardon, neighbours,” about Porteous, that deil a kindly Scot will they pardon said he “there is aye a wimple in a lawyer’s clew; but it’s again, either by reprieve or remission, if the haill town o’ a wee bit of a secret.” Edinburgh should be a’ hanged on ae tow.” “And what is’t—what is’t, neighbour Plumdamas?” “Deil that they were back at their German kale-yard said Mrs. Howden and Miss Damahoy at once, the acid then, as my neighbour MacCroskie ca’s it,” said Mrs. fermentation of their dispute being at once neutralised Howden, “an that’s the way they’re gaun to guide us!” by the powerful alkali implied in the word secret. “They say for certain,” said Miss Damahoy, “that King “Here’s Mr. Saddletree can tell ye that better than me, George flang his periwig in the fire when he heard o’ the for it was him that tauld me,” said Plumdamas as Porteous mob.” Saddletree came up, with his wife hanging on his arm, “He has done that, they say,” replied Saddletree, “for and looking very disconsolate. less thing.” When the question was put to Saddletree, he looked very “Aweel,” said Miss Damahoy, “he might keep mair wit

302 Sir Walter Scott in his anger—but it’s a’ the better for his wigmaker, I’se When they entered his shop, he thrust his prentice boy warrant.” out of it, and, unlocking his desk, took out, with an air “The queen tore her biggonets for perfect anger,—ye’ll of grave and complacent importance, a dirty and hae heard o’ that too?” said Plumdamas. “And the king, crumpled piece of printed paper; he observed, “This is they say, kickit Sir Robert Walpole for no keeping down new corn—it’s no every body could show you the like o’ the mob of Edinburgh; but I dinna believe he wad be- this. It’s the duke’s speech about the Porteous mob, just have sae ungenteel.” promulgated by the hawkers. Ye shall hear what Ian “It’s dooms truth, though,” said Saddletree; “and he Roy Cean* says for himsell. was for kickin’ the Duke of Argyle* too.” My correspondent bought it in the Palace-yard, that’s “Kickin’ the Duke of Argyle!” exclaimed the hearers like just under the king’s nose—I think he claws up their at once, in all the various combined keys of utter aston- mittans!—It came in a letter about a foolish bill of ex- ishment. change that the man wanted me to renew for him. I “Ay, but MacCallummore’s blood wadna sit down wi’ wish ye wad see about it, Mrs. Saddletree.” that; there was risk of Andro Ferrara coming in Honest Mrs. Saddletree had hitherto been so sincerely thirdsman.” distressed about the situation of her unfortunate “The duke is a real Scotsman—a true friend to the prote’ge’e, that she had suffered her husband to pro- country,” answered Saddletree’s hearers. ceed in his own way, without attending to what he was “Ay, troth is he, to king and country baith, as ye sall saying. The words bills and renew had, however, an hear,” continued the orator, “if ye will come in bye to our awakening sound in them; and she snatched the letter house, for it’s safest speaking of sic things inter parietes.” * Red John the warrior, a name personal and proper in the Highlands to John Duke of Argyle and Greenwich, as * Note O. John Duke of Argyle and Greenwich. MacCummin was that of his race or dignity. 303 The Heart of Mid-Lothian which her husband held towards her, and wiping her interest I had, and I have served him with my sword, eyes, and putting on her spectacles, endeavoured, as fast and in my profession of arms. I have held employments as the dew which collected on her glasses would permit, which I have lost, and were I to be to-morrow deprived to get at the meaning of the needful part of the epistle; of those which still remain to me, and which I have en- while her husband, with pompous elevation, read an deavoured honestly to deserve, I would still serve him extract from the speech. to the last acre of my inheritance, and to the last drop “I am no minister, I never was a minister, and I never of my blood—” will be one.” Mrs. Saddletree here broke in upon the orator:— “Mr. “I didna ken his Grace was ever designed for the min- Saddletree, what is the meaning of a’ this? Here are ye istry,” interrupted Mrs. Howden. clavering about the Duke of Argyle, and this man Mar- “He disna mean a minister of the gospel, Mrs. Howden, tingale gaun to break on our hands, and lose us gude but a minister of state,” said Saddletree, with conde- sixty pounds—I wonder what duke will pay that, scending goodness, and then proceeded: “The time was quotha—I wish the Duke of Argyle would pay his ain when I might have been a piece of a minister, but I was accounts—He is in a thousand punds Scots on thae very too sensible of my own incapacity to engage in any state books when he was last at Roystoun—I’m no saying affair. And I thank God that I had always too great a but he’s a just nobleman, and that it’s gude siller—but value for those few abilities which Nature has given me, it wad drive ane daft to be confused wi’ deukes and to employ them in doing any drudgery, or any job of drakes, and thae distressed folk up-stairs, that’s Jeanie what kind soever. I have, ever since I set out in the world Deans and her father. And then, putting the very callant (and I believe few have set out more early), served my that was sewing the curpel out o’ the shop, to play wi’ prince with my tongue; I have served him with any little blackguards in the close—Sit still, neighbours, it’s no

304 Sir Walter Scott that I mean to disturb you; but what between courts o’ law and courts o’ state, and upper and under parlia- ments, and parliament houses, here and in London, the gudeman’s gane clean gyte, I think.” The gossips understood civility, and the rule of doing as they would be done by, too well, to tarry upon the slight invitation implied in the conclusion of this speech, and therefore made their farewells and departure as fast as possible, Saddletree whispering to Plundamas that he would “meet him at MacCroskie’s” (the low-browed End of Vol. 1. shop in the Luckenbooths, already mentioned), “in the hour of cause, and put MacCallummore’s speech in his pocket, for a’ the gudewife’s din.” When Mrs. Saddletree saw the house freed of her im- portunate visitors, and the little boy reclaimed from the pastimes of the wynd to the exercise of the awl, she went to visit her unhappy relative, David Deans, and his elder daughter, who had found in her house the nearest place of friendly refuge.

305 The Heart of Mid-Lothian

THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN Volume 2 By Walter Scott

TALES OF MY LANDLORD COLLECTED AND ARRANGED BY JEDEDIAH CLEISHBOTHAM, SCHOOLMASTER AND PARISH CLERK OF GANDERCLEUGH.

SECOND SERIES 306 Sir Walter Scott was a woman of kindness, nay, of feeling, but not of delicacy. She opened the half-shut window, drew aside THE HEART OF the curtain, and, taking her kinsman by the hand, exhorted him to sit up, and bear his sorrow like a good MID-LOTHIAN man, and a Christian man, as he was. But when she quitted his hand, it fell powerless by his side, nor did he attempt the least reply. CHAPTER FIRST “Is all over?” asked Jeanie, with lips and cheeks as pale as ashes,— “and is there nae hope for her?” Isab.—Alas! what poor ability’s in me “Nane, or next to nane,” said Mrs. Saddletree; “I heard To do him good? the Judge-carle say it with my ain ears—It was a burn- Lucio.—Assay the power you have. ing shame to see sae mony o’ them set up yonder in their red gowns and black gowns, and to take the life o’ a bit Measure for Measure. senseless lassie. I had never muckle broo o’ my gudeman’s gossips, and now I like them waur than ever. The only wiselike thing I heard onybody say, was decent Mr. John WHEN MRS. SADDLETREE entered the apartment in which Kirk of Kirk-knowe, and he wussed them just to get the her guests had shrouded their misery, she found the winking’s mercy, and nae mair about it. But he spake to dow darkened. The feebleness which followed his long unreasonable folk—he might just hae keepit his breath swoon had rendered it necessary to lay the old man in to hae blawn on his porridge.” bed. The curtains were drawn around him, and Jeanie “But can the king gie her mercy?” said Jeanie, ear- sate motionless by the side of the bed. Mrs. Saddletree

307 The Heart of Mid-Lothian nestly. “Some folk tell me he canna gie mercy in cases of be able to leave him. I fearna for his life—I ken how strong- mur in cases like hers.” hearted he is—I ken it,” she said, laying her hand on her “Can he gie mercy, hinny?—I weel I wot he can, when bosom, “by my ain heart at this minute.” he likes. There was young Singlesword, that stickit the “Weel, hinny, if ye think it’s for the best, better he Laird of Ballencleuch, and Captain Hackum, the En- stay here and rest him, than gang back to St. Leonard’s.” glishman, that killed Lady Colgrain’s gudeman, and the “Muckle better—muckle better—God bless you!—God Master of Saint Clair, that shot the twa Shaws,* and bless you!—At no rate let him gang till ye hear frae me,” mony mair in my time—to be sure they were gentle said Jeanie. blood, and had their kin to speak for them—And there “But ye’ll be back belive?” said Mrs. Saddletree, de- was Jock Porteous the other day—I’se warrant there’s taining her; “they winna let ye stay yonder, hinny.” mercy, an folk could win at it.” “But I maun gang to St. Leonard’s—there’s muckle “Porteous?” said Jeanie; “very true—I forget a’ that to be dune, and little time to do it in—And I have friends I suld maist mind.—Fare ye weel, Mrs. Saddletree; and to speak to—God bless you—take care of my father.” may ye never want a friend in the hour of distress!” She had reached the door of the apartment, when, “Will ye no stay wi’ your father, Jeanie, bairn?—Ye suddenly turning, she came back, and knelt down by had better,” said Mrs. Saddletree. the bedside.— “O father, gie me your blessing—I dare “I will be wanted ower yonder,” indicating the Tolbooth not go till ye bless me. Say but ‘God bless ye, and pros- with her hand, “and I maun leave him now, or I will never per ye, Jeanie’—try but to say that!” Instinctively, rather than by an exertion of intellect, * In 1828, the Author presented to the Roxburgh Club a cu- the old man murmured a prayer, that “purchased and rious volume containing the “Proceedings in the Court-Mar- tial held upon John, Master of Sinclair, for the murder of promised blessings might be multiplied upon her.” Ensign Schaw, and Captain Schaw, 17th October 1708.” 308 Sir Walter Scott “He has blessed mine errand,” said his daughter, ris- When she had remained about an hour in the state of ing from her knees, “and it is borne in upon my mind stupified horror so natural in her situation, she was dis- that I shall prosper.” turbed by the opening of the jarring bolts of her place So saying, she left the room. of confinement, and Ratcliffe showed himself. “It’s your Mrs. Saddletree looked after her, and shook her head. “I sister,” he said, “wants to speak t’ye, Effie.” wish she binna roving, poor thing—There’s something “I canna see naebody,” said Effie, with the hasty irri- queer about a’ thae Deanses. I dinna like folk to be sae tability which misery had rendered more acute— “I muckle better than other folk—seldom comes gude o’t. But canna see naebody, and least of a’ her—Bid her take if she’s gaun to look after the kye at St. Leonard’s, that’s care o’ the auld man—I am naething to ony o’ them another story; to be sure they maun be sorted.—Grizzie, now, nor them to me.” come up here, and tak tent to the honest auld man, and see “She says she maun see ye, though,” said Ratcliffe; he wants naething.—Ye silly tawpie” (addressing the maid- and Jeanie, rushing into the apartment, threw her arms servant as she entered), “what garr’d ye busk up your round her sister’s neck, who writhed to extricate her- cockemony that gate?—I think there’s been enough the self from her embrace. day to gie an awfa’ warning about your cockups and your “What signifies coming to greet ower me,” said poor fallal duds—see what they a’ come to,” etc. etc. etc. Effie, “when you have killed me?—killed me, when a Leaving the good lady to her lecture upon worldly vani- word of your mouth would have saved me—killed me, ties, we must transport our reader to the cell in which when I am an innocent creature—innocent of that guilt the unfortunate Effie Deans was now immured, being at least—and me that wad hae wared body and soul to restricted of several liberties which she had enjoyed be- save your finger from being hurt?” fore the sentence was pronounced. “You shall not die,” said Jeanie, with enthusiastic firm-

309 The Heart of Mid-Lothian ness; “say what you like o’ me—think what you like o’ sudden interest in her eyes from their correspondence me—only promise—for I doubt your proud heart—that with those of her sister. ye wunna harm yourself, and you shall not die this “How did I escape?” said Ratcliffe, with a knowing shameful death.” wink,— “I tell ye I ‘scapit in a way that naebody will “A shameful death I will not die, Jeanie, lass. I have escape from this Tolbooth while I keep the keys.” that in my heart—though it has been ower kind a ane— “My sister shall come out in the face of the sun,” said that wunna bide shame. Gae hame to our father, and Jeanie; “I will go to London, and beg her pardon from think nae mair on me—I have eat my last earthly meal.” the king and queen. If they pardoned Porteous, they “Oh, this was what I feared!” said Jeanie. may pardon her; if a sister asks a sister’s life on her “Hout, tout, hinny,” said Ratcliffe; “it’s but little ye bended knees, they will pardon her—they shall pardon ken o’ thae things. Ane aye thinks at the first dinnle o’ her—and they will win a thousand hearts by it.” the sentence, they hae heart eneugh to die rather than Effie listened in bewildered astonishment, and so ear- bide out the sax weeks; but they aye bide the sax weeks nest was her sister’s enthusiastic assurance, that she al- out for a’ that. I ken the gate o’t weel; I hae fronted the most involuntarily caught a gleam of hope; but it in- doomster three times, and here I stand, Jim Ratcliffe, stantly faded away. for a’ that. Had I tied my napkin strait the first time, as “Ah, Jeanie! the king and queen live in London, a thou- I had a great mind till’t—and it was a’ about a bit grey sand miles from this—far ayont the saut sea; I’ll be gane cowt, wasna worth ten punds sterling—where would I before ye win there.” have been now?” “You are mistaen,” said Jeanie; “it is no sae far, and “And how did you escape?” said Jeanie, the fates of they go to it by land; I learned something about thae this man, at first so odious to her, having acquired a things from Reuben Butler.”

310 Sir Walter Scott “Ah, Jeanie! ye never learned onything but what was your purpose as weel. D’ye ken naebody wad gie ye a gude frae the folk ye keepit company wi’; but!—but!”— letter to him?” she wrung her hands and wept bitterly. “Duke of Argyle!” said Jeanie, recollecting herself sud- “Dinna think on that now,” said Jeanie; “there will be denly, “what was he to that Argyle that suffered in my time for that if the present space be redeemed. Fare ye father’s time—in the persecution?” weel. Unless I die by the road, I will see the king’s face that “His son or grandson, I’m thinking,” said Ratcliffe, gies grace—O, sir” (to Ratcliffe), “be kind to her—She ne’er “but what o’ that?” ken’d what it was to need a stranger’s kindness till now.— “Thank God!” said Jeanie, devoutly clasping her Fareweel—fareweel, Effie!—Dinna speak to me—I hands. maunna greet now—my head’s ower dizzy already!” “You whigs are aye thanking God for something,” said She tore herself from her sister’s arms, and left the the ruffian. “But hark ye, hinny, I’ll tell ye a secret. Ye cell. Ratcliffe followed her, and beckoned her into a small may meet wi’ rough customers on the Border, or in the room. She obeyed his signal, but not without trembling. Midland, afore ye get to Lunnon. Now, deil ane o’ them “What’s the fule thing shaking for?” said he; “I mean will touch an acquaintance o’ Daddie Ratton’s; for though nothing but civility to you. D—n me, I respect you, and I am retired frae public practice, yet they ken I can do a I can’t help it. You have so much spunk, that d—n me, gude or an ill turn yet—and deil a gude fellow that has but I think there’s some chance of your carrying the been but a twelvemonth on the lay, be he ruffler or padder, day. But you must not go to the king till you have made but he knows my gybe* as well as the jark** of e’er a queer some friend; try the duke—try MacCallummore; he’s cuffin*** in England—and there’s rogue’s Latin for you.” Scotland’s friend—I ken that the great folks dinna * Pass. muckle like him—but they fear him, and that will serve ** Seal. *** Justice of Peace. 311 The Heart of Mid-Lothian It was indeed totally unintelligible to Jeanie Deans, along, “that can soften or weaken my heart—it’s ower who was only impatient to escape from him. He hastily weak already for what I hae to do. I will think and act scrawled a line or two on a dirty piece of paper, and said as firmly as I can, and speak as little.” to her, as she drew back when he offered it, “Hey!— There was an ancient servant, or rather cottar, of her what the deil—it wunna bite you, my lass—if it does father’s, who had lived under him for many years, and nae gude, it can do nae ill. But I wish you to show it, if whose fidelity was worthy of full confidence. She sent for you have ony fasherie wi’ ony o’ St. Nicholas’s clerks.” this woman, and explaining to her that the circumstances “Alas!” said she, “I do not understand what you mean.” of her family required that she should undertake a jour- “I mean, if ye fall among thieves, my precious,—that ney, which would detain her for some weeks from home, is a Scripture phrase, if ye will hae ane—the bauldest she gave her full instructions concerning the management of them will ken a scart o’ my guse feather. And now of the domestic concerns in her absence. With a preci- awa wi’ ye—and stick to Argyle; if onybody can do the sion, which, upon reflection, she herself could not help job, it maun be him.” wondering at, she described and detailed the most minute After casting an anxious look at the grated windows steps which were to be taken, and especially such as were and blackened walls of the old Tolbooth, and another necessary for her father’s comfort. “It was probable,” she scarce less anxious at the hospitable lodging of Mrs. said, “that he would return to St. Leonard’s to-morrow! Saddletree, Jeanie turned her back on that quarter, and certain that he would return very soon—all must be in soon after on the city itself. She reached St. Leonard’s order for him. He had eneugh to distress him, without Crags without meeting any one whom she knew, which, being fashed about warldly matters.” in the state of her mind, she considered as a great bless- In the meanwhile she toiled busily, along with May ing. “I must do naething,” she thought, as she went Hettly, to leave nothing unarranged.

312 Sir Walter Scott It was deep in the night when all these matters were she had come into the world, and barefooted she pro- settled; and when they had partaken of some food, the posed to perform her pilgrimage; and her clean shoes first which Jeanie had tasted on that eventful day, May and change of snow-white thread stockings were to be Hettly, whose usual residence was a cottage at a little reserved for special occasions of ceremony. She was not distance from Deans’s house, asked her young mistress, aware, that the English habits of comfort attach an idea whether she would not permit her to remain in the house of abject misery to the idea of a barefooted traveller; all night? “Ye hae had an awfu’ day,” she said, “and and if the objection of cleanliness had been made to the sorrow and fear are but bad companions in the watches practice, she would have been apt to vindicate herself of the night, as I hae heard the gudeman say himself.” upon the very frequent ablutions to which, with “They are ill companions indeed,” said Jeanie; “but I Mahometan scrupulosity, a Scottish damsel of some maun learn to abide their presence, and better begin in condition usually subjects herself. Thus far, therefore, the house than in the field.” all was well. She dismissed her aged assistant accordingly,—for so From an oaken press, or cabinet, in which her father slight was the gradation in their rank of life, that we kept a few old books, and two or three bundles of pa- can hardly term May a servant,—and proceeded to make pers, besides his ordinary accounts and receipts, she a few preparations for her journey. sought out and extracted from a parcel of notes of ser- The simplicity of her education and country made mons, calculations of interest, records of dying speeches these preparations very brief and easy. Her tartan screen of the martyrs, and the like, one or two documents which served all the purposes of a riding-habit and of an um- she thought might be of some use to her upon her mis- brella; a small bundle contained such changes of linen sion. But the most important difficulty remained be- as were absolutely necessary. Barefooted, as Sancho says, hind, and it had not occurred to her until that very

313 The Heart of Mid-Lothian evening. It was the want of money; without which it and honourable, were too little in unison with the spirit was impossible she could undertake so distant a jour- of the time to admit of his being a good judge of the ney as she now meditated. measures to be adopted in this crisis. Herself more flex- David Deans, as we have said, was easy, and even opu- ible in manner, though no less upright in principle, she lent in his circumstances. But his wealth, like that of felt that to ask his consent to her pilgrimage would be the patriarchs of old, consisted in his kine and herds, to encounter the risk of drawing down his positive pro- and in two or three sums lent out at interest to hibition, and under that she believed her journey could neighbours or relatives, who, far from being in circum- not be blessed in its progress and event. Accordingly, stances to pay anything to account of the principal sums, she had determined upon the means by which she might thought they did all that was incumbent on them when, communicate to him her undertaking and its purpose, with considerable difficulty, they discharged the “an- shortly after her actual departure. But it was impos- nual rent.” To these debtors it would be in vain, there- sible to apply to him for money without altering this fore, to apply, even with her father’s concurrence; nor arrangement, and discussing fully the propriety of her could she hope to obtain such concurrence, or assistance journey; pecuniary assistance from that quarter, therein any mode, without such a series of explanations and fore, was laid out of the question. debates as she felt might deprive her totally of the power It now occurred to Jeanie that she should have con- of taking the step, which, however daring and hazard- sulted with Mrs. Saddletree on this subject. But, besides ous, she felt was absolutely necessary for trying the last the time that must now necessarily be lost in recurring chance in favour of her sister. Without departing from to her assistance Jeanie internally revolted from it. Her filial reverence, Jeanie had an inward conviction that heart acknowledged the goodness of Mrs. Saddletree’s the feelings of her father, however just, and upright, general character, and the kind interest she took in their

314 Sir Walter Scott family misfortunes; but still she felt that Mrs. Saddletree was a woman of an ordinary and worldly way of thinking, incapable, from habit and temperament, of taking CHAPTER SECOND a keen or enthusiastic view of such a resolution as she had formed; and to debate the point with her, and to rely upon her conviction of its propriety, for the means ’Tis the voice of the sluggard, I’ve heard him complain, “You have waked me too soon, I must slumber again;” of carrying it into execution, would have been gall and As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed, wormwood. Turns his side, and his shoulders, and his heavy head. Butler, whose assistance she might have been assured of, was greatly poorer than herself. In these circum- Dr. Watts. stances, she formed a singular resolution for the purpose of surmounting this difficulty, the execution of which will form the subject of the next chapter. THE MANSION-HOUSE of Dumbiedikes, to which we are now to introduce our readers, lay three or four miles— no matter for the exact topography—to the southward of St. Leonard’s. It had once borne the appearance of some little celebrity; for the “auld laird,” whose humours and pranks were often mentioned in the ale-houses for about a mile round it, wore a sword, kept a good horse, and a brace of greyhounds; brawled, swore, and betted at cock-fights and horse-matches; followed Somerville

315 The Heart of Mid-Lothian of Drum’s hawks, and the Lord Ross’s hounds, and no lobby at the bottom of the tower, and scarce a land- called himself point devise a gentleman. But the line had ing-place opposite to the doors which gave access to the been veiled of its splendour in the present proprietor, apartments. One or two low and dilapidated outhouses, who cared for no rustic amusements, and was as saying, connected by a courtyard wall equally ruinous, sur- timid, and retired, as his father had been at once grasp- rounded the mansion. The court had been paved, but ing and selfishly extravagant—daring, wild, and intru- the flags being partly displaced and partly renewed, a sive. gallant crop of docks and thistles sprung up between Dumbiedikes was what is called in Scotland a single them, and the small garden, which opened by a postern house; that is, having only one room occupying its whole through the wall, seemed not to be in a much more or- depth from back to front, each of which single apart- derly condition. Over the low-arched gateway which led ments was illuminated by six or eight cross lights, whose into the yard there was a carved stone, exhibiting some diminutive panes and heavy frames permitted scarce so attempt at armorial bearings; and above the inner en- much light to enter as shines through one well-con- trance hung, and had hung, for many years, the structed modern window. This inartificial edifice, exactly mouldering hatchment, which announced that umquhile such as a child would build with cards, had a steep roof Laurence Dumbie of Dumbiedikes had been gathered flagged with coarse grey stones instead of slates; a half- to his fathers in Newbattle kirkyard. The approach to circular turret, battlemented, or, to use the appropriate this palace of pleasure was by a road formed by the rude phrase, bartizan’d on the top, served as a case for a nar- fragments of stone gathered from the fields, and it was row turnpike stair, by which an ascent was gained from surrounded by ploughed, but unenclosed land. Upon a storey to storey; and at the bottom of the said turret baulk, that is, an unploughed ridge of land interposed was a door studded with large-headed nails. There was among the corn, the Laird’s trusty palfrey was tethered

316 Sir Walter Scott by the head, and picking a meal of grass. The whole dies of higher rank would not have hesitated to do to all argued neglect and discomfort; the consequence, how- three on much less temptation. ever, of idleness and indifference, not of poverty. Her present errand being with the Laird, she looked In this inner court, not without a sense of bashfulness round the offices to see if she could find any domestic to and timidity, stood Jeanie Deans, at an early hour in a announce that she wished to see him. As all was silence, fine spring morning. She was no heroine of romance, she ventured to open one door—it was the old Laird’s and therefore looked with some curiosity and interest dog-kennel, now deserted, unless when occupied, as one on the mansion-house and domains, of which, it might or two tubs seemed to testify, as a washing-house. She at that moment occur to her, a little encouragement, tried another—it was the rootless shed where the hawks such as women of all ranks know by instinct how to had been once kept, as appeared from a perch or two apply, might have made her mistress. Moreover, she was not yet completely rotten, and a lure and jesses which no person of taste beyond her time, rank, and country, were mouldering on the wall. A third door led to the and certainly thought the house of Dumbiedikes, though coal-house, which was well stocked. To keep a very good inferior to Holyrood House, or the palace at Dalkeith, fire was one of the few points of domestic management was still a stately structure in its way, and the land a in which Dumbiedikes was positively active; in all other “very bonny bit, if it were better seen to and done to.” matters of domestic economy he was completely pas- But Jeanie Deans was a plain, true-hearted, honest girl, sive, and at the mercy of his housekeeper—the same who, while she acknowledged all the splendour of her buxom dame whom his father had long since bequeathed old admirer’s habitation, and the value of his property, to his charge, and who, if fame did her no injustice, had never for a moment harboured a thought of doing the feathered her nest pretty well at his expense. Laird, Butler, or herself, the injustice, which many la- Jeanie went on opening doors, like the second Calender

317 The Heart of Mid-Lothian wanting an eye, in the castle of the hundred obliging “Eh, sirs! the Brownie! the Brownie!” and fled, yelling damsels, until, like the said prince errant, she came to a as if she had seen the devil. stable. The Highland Pegasus, Rory Bean, to which To explain her terror it may be necessary to notice belonged the single entire stall, was her old acquaintance, that the old house of Dumbiedikes had, according to whom she had seen grazing on the baulk, as she failed report, been long haunted by a Brownie, one of those not to recognise by the well-known ancient riding furni- familiar spirits who were believed in ancient times to ture and demi-pique saddle, which half hung on the supply the deficiencies of the ordinary labourer— walls, half trailed on the litter. Beyond the “treviss,” which formed one side of the stall, stood a cow, who Whirl the long mop, and ply the airy flail. turned her head and lowed when Jeanie came into the stable, an appeal which her habitual occupations enabled Certes, the convenience of such a supernatural assistance her perfectly to understand, and with which she could could have been nowhere more sensibly felt than in a fam- not refuse complying, by shaking down some fodder to ily where the domestics were so little disposed to personal the animal, which had been neglected like most things activity; yet this serving maiden was so far from rejoic- else in the castle of the sluggard. ing in seeing a supposed aerial substitute discharging a While she was accommodating “the milky mother” task which she should have long since performed herself, with the food which she should have received two hours that she proceeded to raise the family by her screams of sooner, a slipshod wench peeped into the stable, and horror, uttered as thick as if the Brownie had been flay- perceiving that a stranger was employed in discharging ing her. Jeanie, who had immediately resigned her tem- the task which she, at length, and reluctantly, had quit- porary occupation, and followed the yelling damsel into ted her slumbers to perform, ejaculated, the courtyard, in order to undeceive and appease her, was

318 Sir Walter Scott there met by Mrs. Janet Balchristie, the favourite sul- Still, however, Mrs. Balchristie regarded Jeanie Deans tana of the last Laird, as scandal went—the housekeeper with no small portion of malevolence, the customary of the present. The good-looking buxom woman, betwixt feeling of such persons towards anyone who they think forty and fifty (for such we described her at the death of has the means of doing them an injury. But she had the last Laird), was now a fat, red-faced, old dame of also a general aversion to any female tolerably young, seventy, or thereabouts, fond of her place, and jealous of and decently well-looking, who showed a wish to ap- her authority. Conscious that her administration did not proach the house of Dumbiedikes and the proprietor rest on so sure a basis as in the time of the old proprietor, thereof. And as she had raised her mass of mortality this considerate lady had introduced into the family the out of bed two hours earlier than usual, to come to the screamer aforesaid, who added good features and bright rescue of her clamorous niece, she was in such extreme eyes to the powers of her lungs. She made no conquest of bad humour against all and sundry, that Saddletree the Laird, however, who seemed to live as if there was would have pronounced that she harboured inimicitiam not another woman in the world but Jeanie Deans, and contra omnes mortales. to bear no very ardent or overbearing affection even to “Wha the deil are ye?” said the fat dame to poor Jeanie, her. Mrs. Janet Balchristie, notwithstanding, had her own whom she did not immediately recognise, “scouping uneasy thoughts upon the almost daily visits to St. about a decent house at sic an hour in the morning?” Leonard’s Crags, and often, when the Laird looked at her “It was ane wanting to speak to the Laird,” said Jeanie, wistfully and paused, according to his custom before ut- who felt something of the intuitive terror which she had terance, she expected him to say, “Jenny, I am gaun to formerly entertained for this termagant, when she was change my condition;” but she was relieved by, “Jenny, I occasionally at Dumbiedikes on business of her father’s. am gaun to change my shoon.” “Ane!—And what sort of ane are ye!—hae ye nae

319 The Heart of Mid-Lothian name?—D’ye think his honour has naething else to do upon her visit. When Mrs. Balchristie, seeing her ad- than to speak wi’ ilka idle tramper that comes about vantage, continued in the same tone, “Come, come, the town, and him in his bed yet, honest man?” bundle up your pipes and tramp awa wi’ ye!—ye may “Dear Mrs. Balchristie,” replied Jeanie, in a submis- be seeking a father to another wean for ony thing I ken. sive tone, “d’ye no mind me?—d’ye no mind Jeanie If it warna that your father, auld David Deans, had Deans?” been a tenant on our land, I would cry up the men-folk, “Jeanie Deans!” said the termagant, in accents affect- and hae ye dookit in the burn for your impudence.” ing the utmost astonishment; then, taking two strides Jeanie had already turned her back, and was walking nearer to her, she peered into her face with a stare of towards the door of the court-yard, so that Mrs. curiosity, equally scornful and malignant— “I say Jeanie Balchristie, to make her last threat impressively audible Deans indeed—Jeanie Deevil, they had better hae ca’ed to her, had raised her stentorian voice to its utmost pitch. ye!—A bonny spot o’ wark your tittie and you hae made But, like many a general, she lost the engagement by out, murdering ae puir wean, and your light limmer of pressing her advantage too far. a sister’s to be hanged for’t, as weel she deserves!—And The Laird had been disturbed in his morning slum- the like o’ you to come to ony honest man’s house, and bers by the tones of Mrs. Balchristie’s objurgation, want to be into a decent bachelor gentleman’s room at sounds in themselves by no means uncommon, but very this time in the morning, and him in his bed!—Gae wa’, remarkable, in respect to the early hour at which they gae wa’!” were now heard. He turned himself on the other side, Jeanie was struck mute with shame at the unfeeling however, in hopes the squall would blow by, when, in brutality of this accusation, and could not even find the course of Mrs. Balchristie’s second explosion of words to justify herself from the vile construction put wrath, the name of Deans distinctly struck the tympa-

320 Sir Walter Scott num of his ear. As he was, in some degree, aware of the Mrs. Balchristie was completely caught in the man- small portion of benevolence with which his housekeeper ner. She was aware, from the unusual warmth with which regarded the family at St. Leonard’s, he instantly con- the Laird expressed himself, that he was quite serious ceived that some message from thence was the cause of in this matter, and she knew, that with all his indolence this untimely ire, and getting out of his bed, he slipt as of nature, there were points on which he might be pro- speedily as possible into an old brocaded night-gown, voked, and that, being provoked, he had in him some- and some other necessary garments, clapped on his head thing dangerous, which her wisdom taught her to fear his father’s gold-laced hat (for though he was seldom accordingly. She began, therefore, to retract her false seen without it, yet it is proper to contradict the popu- step as fast as she could. “She was but speaking for the lar report that he slept in it, as Don Quixote did in his house’s credit, and she couldna think of disturbing his helmet), and opening the window of his bedroom, be- honour in the morning sae early, when the young woman held, to his great astonishment, the well-known figure might as weel wait or call again; and to be sure, she might of Jeanie Deans herself retreating from his gate; while make a mistake between the twa sisters, for ane o’ them his housekeeper, with arms a-kimbo, fist clenched and wasna sae creditable an acquaintance.” extended, body erect, and head shaking with rage, sent “Haud your peace, ye auld jade,” said Dumbiedikes; after her a volley of Billingsgate oaths. His choler rose “the warst quean e’er stude in their shoon may ca’ you in proportion to the surprise, and, perhaps, to the dis- cousin, an a’ be true that I have heard.—Jeanie, my turbance of his repose. “Hark ye,” he exclaimed from woman, gang into the parlour—but stay, that winna be the window, “ye auld limb of Satan—wha the deil gies redd up yet—wait there a minute till I come down to let you commission to guide an honest man’s daughter that ye in—Dinna mind what Jenny says to ye.” gate?” “Na, na,” said Jenny, with a laugh of affected hearti-

321 The Heart of Mid-Lothian ness, “never mind me, lass—a’ the warld kens my bark’s standing she still trembled, “I canna gang in—I have a waur than my bite—if ye had had an appointment wi’ lang day’s darg afore me—I maun be twenty mile o’ the Laird, ye might hae tauld me—I am nae uncivil per- gate the night yet, if feet will carry me.” son—gang your ways in by, hinny,” and she opened the “Guide and deliver us!—twenty mile—twenty mile on door of the house with a master-key. your feet!” ejaculated Dumbiedikes, whose walks were “But I had no appointment wi’ the Laird,” said Jeanie, of a very circumscribed diameter,— “Ye maun never drawing back; “I want just to speak twa words to him, think o’ that—come in by.” and I wad rather do it standing here, Mrs. Balchristie.” “I canna do that, Laird,” replied Jeanie; “the twa “In the open court-yard!—Na, na, that wad never do, words I have to say to ye I can say here; forby that Mrs. lass; we mauna guide ye that gate neither—And how’s Balchristie.” that douce honest man, your father?” “The deil flee awa wi’ Mrs. Balchristie,” said Jeanie was saved the pain of answering this hypocriti- Dumbiedikes, “and he’ll hae a heavy lading o’ her! I tell cal question by the appearance of the Laird himself. ye, Jeanie Deans, I am a man of few words, but I am “Gang in and get breakfast ready,” said he to his house- laird at hame, as well as in the field; deil a brute or body keeper—”and, d’ye hear, breakfast wi’ us yoursell—ye about my house but I can manage when I like, except ken how to manage thae porringers of tea-water—and, Rory Bean, my powny; but I can seldom be at the plague, hear ye, see abune a’ that there’s a gude fire.—Weel, an it binna when my bluid’s up.” Jeanie, my woman, gang in by—gang in by, and rest “I was wanting to say to ye, Laird,” said Jeanie, who ye.” felt the necessity of entering upon her business, “that I “Na, Laird,” Jeanie replied, endeavouring as much as was gaun a lang journey, outby of my father’s knowl- she could to express herself with composure, notwith- edge.”

322 Sir Walter Scott “Outby his knowledge, Jeanie!—Is that right? Ye “sae fare ye weel—and gang and see my poor father as maun think ot again—it’s no right,” said Dumbiedikes, aften as ye can—he will be lonely eneugh now.” with a countenance of great concern. “Where is the silly bairn gaun?” said Dumbiedikes; “If I were ance at Lunnon,” said Jeanie, in exculpa- and, laying hold of her hand, he led her into the house. tion, “I am amaist sure I could get means to speak to “It’s no that I didna think o’t before,” he said, “but it the queen about my sister’s life.” stack in my throat.” “Lunnon—and the queen—and her sister’s life!” said Thus speaking to himself, he led her into an old-fash- Dumbiedikes, whistling for very amazement— “the ioned parlour, shut the door behind them, and fastened lassie’s demented.” it with a bolt. While Jeanie, surprised at this manoeu- “I am no out o’ my mind,” said she, “and sink or swim, vre, remained as near the door as possible, the Laird I am determined to gang to Lunnon, if I suld beg my quitted her hand, and pressed upon a spring lock fixed way frae door to door—and so I maun, unless ye wad in an oak panel in the wainscot, which instantly slipped lend me a small sum to pay my expenses—little thing aside. An iron strong-box was discovered in a recess of will do it; and ye ken my father’s a man of substance, the wall; he opened this also, and pulling out two or and wad see nae man, far less you, Laird, come to loss three drawers, showed that they were filled with leath- by me.” ern bags full of gold and silver coin. Dumbiedikes, on comprehending the nature of this “This is my bank, Jeanie lass,” he said, looking first application, could scarce trust his ears—he made no an- at her and then at the treasure, with an air of great swer whatever, but stood with his eyes rivetted on the complacency,— “nane o’ your goldsmith’s bills for me,— ground. they bring folk to ruin.” “I see ye are no for assisting me, Laird,” said Jeanie, Then, suddenly changing his tone, he resolutely said,—

323 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “Jeanie, I will make ye Lady Dumbiedikes afore the sun “It canna be; ye were born on the land. O Jeanie woman, sets and ye may ride to Lunnon in your ain coach, if ye ye haena lookit—ye haena seen the half o’ the gear.” like.” He drew out another drawer— “A’ gowd, Jeanie, and “Na, Laird,” said Jeanie, “that can never be—my there’s bands for siller lent—And the rental book, father’s grief—my sister’s situation—the discredit to Jeanie—clear three hunder sterling—deil a wadset, heri- you—” table band, or burden—Ye haena lookit at them, “That’s my business,” said Dumbiedikes; “ye wad say woman—And then my mother’s wardrobe, and my naething about that if ye werena a fule—and yet I like grandmother’s forby—silk gowns wad stand on their ye the better for’t—ae wise body’s eneugh in the mar- ends, their pearline-lace as fine as spiders’ webs, and rings ried state. But if your heart’s ower fu’, take what siller and ear-rings to the boot of a’ that—they are a’ in the will serve ye, and let it be when ye come back again—as chamber of deas—Oh, Jeanie, gang up the stair and look gude syne as sune.” at them!” “But, Laird,” said Jeanie, who felt the necessity of But Jeanie held fast her integrity, though beset with being explicit with so extraordinary a lover, “I like an- temptations, which perhaps the Laird of Dumbiedikes other man better than you, and I canna marry ye.” did not greatly err in supposing were those most affect- “Another man better than me, Jeanie!” said ing to her sex. Dumbiedikes; “how is that possible? It’s no possible, “It canna be, Laird—I have said it—and I canna break woman—ye hae ken’d me sae lang.” my word till him, if ye wad gie me the haill barony of “Ay but, Laird,” said Jeanie, with persevering simplic- Dalkeith, and Lugton into the bargain.” ity, “I hae ken’d him langer.” “Your word to him,” said the Laird, somewhat pet- “Langer! It’s no possible!” exclaimed the poor Laird. tishly; “but wha is he, Jeanie?—wha is he?—I haena

324 Sir Walter Scott heard his name yet—Come now, Jeanie, ye are but Jeanie, is nae cause of feud—Ae man may bring a horse queering us—I am no trowing that there is sic a ane in to the water, but twenty winna gar him drink—And as the warld—ye are but making fashion—What is he?— for wasting my substance on other folk’s joes—” wha is he?” There was something in the last hint that nettled “Just Reuben Butler, that’s schulemaster at Liberton,” Jeanie’s honest pride.— “I was begging nane frae your said Jeanie. honour,” she said; “least of a’ on sic a score as ye pit it “Reuben Butler! Reuben Butler!” echoed the Laird on.—Gude morning to ye, sir; ye hae been kind to my of Dumbiedikes, pacing the apartment in high dis- father, and it isna in my heart to think otherwise than dain,— “Reuben Butler, the dominie at Liberton—and kindly of you.” a dominie depute too!—Reuben, the son of my cottar!— So saying, she left the room without listening to a faint Very weel, Jeanie lass, “But, Jeanie—Jeanie—stay, woman!” and traversing the wilfu’ woman will hae her courtyard with a quick step, she set out on her forward way—Reuben Butler! he journey, her bosom glowing with that natural indigna- hasna in his pouch the tion and shame, which an honest mind feels at having value o’ the auld black subjected itself to ask a favour, which had been unex- coat he wears—But it pectedly refused. When out of the Laird’s ground, and disna signify.” And as he once more upon the public road, her pace slackened, her spoke, he shut succes- anger cooled, and anxious anticipations of the conse- sively and with vehe- quence of this unexpected disappointment began to in- mence the drawers of his fluence her with other feelings. Must she then actually treasury. “A fair offer, beg her way to London? for such seemed the alterna-

325 The Heart of Mid-Lothian tive; or must she turn back, and solicit her father for When the Laird came up with Jeanie, the first words money? and by doing so lose time, which was precious, he uttered were,— “Jeanie, they say ane shouldna aye besides the risk of encountering his positive prohibition take a woman at her first word?” respecting the journey! Yet she saw no medium between “Ay, but ye maun take me at mine, Laird,” said Jeanie, these alternatives; and, while she walked slowly on, was looking on the ground, and walking on without a still meditating whether it were not better to return. pause.— “I hae but ae word to bestow on ony body, and While she was thus in an uncertainty, she heard the that’s aye a true ane.” clatter of a horse’s hoofs, and a well-known voice calling “Then,” said Dumbiedikes, “at least ye suldna aye take her name. She looked round, and saw advancing towards a man at his first word. Ye maunna gang this wilfu’ gate her on a pony, whose bare back and halter assorted ill sillerless, come o’t what like.”—He put a purse into her with the nightgown, slippers, and laced cocked-hat of the hand. “I wad gie you Rory too, but he’s as wilfu’ as rider, a cavalier of no less importance than Dumbiedikes yoursell, and he’s ower weel used to a gate that maybe himself. In the energy of his pursuit, he had overcome he and I hae gaen ower aften, and he’ll gang nae road even the Highland obstinacy of Rory Bean, and com- else.” pelled that self-willed palfrey to canter the way his rider “But, Laird,” said Jeanie, “though I ken my father chose; which Rory, however, performed with all the symp- will satisfy every penny of this siller, whatever there’s toms of reluctance, turning his head, and accompanying o’t, yet I wadna like to borrow it frae ane that maybe every bound he made in advance with a sidelong motion, thinks of something mair than the paying o’t back which indicated his extreme wish to turn round,—a ma- again.” noeuvre which nothing but the constant exercise of the “There’s just twenty-five guineas o’t,” said Laird’s heels and cudgel could possibly have counteracted. Dumbiedikes, with a gentle sigh, “and whether your

326 Sir Walter Scott father pays or disna pay, I make ye free till’t without burst of affectionate esteem. The figure of Dumbiedikes another word. Gang where ye like—do what ye like— was too ludicrous not to confirm Jeanie in the original and marry a’ the Butlers in the country gin ye like— sentiments she entertained towards him. And sae, gude morning to you, Jeanie.” “He’s a gude creature,” said she, “and a kind—it’s a “And God bless you, Laird, wi’ mony a gude morn- pity he has sae willyard a powny.” And she immediately ing!” said Jeanie, her heart more softened by the un- turned her thoughts to the important journey which wonted generosity of this uncouth character, than per- she had commenced, reflecting with pleasure, that, ac- haps Butler might have approved, had he known her cording to her habits of life and of undergoing fatigue, feelings at that moment; “and comfort, and the Lord’s she was now amply or even superfluously provided with peace, and the peace of the world, be with you, if we the means of encountering the expenses of the road, up suld never meet again!” and down from London, and all other expenses what- Dumbiedikes turned and waved his hand; and his pony, ever. much more willing to return than he had been to set out, hurried him homeward so fast, that, wanting the aid of a regular bridle, as well as of saddle and stirrups, he was too much puzzled to keep his seat to permit of his looking behind, even to give the parting glance of a forlorn swain. I am ashamed to say, that the sight of a lover, ran away with in nightgown and slippers and a laced hat, by a bare-backed Highland pony, had something in it of a sedative, even to a grateful and deserved

327 The Heart of Mid-Lothian Butler, to plait crowns and sceptres for her sister Effie, then a beautiful but spoiled child, of about three years CHAPTER THIRD old. The recollections which the scene brought with them were so bitter, that, had she indulged them, she would have sate down and relieved her heart with tears. What strange and wayward thoughts will slide “But I ken’d,” said Jeanie, when she gave an account Into a lover’s head; “O mercy!” to myself I cried, of her pilgrimage, “that greeting would do but little “If Lucy should be dead!” good, and that it was mair beseeming to thank the Lord, that had showed me kindness and countenance by means Wordsworth. of a man, that mony ca’d a Nabal, and churl, but wha was free of his gudes to me, as ever the fountain was free of the stream. And I minded the Scripture about IN PURSUING HER solitary journey, our heroine, soon af- the sin of Israel at Meribah, when the people murmured, ter passing the house of Dumbiedikes, gained a little although Moses had brought water from the dry rock eminence, from which, on looking to the eastward down that the congregation might drink and live. Sae, I wad a prattling brook, whose meanders were shaded with not trust mysell with another look at puir Woodend, for straggling widows and alder trees, she could see the cot- the very blue reek that came out of the lum-head pat tages of Woodend and Beersheba, the haunts and habi- me in mind of the change of market days with us.” tation of her early life, and could distinguish the com- In this resigned and Christian temper she pursued her mon on which she had so often herded sheep, and the journey until she was beyond this place of melancholy recesses of the rivulet where she had pulled rushes with recollections, and not distant from the village where

328 Sir Walter Scott Butler dwelt, which, with its old-fashioned church and minish the strength and energy of her resolution. A visit steeple, rises among a tuft of trees, occupying the ridge to a lover from a young person in a higher rank of life of an eminence to the south of Edinburgh. At a quarter than Jeanie’s, would have had something forward and of a mile’s distance is a clumsy square tower, the resi- improper in its character. But the simplicity of her ru- dence of the Laird of Liberton, who, in former times, ral habits was unacquainted with these punctilious ideas with the habits of the predatory chivalry of Germany, of decorum, and no notion, therefore, of impropriety is said frequently to have annoyed the city of Edinburgh, crossed her imagination, as, setting out upon a long jour- by intercepting the supplies and merchandise which ney, she went to bid adieu to an early friend. came to the town from the southward. There was still another motive that pressed upon her This village, its tower, and its church, did not lie pre- mind with additional force as she approached the vil- cisely in Jeanie’s road towards England; but they were lage. She had looked anxiously for Butler in the court- not much aside from it, and the village was the abode house, and had expected that, certainly, in some part of Butler. She had resolved to see him in the beginning of that eventful day, he would have appeared to bring of her journey, because she conceived him the most such countenance and support as he could give to his proper person to write to her father concerning her reso- old friend, and the protector of his youth, even if her lution and her hopes. There was probably another rea- own claims were laid aside. son latent in her affectionate bosom. She wished once She know, indeed, that he was under a certain degree more to see the object of so early and so sincere an at- of restraint; but she still had hoped that he would have tachment, before commencing a pilgrimage, the perils found means to emancipate himself from it, at least for of which she did not disguise from herself, although she one day. In short, the wild and wayward thoughts which did not allow them so to press upon her mind as to di- Wordsworth has described as rising in an absent lover’s

329 The Heart of Mid-Lothian imagination, suggested, as the only explanation of his ious to intercept, or prevent if possible. The measure absence, that Butler must be very ill. And so much had was not meant as a harsh or injurious severity on the this wrought on her imagination, that when she ap- part of the magistrates; but, in Butler’s circumstances, proached the cottage where her lover occupied a small it pressed cruelly hard. He felt he must be suffering un- apartment, and which had been pointed out to her by a der the bad opinion of the person who was dearest to maiden with a milk-pail on her head, she trembled at him, from an imputation of unkind desertion, the most anticipating the answer she might receive on inquiring alien to his nature. for him. This painful thought, pressing on a frame already in- Her fears in this case had, indeed, only hit upon the jured, brought on a succession of slow and lingering fe- truth. Butler, whose constitution was naturally feeble, verish attacks, which greatly impaired his health, and did not soon recover the fatigue of body and distress of at length rendered him incapable even of the sedentary mind which he had suffered, in consequence of the tragi- duties of the school, on which his bread depended. For- cal events with which our narrative commenced. The tunately, old Mr. Whackbairn, who was the principal painful idea that his character was breathed on by sus- teacher of the little parochial establishment, was sin- picion, was an aggravation to his distress. cerely attached to Butler. Besides that he was sensible But the most cruel addition was the absolute prohibi- of his merits and value as an assistant, which had greatly tion laid by the magistrates on his holding any commu- raised the credit of his little school, the ancient peda- nication with Deans or his family. It had unfortunately gogue, who had himself been tolerably educated, re- appeared likely to them, that some intercourse might tained some taste for classical lore, and would gladly be again attempted with that family by Robertson, relax, after the drudgery of the school was over, by con- through the medium of Butler, and this they were anx- ning over a few pages of Horace or Juvenal with his

330 Sir Walter Scott usher. A similarity of taste begot kindness, and accord- and in the morning he was awaked from a feverish slum- ingly he saw Butler’s increasing debility with great com- ber, by the only circumstance which could have added passion, roused up his own energies to teaching the school to his distress,—the visit of an intrusive ass. in the morning hours, insisted upon his assistant’s re- This unwelcome visitant was no other than Bartoline posing himself at that period, and, besides, supplied him Saddletree. The worthy and sapient burgher had kept with such comforts as the patient’s situation required, his appointment at MacCroskie’s with Plumdamas and and his own means were inadequate to compass. some other neighbours, to discuss the Duke of Argyle’s Such was Butler’s situation, scarce able to drag him- speech, the justice of Effie Deans’s condemnation, and self to the place where his daily drudgery must gain his the improbability of her obtaining a reprieve. This sage daily bread, and racked with a thousand fearful antici- conclave disputed high and drank deep, and on the next pations concerning the fate of those who were dearest morning Bartoline felt, as he expressed it, as if his head to him in the world, when the trial and condemnation was like a “confused progress of writs.” of Effie Deans put the copestone upon his mental mis- To bring his reflective powers to their usual serenity, ery. Saddle-tree resolved to take a morning’s ride upon a cer- He had a particular account of these events, from a tain hackney, which he, Plumdamas, and another hon- fellow-student who resided in the same village, and who, est shopkeeper, combined to maintain by joint subscrip- having been present on the melancholy occasion, was tion, for occasional jaunts for the purpose of business able to place it in all its agony of horrors before his ex- or exercise. As Saddletree had two children boarded with cruciated imagination. That sleep should have visited Whackbairn, and was, as we have seen, rather fond of his eyes after such a curfew-note, was impossible. A thou- Butler’s society, he turned his palfrey’s head towards sand dreadful visions haunted his imagination all night, Liberton, and came, as we have already said, to give the

331 The Heart of Mid-Lothian unfortunate usher that additional vexation, of which Imogene complains so feelingly, when she says,— Vivat Rex, Currat Lex, “I’m sprighted with a fool— Sprighted and anger’d worse.” as the poet has it, in whilk of Horace’s odes I know not.” Here Butler groaned, in utter impatience of the brutal- If anything could have added gall to bitterness, it was ity and ignorance which Bartoline had contrived to amal- the choice which Saddletree made of a subject for his gamate into one sentence. But Saddletree, like other prosing harangues, being the trial of Effie Deans, and prosers, was blessed with a happy obtuseness of percep- the probability of her being executed. Every word fell tion concerning the unfavourable impression which he on Butler’s ear like the knell of a death-bell, or the note sometimes made on his auditors. He proceeded to deal forth of a screech-owl. his scraps of legal knowledge without mercy, and concluded Jeanie paused at the door of her lover’s humble abode by asking Butler, with great self-complacency, “Was it na upon hearing the loud and pompous tones of Saddletree a pity my father didna send me to Utrecht? Havena I sounding from the inner apartment, “Credit me, it will missed the chance to turn out as clarissimus an ictus, as be sae, Mr. Butler. Brandy cannot save her. She maun auld Grunwiggin himself?—Whatfor dinna ye speak, Mr. gang down the Bow wi’ the lad in the pioted coat* at Butler? Wad I no hae been a clarissimus ictus?—Eh, man?” her heels.— “I really do not understand you, Mr. Saddletree,” said I am sorry for the lassie, but the law, sir, maun hae its Butler, thus pushed hard for an answer. His faint and course— exhausted tone of voice was instantly drowned in the * The executioner, in livery of black or dark grey and silver, sonorous bray of Bartoline. likened by low wit to a magpie. 332 Sir Walter Scott “No understand me, man? Ictus is Latin for a lawyer, delight. “Now, it will be twa hours yet or ye’re wanted is it not?” in the schule, and as ye are no weel, I’ll sit wi’ you to “Not that ever I heard of,” answered Butler in the same divert ye, and explain t’ye the nature of a tillicidian. Ye dejected tone. maun ken, the petitioner, Mrs. Crombie, a very decent “The deil ye didna!—See, man, I got the word but this woman, is a friend of mine, and I hae stude her friend in morning out of a memorial of Mr. Crossmyloof’s—see, this case, and brought her wi’ credit into the court, and there it is, ictus clarissimus et perti—peritissimus—it’s I doubtna that in due time she will win out o’t wi’ credit, a’ Latin, for it’s printed in the Italian types.” win she or lose she. Ye see, being an inferior tenement or “O, you mean juris-consultus—Ictus is an abbrevia- laigh house, we grant ourselves to be burdened wi’ the tion for juris-consultus.” tillicide, that is, that we are obligated to receive the natu- “Dinna tell me, man,” persevered Saddletree, “there’s ral water-drap of the superior tenement, sae far as the nae abbreviates except in adjudications; and this is a’ same fa’s frae the heavens, or the roof of our neighbour’s about a servitude of water-drap—that is to say, house, and from thence by the gutters or eaves upon our tillicidian* (maybe ye’ll say that’s no Latin neither), in laigh tenement. But the other night comes a Highland Mary King’s Close in the High Street.” quean of a lass, and she flashes, God kens what, out at “Very likely,” said poor Butler, overwhelmed by the the eastmost window of Mrs. MacPhail’s house, that’s noisy perseverance of his visitor. “Iam not able to dis- the superior tenement. I believe the auld women wad pute with you.” hae agreed, for Luckie MacPhail sent down the lass to “Few folk are—few folk are, Mr. Butler, though I say tell my friend Mrs. Crombie that she had made the it that shouldna say it,” returned Bartoline with great gardyloo out of the wrang window, out of respect for twa Highlandmen that were speaking Gaelic in the close * He meant, probably, stillicidium. 333 The Heart of Mid-Lothian below the right ane. But luckily for Mrs. Crombie, I just ditional visitor with, “Mr. Butler, here’s a lass wants to chanced to come in in time to break aff the commun- speak t’ye.” ing, for it’s a pity the point suldna be tried. We had Mrs. The surprise of Butler was extreme, when Jeanie, who MacPhail into the Ten-Mark Court—The Hieland seldom stirred half-a-mile from home, entered his apart- limmer of a lass wanted to swear herself free—but haud ment upon this annunciation. ye there, says I.” “Good God!” he said, starting from his chair, while alarm The detailed account of this important suit might have restored to his cheek the colour of which sickness had de- lasted until poor Butler’s hour of rest was completely prived it; “some new misfortune must have happened!” exhausted, had not Saddletree been interrupted by the “None, Mr. Reuben, but what you must hae heard of— noise of voices at the door. The woman of the house where but oh, ye are looking ill yoursell!”—for the “hectic of a Butler lodged, on returning with her pitcher from the well, moment” had not concealed from her affectionate eyes whence she had been fetching water for the family, found the ravages which lingering disease and anxiety of mind our heroine Jeanie Deans standing at the door, impatient had made in her lover’s person. of the prolix harangue of Saddletree, yet unwilling to “No: I am well—quite well,” said Butler with eager- enter until he should have taken his leave. ness; “if I can do anything to assist you, Jeanie—or your The good woman abridged the period of hesitation by father.” inquiring, “Was ye wanting the gudeman or me, lass?” “Ay, to be sure,” said Saddletree; “the family may be “I wanted to speak with Mr. Butler, if he’s at leisure,” considered as limited to them twa now, just as if Effie replied Jeanie. had never been in the tailzie, puir thing. But, Jeanie “Gang in by then, my woman,” answered the goodwife; lass, what brings you out to Liberton sae air in the morn- and opening the door of a room, she announced the ad- ing, and your father lying ill in the Luckenbooths?”

334 Sir Walter Scott “I had a message frae my father to Mr. Butler,” said Whackbairn will be somewhat affronted if you do not Jeanie with embarrassment; but instantly feeling hear your boys called up to their lessons.” ashamed of the fiction to which she had resorted, for “Indeed, Mr. Butler, and that’s as true; and I prom- her love of and veneration for truth was almost Quaker- ised to ask a half play-day to the schule, so that the like, she corrected herself— “That is to say, I wanted to bairns might gang and see the hanging, which canna speak with Mr. Butler about some business of my father’s but have a pleasing effect on their young minds, seeing and puir Effie’s.” there is no knowing what they may come to them- “Is it law business?” said Bartoline; “because if it be, selves.—Odd so, I didna mind ye were here, Jeanie ye had better take my opinion on the subject than his.” Deans; but ye maun use yoursell to hear the matter spo- “It is not just law business,” said Jeanie, who saw con- ken o’.—Keep Jeanie here till I come back, Mr. Butler; siderable inconvenience might arise from letting Mr. I winna bide ten minutes.” Saddletree into the secret purpose of her journey; “but And with this unwelcome assurance of an immediate I want Mr. Butler to write a letter for me.” return, he relieved them of the embarrassment of his “Very right,” said Mr. Saddletree; “and if ye’ll tell me presence. what it is about, I’ll dictate to Mr. Butler as Mr. “Reuben,” said Jeanie, who saw the necessity of using Crossmyloof does to his clerk.—Get your pen and ink the interval of his absence in discussing what had brought in initialibus, Mr. Butler.” her there, “I am bound on a lang journey—I am gaun to Jeanie looked at Butler, and wrung her hands with Lunnon to ask Effie’s life of the king and of the queen.” vexation and impatience. “Jeanie! you are surely not yourself,” answered But- “I believe, Mr. Saddletree,” said Butler, who saw the ler, in the utmost surprise;— “you go to London—you necessity of getting rid of him at all events, “that Mr. address the king and queen!”

335 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “And what for no, Reuben?” said Jeanie, with all the ence; but by reading and report I know, that the King of composed simplicity of her character; “it’s but speak- Britain does everything by means of his ministers.” ing to a mortal man and woman when a’ is done. And “And if they be upright, God-fearing ministers,” said their hearts maun be made o’ flesh and blood like other Jeanie, “it’s sae muckle the better chance for Effie and folk’s, and Effie’s story wad melt them were they stane. me.” Forby, I hae heard that they are no sic bad folk as what “But you do not even understand the most ordinary the Jacobites ca’ them.” words relating to a court,” said Butler; “by the minis- “Yes, Jeanie,” said Butler; “but their magnificence— try is meant not clergymen, but the king’s official ser- their retinue—the difficulty of getting audience?” vants.” “I have thought of a’ that, Reuben, and it shall not “Nae doubt,” returned Jeanie, “he maun hae a great break my spirit. Nae doubt their claiths will be very number mair, I daur to say, than the duchess has at grand, wi’ their crowns on their heads, and their sceptres Dalkeith, and great folk’s servants are aye mair saucy in their hands, like the great King Ahasuerus when he than themselves. But I’ll be decently put on, and I’ll sate upon his royal throne fornent the gate of his house, offer them a trifle o’ siller, as if I came to see the palace. as we are told in Scripture. But I have that within me Or, if they scruple that, I’ll tell them I’m come on a that will keep my heart from failing, and I am amaist business of life and death, and then they will surely bring sure that I will be strengthened to speak the errand I me to speech of the king and queen?” came for.” Butler shook his head. “O Jeanie, this is entirely a wild “Alas! alas!” said Butler, “the kings now-a-days do not dream. You can never see them but through some great sit in the gate to administer justice, as in patriarchal times. lord’s intercession, and I think it is scarce possible even I know as little of courts as you do, Jeanie, by experi- then.”

336 Sir Walter Scott “Weel, but maybe I can get that too,” said Jeanie, ness, “and I will hope that Heaven has suggested to your “with a little helping from you.” kind heart and firm courage the only possible means of “From me, Jeanie! this is the wildest imagination of all.” saving the life of this unfortunate girl. But, Jeanie, you “Ay, but it is not, Reuben. Havena I heard you say, must not take this most perilous journey alone; I have that your grandfather (that my father never likes to hear an interest in you, and I will not agree that my Jeanie about) did some gude langsyne to the forbear of this throws herself away. You must even, in the present cir- MacCallummore, when he was Lord of Lorn?” cumstances, give me a husband’s right to protect you, “He did so,” said Butler, eagerly, “and I can prove it.— and I will go with you myself on this journey, and assist I will write to the Duke of Argyle—report speaks him a you to do your duty by your family.” good kindly man, as he is known for a brave soldier and “Alas, Reuben!” said Jeanie in her turn, “this must true patriot—I will conjure him to stand between your not be; a pardon will not gie my sister her fair fame again, sister and this cruel fate. There is but a poor chance of or make me a bride fitting for an honest man and an success, but we will try all means.” usefu’ minister. Wha wad mind what he said in the “We must try all means,” replied Jeanie; “but writing pu’pit, that had to wife the sister of a woman that was winna do it—a letter canna look, and pray, and beg, and condemned for sic wickedness?” beseech, as the human voice can do to the human heart. “But, Jeanie,” pleaded her lover, “I do not believe, and A letter’s like the music that the ladies have for their I cannot believe, that Effie has done this deed.” spinets—naething but black scores, compared to the “Heaven bless ye for saying sae, Reuben,” answered same tune played or sung. It’s word of mouth maun do Jeanie; “but she maun bear the blame o’t after all.” it, or naething, Reuben.” “But the blame, were it even justly laid on her, does “You are right,” said Reuben, recollecting his firm- not fall on you.”

337 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “Ah, Reuben, Reuben,” replied the young woman, “ye “Ye see, and ye ken, ye maun just let me depart,” said ken it is a blot that spreads to kith and kin.—Ichabod— Jeanie, after a pause; and then taking his extended hand, as my poor father says—the glory is departed from our and gazing kindly in his face, she added, “It’s e’en a house; for the poorest man’s house has a glory, where grief the mair to me to see you in this way. But ye maun there are true hands, a divine heart, and an honest keep up your heart for Jeanie’s sake, for if she isna your fame—And the last has gane frae us a.” wife, she will never be the wife of living man. And now “But, Jeanie, consider your word and plighted faith gie me the paper for MacCallummore, and bid God speed to me; and would you undertake such a journey with- me on my way.” out a man to protect you?—and who should that pro- There was something of romance in Jeanie’s venturous tector be but your husband?” resolution; yet, on consideration, as it seemed impossible “You are kind and good, Reuben, and wad take me wi’ a’ to alter it by persuasion, or to give her assistance but by my shame, I doubtna. But ye canna but own that this is advice, Butler, after some farther debate, put into her no time to marry or be given in marriage. Na, if that suld hands the paper she desired, which, with the muster-roll ever be, it maun be in another and a better season.—And, in which it was folded up, were the sole memorials of the dear Reuben, ye speak of protecting me on my journey— stout and enthusiastic Bible Butler, his grandfather. While Alas! who will protect and take care of you?—your very Butler sought this document, Jeanie had time to take up limbs tremble with standing for ten minutes on the floor; his pocket Bible. “I have marked a scripture,” she said, how could you undertake a journey as far as Lunnon?” as she again laid it down, “with your kylevine pen, that “But I am strong—I am well,” continued Butler, sink- will be useful to us baith. And ye maun tak the trouble, ing in his seat totally exhausted, “at least I shall be quite Reuben, to write a’ this to my father, for, God help me, I well to-morrow.” have neither head nor hand for lang letters at ony time,

338 Sir Walter Scott forby now; and I trust him entirely to you, and I trust rition. Saddletree, who entered immediately afterwards, you will soon be permitted to see him. And, Reuben, when overwhelmed him with questions, which he answered ye do win to the speech o’ him, mind a’ the auld man’s without understanding them, and with legal disquisi- bits o’ ways, for Jeanie’s sake; and dinna speak o’ Latin tions, which conveyed to him no iota of meaning. At or English terms to him, for he’s o’ the auld warld, and length the learned burgess recollected that there was a downa bide to be fashed wi’ them, though I daresay he Baron Court to be, held at Loanhead that day, and may be wrang. And dinna ye say muckle to him, but set though it was hardly worth while, “he might as weel go him on speaking himself, for he’ll bring himsell mair com- to see if there was onything doing, as he was acquainted fort that way. And O, Reuben, the poor lassie in yon dun- with the baron bailie, who was a decent man, and would geon!—but I needna bid your kind heart—gie her what be glad of a word of legal advice.” comfort ye can as soon as they will let ye see her—tell So soon as he departed, Butler flew to the Bible, the her—But I maunna speak mair about her, for I maunna last book which Jeanie had touched. To his extreme sur- take leave o’ ye wi’ the tear in my ee, for that wouldna be prise, a paper, containing two or three pieces of gold, canny.—God bless ye, Reuben!” dropped from the book. With a black-lead pencil, she To avoid so ill an omen she left the room hastily, while had marked the sixteenth and twenty-fifth verses of the her features yet retained the mournful and affectionate thirty-seventh Psalm,— “A little that a righteous man smile which she had compelled them to wear, in order to hath, is better than the riches of the wicked.”— “I have support Butler’s spirits. been young and am now old, yet have I not seen the It seemed as if the power of sight, of speech, and of righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging their bread.” reflection, had left him as she disappeared from the room, Deeply impressed with the affectionate delicacy which which she had entered and retired from so like an appa- shrouded its own generosity under the cover of a provi-

339 The Heart of Mid-Lothian dential supply to his wants, he pressed the gold to his lips with more ardour than ever the metal was greeted with by a miser. To emulate her devout firmness and confidence CHAPTER FOURTH seemed now the pitch of his ambition, and his first task was to write an account to David Deans of his daughter’s resolution and journey southward. He studied every sentiment, and even every phrase, which he thought could rec- “My native land, good night.” oncile the old man to her extraordinary resolution. The effect which this epistle produced will be hereafter adverted Lord Byron. to. Butler committed it to the charge of an honest clown, who had frequent dealings with Deans in the sale of his dairy produce, and who readily undertook a journey to IN THE PRESENT DAY, a journey from Edinburgh to Lon- Edinburgh to put the letter into his own hands.* don is a matter at once safe, brief, and simple, however inexperienced or unprotected the traveller. Numerous coaches of different rates of charge, and as many pack- ets, are perpetually passing and repassing betwixt the capital of Britain and her northern sister, so that the most timid or indolent may execute such a journey upon a few hours’ notice. But it was different in 1737. So slight * By dint of assiduous research I am enabled to certiorate and infrequent was the intercourse betwixt London and the reader, that the name of this person was Saunders Broadfoot, and that he dealt in the wholesome commodity Edinburgh, that men still alive remember that upon one called kirn-milk (Anglice’, butter-milk).—J. C. occasion the mail from the former city arrived at the 340 Sir Walter Scott General Post-Office in Scotland with only one letter in otherwise have escaped; and although in her heart she it.* thought it unkind, and inhospitable, to sneer at a pass- The usual mode of travelling was by means of post- ing stranger on account of the fashion of her attire, yet horses, the traveller occupying one, and his guide an- she had the good sense to alter those parts of her dress other, in which manner, by relays of horses from stage which attracted ill-natured observation. Her chequed to stage, the journey might be accomplished in a won- screen was deposited carefully in her bundle, and she derfully short time by those who could endure fatigue. conformed to the national extravagance of wearing shoes To have the bones shaken to pieces by a constant change and stockings for the whole day. She confessed after- of those hacks was a luxury for the rich—the poor were wards, that, “besides the wastrife, it was lang or she under the necessity of using the mode of conveyance could walk sae comfortably with the shoes as without with which nature had provided them. them; but there was often a bit saft heather by the road- With a strong heart, and a frame patient of fatigue, side, and that helped her weel on.” The want of the Jeanie Deans, travelling at the rate of twenty miles a- screen, which was drawn over the head like a veil, she day, and sometimes farther, traversed the southern part supplied by a bon-grace, as she called it; a large straw of Scotland, and advanced as far as Durham. bonnet like those worn by the English maidens when Hitherto she had been either among her own country- labouring in the fields. “But I thought unco shame o’ folk, or those to whom her bare feet and tartan screen mysell,” she said, “the first time I put on a married were objects too familiar to attract much attention. But woman’s bon-grace, and me a single maiden.” as she advanced, she perceived that both circumstances With these changes she had little, as she said, to make exposed her to sarcasm and taunts, which she might “her kenspeckle when she didna speak,” but her accent * The fact is certain. The single epistle was addressed to the and language drew down on her so many jests and gibes, principal director of the British Linen Company. 341 The Heart of Mid-Lothian couched in a worse patois by far than her own, that she At York our pilgrim stopped for the best part of a soon found it was her interest to talk as little and as day, partly to recruit her strength,—partly because she seldom as possible. She answered, therefore, civil salu- had the good luck to obtain a lodging in an inn kept by tations of chance passengers with a civil courtesy, and a countrywoman,—partly to indite two letters to her chose, with anxious circumspection, such places of re- father and Reuben Butler; an operation of some little pose as looked at once most decent and sequestered. She difficulty, her habits being by no means those of liter- found the common people of England, although infe- ary composition. That to her father was in the follow- rior in courtesy to strangers, such as was then practised ing words.— in her own more unfrequented country, yet, upon the whole, by no means deficient in the real duties of hospi- “Dearest Father,—I make my present pilgrimage more tality. She readily obtained food, and shelter, and pro- heavy and burdensome, through the sad occasion to re- tection at a very moderate rate, which sometimes the flect that it is without your knowledge, which, God generosity of mine host altogether declined, with a blunt knows, was far contrary to my heart; for Scripture says, apology,— “Thee hast a long way afore thee, lass; and that ‘the vow of the daughter should not be binding I’se ne’er take penny out o’ a single woman’s purse; it’s without the consent of the father,’ wherein it may be I the best friend thou can have on the road.” have been guilty to tak this wearie journey without your It often happened, too, that mine hostess was struck consent. Nevertheless, it was borne in upon my mind with “the tidy, nice Scotch body,” and procured her an that I should be an instrument to help my poor sister in escort, or a cast in a waggon, for some part of the way, this extremity of needcessity, otherwise I wad not, for or gave her a useful advice and recommendation respect- wealth or for world’s gear, or for the haill lands of ing her resting-places. Da’keith and Lugton, have done the like o’ this, with-

342 Sir Walter Scott out your free will and knowledge. Oh, dear father, as ye lying and up-rising, and remember in your prayers your wad desire a blessing on my journey, and upon your affectionate daughter to command, household, speak a word or write a line of comfort to “Jean Deans.” yon poor prisoner. If she has sinned, she has sorrowed and suffered, and ye ken better than me, that we maun A postscript bore, “I learned from a decent woman, a forgie others, as we pray to be forgien. Dear father, for- grazier’s widow, that they hae a cure for the muir-ill in give my saying this muckle, for it doth not become a Cumberland, whilk is ane pint, as they ca’t, of yill, whilk young head to instruct grey hairs; but I am sae far frae is a dribble in comparison of our gawsie Scots pint, and ye, that my heart yearns to ye a’, and fain wad I hear hardly a mutchkin, boiled wi’ sope and hartshorn draps, that ye had forgien her trespass, and sae I nae doubt and toomed doun the creature’s throat wi’ ane whorn. say mair than may become me. The folk here are civil, Ye might try it on the bauson-faced year-auld quey; an and, like the barbarians unto the holy apostle, hae shown it does nae gude, it can do nae ill.—She was a kind me much kindness; and there are a sort of chosen people woman, and seemed skeely about horned beasts. When in the land, for they hae some kirks without organs that I reach Lunnon, I intend to gang to our cousin Mrs. are like ours, and are called meeting-houses, where the Glass, the tobacconist, at the sign o’ the Thistle, wha is minister preaches without a gown. But most of the coun- so ceevil as to send you down your spleuchan-fu’ anes a try are prelatists, whilk is awfu’ to think; and I saw twa year; and as she must be well kend in Lunnon, I doubt men that were ministers following hunds, as bauld as not easily to find out where she lives.” Roslin or Driden, the young Laird of Loup-the-dike, or Being seduced into betraying our heroine’s confidence ony wild gallant in Lothian. A sorrowfa’ sight to be- thus far, we will stretch our communication a step behold! Oh, dear father, may a blessing be with your down- yond, and impart to the reader her letter to her lover.

343 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “Mr. Reuben Butler,—Hoping this will find you bet- kens better what is gude for us than we ken what is for ter, this comes to say, that I have reached this great town oursells. I hae nae doubt to do that for which I am safe, and am not wearied with walking, but the better come—I canna doubt it—I winna think to doubt it— for it. And I have seen many things which I trust to tell because, if I haena full assurance, how shall I bear my- you one day, also the muckle kirk of this place; and all self with earnest entreaties in the great folk’s presence? around the city are mills, whilk havena muckle wheels But to ken that ane’s purpose is right, and to make their nor mill-dams, but gang by the wind—strange to be- heart strong, is the way to get through the warst day’s hold. Ane miller asked me to gang in and see it work, darg. The bairns’ rime says, the warst blast of the bor- but I wad not, for I am not come to the south to make rowing days* couldna kill the three silly poor hog-lams. acquaintance with strangers. I keep the straight road, “And if it be God’s pleasure, we that are sindered in and just beck if onybody speaks to me ceevilly, and an- sorrow may meet again in joy, even on this hither side swers naebody with the tong but women of my ain sect. of Jordan. I dinna bid ye mind what I said at our partin’ I wish, Mr. Butler, I kend onything that wad mak ye weel, for they hae mair medicines in this town of York * The last three days of March, old style, are called the Bor- rowing Days; for, as they are remarked to be unusually stormy, than wad cure a’ Scotland, and surely some of them it is feigned that March had borrowed them from April, to wad be gude for your complaints. If ye had a kindly extend the sphere of his rougher sway. The rhyme on the motherly body to nurse ye, and no to let ye waste yoursell subject is quoted in the glossary to Leyden’s edition of the “Complaynt of Scotland”— wi’ reading—whilk ye read mair than eneugh wi’ the bairns in the schule—and to gie ye warm milk in the March said to Aperill, morning, I wad be mair easy for ye. Dear Mr. Butler, I see three hogs upon a hill, A young sheep before it has lost its first fleece. keep a good heart, for we are in the hands of Ane that But when the borrowed days were gane The three silly hogs came hirplin hame. 344 Sir Walter Scott anent my poor father, and that misfortunate lassie, for me, to the charge of Mrs. Margaret Glass, tobacconist, I ken you will do sae for the sake of Christian charity, at the sign of the Thistle, Lunnon, whilk, if it assures whilk is mair than the entreaties of her that is your ser- me of your health, will make my mind sae muckle easier. vant to command, Excuse bad spelling and writing, as I have ane ill pen.” “Jeanie Deans.” The orthography of these epistles may seem to the southron to require a better apology than the letter ex- This letter also had a postscript. “Dear Reuben, If ye presses, though a bad pen was the excuse of a certain think that it wad hae been right for me to have said Galwegian laird for bad spelling; but, on behalf of the mair and kinder things to ye, just think that I hae writ- heroine, I would have them to know, that, thanks to the ten sae, since I am sure that I wish a’ that is kind and care of Butler, Jeanie Deans wrote and spelled fifty times right to ye and by ye. Ye will think I am turned waster, better than half the women of rank in Scotland at that for I wear clean hose and shoon every day; but it’s the period, whose strange orthography and singular diction fashion here for decent bodies and ilka land has it’s ain form the strongest contrast to the good sense which their landlaw. Ower and aboon a’, if laughing days were e’er correspondence usually intimates. to come back again till us, ye wad laugh weel to see my For the rest, in the tenor of these epistles, Jeanie ex- round face at the far end of a strae bon-grace, that looks pressed, perhaps, more hopes, a firmer courage, and bet- as muckle and round as the middell aisle in Libberton ter spirits, than she actually felt. But this was with the Kirk. But it sheds the sun weel aff, and keeps uncivil amiable idea of relieving her father and lover from ap- folk frae staring as if ane were a worrycow. I sall tell ye prehensions on her account, which she was sensible must by writ how I come on wi’ the Duke of Argyle, when I greatly add to their other troubles. “If they think me won up to Lunnon. Direct a line, to say how ye are, to weel, and like to do weel,” said the poor pilgrim to her-

345 The Heart of Mid-Lothian self, “my father will be kinder to Effie, and Butler will binding man to man, and calling forth the good offices be kinder to himself. For I ken weel that they will think of such as can render them to the countryman who hap- mair o’ me than I do o’ mysell.” pens to need them, we think it must be found to exceed, Accordingly, she sealed her letters carefully, and put as an active and efficient motive, to generosity, that more them into the post-office with her own hand, after many impartial and wider principle of general benevolence, inquiries concerning the time in which they were likely which we have sometimes seen pleaded as an excuse for to reach Edinburgh. When this duty was performed, she assisting no individual whatever. readily accepted her landlady’s pressing invitation to Mrs. Bickerton, lady of the ascendant of the Seven dine with her, and remain till the next morning. The Stars, in the Castle-gate, York, was deeply infected with hostess, as we have said, was her countrywoman, and the unfortunate prejudices of her country. Indeed, she the eagerness with which Scottish people meet, com- displayed so much kindness to Jeanie Deans (because municate, and, to the extent of their power, assist each she herself, being a Merse woman, marched with Mid- other, although it is often objected to us as a prejudice Lothian, in which Jeanie was born), showed such moth- and narrowness of sentiment, seems, on the contrary, erly regard to her, and such anxiety for her farther to arise from a most justifiable and honourable feeling progress, that Jeanie thought herself safe, though by of patriotism, combined with a conviction, which, if temper sufficiently cautious, in communicating her undeserved, would long since have been confuted by whole story to her. experience, that the habits and principles of the nation Mrs. Bickerton raised her hands and eyes at the re- are a sort of guarantee for the character of the indi- cital, and exhibited much wonder and pity. But she also vidual. At any rate, if the extensive influence of this gave some effectual good advice. national partiality be considered as an additional tie, She required to know the strength of Jeanie’s purse,

346 Sir Walter Scott reduced by her deposit at Liberton, and the necessary by no means gratified with the idea of becoming the expense of her journey, to about fifteen pounds. “This,” object of his attention during the journey, she said, “would do very well, providing she would carry “Aweel, lass,” answered the good landlady, “then thou must it a’ safe to London.” pickle in thine ain poke-nook, and buckle thy girdle thine “Safe!” answered Jeanie; “I’se warrant my carrying it ain gate. But take my advice, and hide thy gold in thy stays, safe, bating the needful expenses.” and keep a piece or two and some silver, in case thou be’st “Ay, but highwaymen, lassie,” said Mrs. Bickerton; “for spoke withal; for there’s as wud lads haunt within a day’s ye are come into a more civilised, that is to say, a more walk from hence, as on the braes of Doune in Perthshire. roguish country than the north, and how ye are to get And, lass, thou maunna gang staring through Lunnon, ask- forward, I do not profess to know. If ye could wait here ing wha kens Mrs. Glass at the sign o’ the Thistle; marry, eight days, our waggons would go up, and I would rec- they would laugh thee to scorn. But gang thou to this hon- ommend you to Joe Broadwheel, who would see you safe est man,” and she put a direction into Jeanie’s hand, “he to the Swan and two Necks. And dinna sneeze at Joe, if kens maist part of the sponsible Scottish folk in the city, he should be for drawing up wi’ you” (continued Mrs. and he will find out your friend for thee.” Bickerton, her acquired English mingling with her na- Jeanie took the little introductory letter with sincere tional or original dialect), “he’s a handy boy, and a thanks; but, something alarmed on the subject of the wanter, and no lad better thought o’ on the road; and highway robbers, her mind recurred to what Ratcliffe the English make good husbands enough, witness my had mentioned to her, and briefly relating the circum- poor man, Moses Bickerton, as is i’ the kirkyard.” stances which placed a document so extraordinary in Jeanie hastened to say, that she could not possibly wait her hands, she put the paper he had given her into the for the setting forth of Joe Broadwheel; being internally hand of Mrs. Bickerton.

347 The Heart of Mid-Lothian The Lady of the Seven Stars did not indeed ring a When Dick had looked at the paper, he winked with bell, because such was not the fashion of the time, but one eye, extended his grotesque mouth from ear to ear, she whistled on a silver call, which was hung by her side, like a navigable canal, scratched his head powerfully, and a tight serving-maid entered the room. and then said, “Ken!—ay—maybe we ken summat, an “Tell Dick Ostler to come here,” said Mrs. Bickerton. it werena for harm to him, mistress!” Dick Ostler accordingly made his appearance;—a “None in the world,” said Mrs. Bickerton; “only a dram queer, knowing, shambling animal, with a hatchet-face, of Hollands to thyself, man, an thou wilt speak.” a squint, a game-arm, and a limp. “Why, then,” said Dick, giving the head-band of his “Dick Ostler,” said Mrs. Bickerton, in a tone of au- breeches a knowing hoist with one hand, and kicking thority that showed she was (at least by adoption) York- out one foot behind him to accommodate the adjust- shire too, “thou knowest most people and most things ment of that important habiliment, “I dares to say the o’ the road.” pass will be kend weel eneugh on the road, an that be “Eye, eye, God help me, mistress,” said Dick, shrug- all.” ging his shoulders betwixt a repentant and a knowing “But what sort of a lad was he?” said Mrs. Bickerton, expression— “Eye! I ha’ know’d a thing or twa i’ ma winking to Jeanie, as proud of her knowing Ostler. day, mistress.” He looked sharp and laughed—looked “Why, what ken I?—Jim the Rat—why he was Cock grave and sighed, as one who was prepared to take the o’ the North within this twelmonth—he and Scotch Wil- matter either way. son, Handle Dandie, as they called him—but he’s been “Kenst thou this wee bit paper amang the rest, man?” out o’ this country a while, as I rackon; but ony gentle- said Mrs. Bickerton, handing him the protection which man, as keeps the road o’ this side Stamford, will re- Ratcliffe had given Jeanie Deans. spect Jim’s pass.”

348 Sir Walter Scott Without asking farther questions, the landlady filled Mrs. Bickerton assured her, that the acceptance of any Dick Ostler a bumper of Hollands. He ducked with his reckoning was entirely out of the question, furnished head and shoulders, scraped with his more advanced her with credentials to her correspondent in London, hoof, bolted the alcohol, to use the learned phrase, and and to several inns upon the road where she had some withdrew to his own domains. influence or interest, reminded her of the precautions “I would advise thee, Jeanie,” said Mrs. Bickerton, “an she should adopt for concealing her money, and as she thou meetest with ugly customers o’ the road, to show was to depart early in the morning, took leave of her them this bit paper, for it will serve thee, assure thyself.” very affectionately, taking her word that she would visit A neat little supper concluded the evening. The ex- her on her return to Scotland, and tell her how she had ported Scotswoman, Mrs. Bickerton by name, ate heart- managed, and that summum bonum for a gossip, “all ily of one or two seasoned dishes, drank some sound old how and about it.” This Jeanie faithfully promised. ale, and a glass of stiff negus; while she gave Jeanie a history of her gout, admiring how it was possible that she, whose fathers and mothers for many generations had been farmers in Lammermuir, could have come by a disorder so totally unknown to them. Jeanie did not choose to offend her friendly landlady, by speaking her mind on the probable origin of this complaint; but she thought on the flesh-pots of Egypt, and, in spite of all entreaties to better fare, made her evening meal upon vegetables, with a glass of fair water.

349 The Heart of Mid-Lothian turned again to the raw-boned steed which he was cur- rying, and sung as he employed the comb and brush,— CHAPTER FIFTH “Robin Hood was a yeoman right good, And his bow was of trusty yew; And Need and Misery, Vice and Danger, bind, And if Robin said stand on the king’s lea-land, In sad alliance, each degraded mind. Pray, why should not we say so too?”

Jeanie pursued her journey without farther inquiry, AS OUR TRAVELLER set out early on the ensuing morning for there was nothing in Dick’s manner that inclined to prosecute her journey, and was in the act of leaving her to prolong their conference. A painful day’s journey the innyard, Dick Ostler, who either had risen early or brought her to Ferrybridge, the best inn, then and since, neglected to go to bed, either circumstance being equally upon the great northern road; and an introduction from incident to his calling, hollowed out after her,— “The top Mrs. Bickerton, added to her own simple and quiet man- of the morning to you, Moggie. Have a care o’ Gunderby ners, so propitiated the landlady of the Swan in her Hill, young one. Robin Hood’s dead and gwone, but there favour, that the good dame procured her the convenient be takers yet in the vale of Bever. Jeanie looked at him as accommodation of a pillion and post-horse then return- if to request a farther explanation, but, with a leer, a ing to Tuxford, so that she accomplished, upon the sec- shuffle, and a shrug, inimitable (unless by Emery*), Dick ond day after leaving York, the longest journey she had * John Emery, an eminent comedian, played successfully at yet made. She was a good deal fatigued by a mode of Covent Garden Theatre between 1798 and 1820. Among his characters, were those of Dandie Dinmont in Guy Mannering, travelling to which she was less accustomed than to Dougal in Rob Roy, and Ratcliffe in the Heart of Mid-Lothian. 350 Sir Walter Scott walking, and it was considerably later than usual on the London on such an errand, and could scarce be persuaded ensuing morning that she felt herself able to resume her that she had not passed on.” pilgrimage. At noon the hundred-armed Trent, and the Much surprised and somewhat alarmed (for what is blackened ruins of Newark Castle, demolished in the inexplicable is usually alarming), Jeanie questioned the great civil war, lay before her. It may easily be supposed, wench about the particular appearance of these two that Jeanie had no curiosity to make antiquarian re- women, but could only learn that the one was aged, and searches, but, entering the town, went straight to the the other young; that the latter was the taller, and that inn to which she had been directed at Ferrybridge. While the former spoke most, and seemed to maintain an au- she procured some refreshment, she observed the girl thority over her companion, and that both spoke with who brought it to her, looked at her several times with the Scottish accent. fixed and peculiar interest, and at last, to her infinite This conveyed no information whatever, and with an surprise, inquired if her name was not Deans, and if indescribable presentiment of evil designed towards her, she was not a Scotchwoman, going to London upon jus- Jeanie adopted the resolution of taking post-horses for tice business. Jeanie, with all her simplicity of charac- the next stage. In this, however, she could not be grati- ter, had some of the caution of her country, and, ac- fied; some accidental circumstances had occasioned what cording to Scottish universal custom, she answered the is called a run upon the road, and the landlord could question by another, requesting the girl would tell her not accommodate her with a guide and horses. After why she asked these questions? waiting some time, in hopes that a pair of horses that The Maritornes of the Saracen’s Head, Newark, re- had gone southward would return in time for her use, plied, “Two women had passed that morning, who had she at length, feeling ashamed at her own pusillanimity, made inquiries after one Jeanie Deans, travelling to resolved to prosecute her journey in her usual manner.

351 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “It was all plain road,” she was assured, “except a pool wi’ pancakes. But there arena sae mony now; and high mountain called Gunnerby Hill, about three miles since they hae lost Jim the Rat, they hold together no from Grantham, which was her stage for the night. better than the men of Marsham when they lost their “I’m glad to hear there’s a hill,” said Jeanie, “for baith common. Take a drop ere thou goest,” he concluded, my sight and my very feet are weary o’ sic tracts o’ level offering her the tankard; “thou wilt get naething at night ground—it looks a’ the way between this and York as if save Grantham gruel, nine grots and a gallon of water.” a’ the land had been trenched and levelled, whilk is very Jeanie courteously declined the tankard, and inquired wearisome to my Scotch een. When I lost sight of a what was her “lawing?” muckle blue hill they ca’ Ingleboro’, I thought I hadna “Thy lawing! Heaven help thee, wench! what ca’st thou a friend left in this strange land.” that?” “As for the matter of that, young woman,” said mine “It is—I was wanting to ken what was to pay,” re- host, “an you be so fond o’ hill, I carena an thou couldst plied Jeanie. carry Gunnerby away with thee in thy lap, for it’s a “Pay? Lord help thee!—why nought, woman—we hae murder to post-horses. But here’s to thy journey, and drawn no liquor but a gill o’ beer, and the Saracen’s Head mayst thou win well through it, for thou is a bold and a can spare a mouthful o’ meat to a stranger like o’ thee, canny lass.” that cannot speak Christian language. So here’s to thee So saying, he took a powerful pull at a solemn tan- once more. The same again, quoth Mark of Bellgrave,” kard of home-brewed ale. and he took another profound pull at the tankard. “I hope there is nae bad company on the road, sir?” The travellers who have visited Newark more lately, said Jeanie. will not fail to remember the remarkably civil and gentle- “Why, when it’s clean without them I’ll thatch Groby manly manners of the person who now keeps the prin-

352 Sir Walter Scott cipal inn there, and may find some amusement in con- “A braw good-night to ye, Jeanie Deans,” said the fore- trasting them with those of his more rough predecessor. most female as the horse passed our heroine; “What think But we believe it will be found that the polish has worn ye o’ yon bonny hill yonder, lifting its brow to the moon? off none of the real worth of the metal. Trow ye yon’s the gate to heaven, that ye are sae fain Taking leave of her Lincolnshire Gaius, Jeanie resumed of?—maybe we will win there the night yet, God sain us, her solitary walk, and was somewhat alarmed when though our minny here’s rather dreigh in the upgang.” evening and twilight overtook her in the open ground The speaker kept changing her seat in the saddle, and half which extends to the foot of Gunnerby Hill, and is in- stopping the horse as she brought her body round, while the tersected with patches of copse and with swampy spots. woman that sate behind her on the pillion seemed to urge The extensive commons on the north road, most of her on, in words which Jeanie heard but imperfectly. which are now enclosed, and in general a relaxed state “Hand your tongue, ye moon-raised b——! what is of police, exposed the traveller to a highway robbery in your business with ——, or with heaven or hell either?” a degree which is now unknown, except in the immedi- “Troth, mither, no muckle wi’ heaven, I doubt, con- ate vicinity of the metropolis. Aware of this circum- sidering wha I carry ahint me—and as for hell, it will stance, Jeanie mended her pace when she heard the tram- fight its ain battle at its ain time, I’se be bound.—Come, pling of a horse behind, and instinctively drew to one naggie, trot awa, man, an as thou wert a broomstick, side of the road, as if to allow as much room for the for a witch rides thee— rider to pass as might be possible. When the animal came up, she found that it was bearing two women, the one With my curtch on my foot, and my shoe on my hand, placed on a side-saddle, the other on a pillion behind I glance like the wildfire through brugh and through her, as may still occasionally be seen in England. land.”

353 The Heart of Mid-Lothian By a strong siding champion—Conscience. The tramp of the horse, and the increasing distance, drowned the rest of her song, but Jeanie heard for some In fact, it was, with the recollection of the affectionate time the inarticulate sounds ring along the waste. and dutiful errand on which she was engaged, her right, Our pilgrim remained stupified with undefined appre- if such a word could be applicable, to expect protection hensions. The being named by her name in so wild a in a task so meritorious. She had not advanced much manner, and in a strange country, without farther ex- farther, with a mind calmed by these reflections, when planation or communing, by a person who thus strangely she was disturbed by a new and more instant subject of flitted forward and disappeared before her, came near terror. Two men, who had been lurking among some to the supernatural sounds in Comus:— copse, started up as she advanced, and met her on the road in a menacing manner. “Stand and deliver,” said The airy tongues, which syllable men’s names one of them, a short stout fellow, in a smock-frock, such On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses. as are worn by waggoners. “The woman,” said the other, a tall thin figure, “does And although widely different in features, deportment, not understand the words of action.—Your money, my and rank, from the Lady of that enchanting masque, precious, or your life.” the continuation of the passage may be happily applied “I have but very little money, gentlemen,” said poor to Jeanie Deans upon this singular alarm:— Jeanie, tendering that portion which she had separated from her principal stock, and kept apart for such an These thoughts may startle well, but not astound emergency; “but if you are resolved to have it, to be The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended sure you must have it.”

354 Sir Walter Scott “This won’t do, my girl. D—n me, if it shall pass!” “Stay, gentlemen,” Ratcliffe’s pass suddenly occurring said the shorter ruffian; “do ye think gentlemen are to to her; “perhaps you know this paper.” hazard their lives on the road to be cheated in this way? “What the devil is she after now, Frank?” said the more We’ll have every farthing you have got, or we will strip savage ruffian— “Do you look at it, for, d—n me if I you to the skin, curse me.” could read it if it were for the benefit of my clergy.” His companion, who seemed to have something like “This is a jark from Jim Ratcliffe,” said the taller, hav- compassion for the horror which Jeanie’s countenance ing looked at the bit of paper. “The wench must pass by now expressed, said, “No, no, Tom, this is one of the our cutter’s law.” precious sisters, and we’ll take her word, for once, with- “I say no,” answered his companion; “Rat has left the out putting her to the stripping proof—Hark ye, my lay, and turned bloodhound, they say.” lass, if ye look up to heaven, and say, this is the last “We may need a good turn from him all the same,” penny you have about ye, why, hang it, we’ll let you said the taller ruffian again. pass.” “But what are we to do then?” said the shorter man— “I am not free,” answered Jeanie, “to say what I have ”We promised, you know, to strip the wench, and send about me, gentlemen, for there’s life and death depends her begging back to her own beggarly country, and now on my journey; but if you leave me as much as finds me you are for letting her go on.” bread and water, I’ll be satisfied, and thank you, and “I did not say that,” said the other fellow, and whispered to pray for you.” his companion, who replied, “Be alive about it then, and don’t “D—n your prayers!” said the shorter fellow, “that’s keep chattering till some travellers come up to nab us.” a coin that won’t pass with us;” and at the same time “You must follow us off the road, young woman,” said made a motion to seize her. the taller.

355 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “For the love of God!” exclaimed Jeanie, “as you were They conducted their prisoner in a direction leading more born of woman, dinna ask me to leave the road! rather and more from the public road, but she observed that they take all I have in the world.” kept a sort of track or by-path, which relieved her from “What the devil is the wench afraid of?” said the other part of her apprehensions, which would have been greatly fellow. “I tell you you shall come to no harm; but if you increased had they not seemed to follow a determined and will not leave the road and come with us, d—n me, but ascertained route. After about half-an-hour’s walking, all I’ll beat your brains out where you stand.” three in profound silence, they approached an old barn, “Thou art a rough bear, Tom,” said his companion.— which stood on the edge of some cultivated ground, but ”An ye touch her, I’ll give ye a shake by the collar shall remote from everything like a habitation. It was itself, make the Leicester beans rattle in thy guts.—Never mind however, tenanted, for there was light in the windows. him, girl; I will not allow him to lay a finger on you, if One of the footpads scratched at the door, which was you walk quietly on with us; but if you keep jabbering opened by a female, and they entered with their unhappy there, d—n me, but I’ll leave him to settle it with you.” prisoner. An old woman, who was preparing food by the This threat conveyed all that is terrible to the imagina- assistance of a stifling fire of lighted charcoal, asked tion of poor Jeanie, who saw in him that “was of milder them, in the name of the devil, what they brought the mood” her only protection from the most brutal treat- wench there for, and why they did not strip her and turn ment. She, therefore, not only followed him, but even held her abroad on the common? him by the sleeve, lest he should escape from her; and the “Come, come, Mother Blood,” said the tall man, “we’ll fellow, hardened as he was, seemed something touched do what’s right to oblige you, and we’ll do no more; we by these marks of confidence, and repeatedly assured her, are bad enough, but not such as you would make us,— that he would suffer her to receive no harm. devils incarnate.”

356 Sir Walter Scott “She has got a jark from Jim Ratcliffe,” said the short ing, he forced the hag backwards by main force, who strove fellow, “and Frank here won’t hear of our putting her vehemently until she sunk on a bunch of straw, and then, through the mill.” letting go her hands, he held up his finger towards her in “No, that I will not, by G—d!” answered Frank; “but the menacing posture by which a maniac is intimidated if old Mother Blood could keep her here for a little while, by his keeper. It appeared to produce the desired effect; or send her back to Scotland, without hurting her, why, for she did not attempt to rise from the seat on which he I see no harm in that—not I.” had placed her, or to resume any measures of actual vio- “I’ll tell you what, Frank Levitt,” said the old woman, lence, but wrung her withered hands with impotent rage, “if you call me Mother Blood again, I’ll paint this gully” and brayed and howled like a demoniac. (and she held a knife up as if about to make good her “I will keep my promise with you, you old devil,” said threat) “in the best blood in your body, my bonny boy.” Frank; “the wench shall not go forward on the London “The price of ointment must be up in the north,” said road, but I will not have you touch a hair of her head, if Frank, “that puts Mother Blood so much out of it were but for your insolence.” humour.” This intimation seemed to compose in some degree the Without a moment’s hesitation the fury darted her vehement passion of the old hag; and while her excla- knife at him with the vengeful dexterity of a wild In- mations and howls sunk into a low, maundering, growl- dian. As he was on his guard, he avoided the missile by a ing tone of voice, another personage was added to this sudden motion of his head, but it whistled past his ear, singular party. and stuck deep in the clay wall of a partition behind. “Eh, Frank Levitt,” said this new-comer, who entered “Come, come, mother,” said the robber, seizing her by with a hop, step, and jump, which at once conveyed her both wrists, “I shall teach you who’s master;” and so say- from the door into the centre of the party, “were ye kill-

357 The Heart of Mid-Lothian ing our mother? or were ye cutting the grunter’s weasand “And wha’s this o’t?” said the mad woman, dancing that Tam brought in this morning? or have ye been read- up to Jeanie Deans, who, although in great terror, yet ing your prayers backward, to bring up my auld acquain- watched the scene with a resolution to let nothing pass tance the deil amang ye?” unnoticed which might be serviceable in assisting her to The tone of the speaker was so particular, that Jeanie escape, or informing her as to the true nature of her immediately recognised the woman who had rode fore- situation, and the danger attending it,—”Wha’s this most of the pair which passed her just before she met o’t?” again exclaimed Madge Wildfire. the robbers; a circumstance which greatly increased her “Douce Davie Deans, the auld doited whig body’s terror, as it served to show that the mischief designed daughter, in a gipsy’s barn, and the night setting in? against her was premeditated, though by whom, or for This is a sight for sair een!—Eh, sirs, the falling off o’ what cause, she was totally at a loss to conjecture. From the godly!—and the t’other sister’s in the Tolbooth of the style of her conversation, the reader also may prob- Edinburgh; I am very sorry for her, for my share—it’s ably acknowledge in this female an old acquaintance in my mother wusses ill to her, and no me—though maybe the earlier part of our narrative. I hae as muckle cause.” “Out, ye mad devil!” said Tom, whom she had dis- “Hark ye, Madge,” said the taller ruffian, “you have turbed in the middle of a draught of some liquor with not such a touch of the devil’s blood as the hag your which he had found means of accommodating himself; mother, who may be his dam for what I know—take “betwixt your Bess of Bedlam pranks, and your dam’s this young woman to your kennel, and do not let the frenzies, a man might live quieter in the devil’s ken than devil enter, though he should ask in God’s name.” here.”—And he again resumed the broken jug out of “Ou ay; that I will, Frank,” said Madge, taking hold which he had been drinking. of Jeanie by the arm, and pulling her along; “for it’s no

358 Sir Walter Scott for decent Christian young leddies, like her and me, to ness. The hag then started up, and, seizing a pair of old be keeping the like o’ you and Tyburn Tam company at fire-tongs, would have amended her motion, by beating this time o’ night. Sae gude-e’en t’ye, sirs, and mony o’ out the brains either of her daughter or Jeanie (she did them; and may ye a’ sleep till the hangman wauken ye, not seem greatly to care which), when her hand was once and then it will be weel for the country.” more arrested by the man whom they called Frank She then, as her wild fancy seemed suddenly to prompt Levitt, who, seizing her by the shoulder, flung her from her, walked demurely towards her mother, who, seated him with great violence, exclaiming, “What, Mother by the charcoal fire, with the reflection of the red light Damnable—again, and in my sovereign presence!—Hark on her withered and distorted features marked by every ye, Madge of Bedlam! get to your hole with your evil passion, seemed the very picture of Hecate at her playfellow, or we shall have the devil to pay here, and infernal rites; and, suddenly dropping on her knees, said, nothing to pay him with.” with the manner of a six years’ old child, “Mammie, Madge took Levitt’s advice, retreating as fast as she hear me say my prayers before I go to bed, and say God could, and dragging Jeanie along with her into a sort of bless my bonny face, as ye used to do lang syne.” recess, partitioned off from the rest of the barn, and “The deil flay the hide o’ it to sole his brogues wi’!” filled with straw, from which it appeared that it was in- said the old lady, aiming a buffet at the supplicant, in tended for the purpose of slumber. The moonlight shone, answer to her duteous request. through an open hole, upon a pillion, a pack-saddle, and The blow missed Madge, who, being probably ac- one or two wallets, the travelling furniture of Madge quainted by experience with the mode in which her and her amiable mother.— “Now, saw ye e’er in your mother was wont to confer her maternal benedictions, life,” said Madge, “sae dainty a chamber of deas? see as slipt out of arm’s length with great dexterity and quick- the moon shines down sae caller on the fresh strae!

359 The Heart of Mid-Lothian There’s no a pleasanter cell in Bedlam, for as braw a again the door; it winna be that easy stirring me.” place as it is on the outside.—Were ye ever in Bedlam?” “Madge!”— “Madge!”— “Madge Wildfire!”— “Madge “No,” answered Jeanie faintly, appalled by the ques- devil! what have ye done with the horse?” was repeat- tion, and the way in which it was put, yet willing to edly asked by the men without. soothe her insane companion, being in circumstances so “He’s e’en at his supper, puir thing,” answered Madge; unhappily precarious, that even the society of this gib- “deil an ye were at yours, too, an it were scauding brim- bering madwoman seemed a species of protection. stone, and then we wad hae less o’ your din.” “Never in Bedlam?” said Madge, as if with some sur- “His supper!” answered the more sulky ruffian— prise.— “But ye’ll hae been in the cells at Edinburgh!” “What d’ye mean by that!—Tell me where he is, or I “Never,” repeated Jeanie. will knock your Bedlam brains out!” “Weel, I think thae daft carles the magistrates send “He’s in Gaffer Gablewood’s wheat-close, an ye maun naebody to Bedlam but me—thae maun hae an unco ken.” respect for me, for whenever I am brought to them, thae “His wheat-close, you crazed jilt!” answered the other, aye hae me back to Bedlam. But troth, Jeanie” (she said with an accent of great indignation. this in a very confidential tone), “to tell ye my private “O, dear Tyburn Tam, man, what ill will the blades of mind about it, I think ye are at nae great loss; for the the young wheat do to the puir nag?” keeper’s a cross-patch, and he maun hae it a’ his ain “That is not the question,” said the other robber; “but gate, to be sure, or he makes the place waur than hell. I what the country will say to us to-morrow, when they often tell him he’s the daftest in a’ the house.—But what see him in such quarters?—Go, Tom, and bring him in; are they making sic a skirling for?—Deil ane o’ them’s and avoid the soft ground, my lad; leave no hoof-track get in here—it wadna be mensfu’! I will sit wi’ my back behind you.”

360 Sir Walter Scott “I think you give me always the fag of it, whatever is my puir wean that’s dead and gane nae fair way—But to be done,” grumbled his companion. we maun a’ dee, ye ken, Jeanie—You Cameronian bod- “Leap, Laurence, you’re long enough,” said the other; ies ken that brawlies; and ye’re for making a hell upon and the fellow left the barn accordingly, without far- earth that ye may be less unwillin’ to part wi’ it. But as ther remonstrance. touching Bedlam that ye were speaking about, I’se ne’er In the meanwhile, Madge had arranged herself for re- recommend it muckle the tae gate or the other, be it pose on the straw; but still in a half-sitting posture, with right—be it wrang. But ye ken what the sang says.” her back resting against the door of the hovel, which, as And, pursuing the unconnected and floating wanderings it opened inwards, was in this manner kept shut by the of her mind, she sung aloud— weight of the person. “There’s mair shifts by stealing, Jeanie,” said Madge “In the bonny cells of Bedlam, Wildfire; “though whiles I can hardly get our mother to Ere I was ane-and-twenty, think sae. Wha wad hae thought but mysell of making I had hempen bracelets strong, a bolt of my ain back-bane? But it’s no sae strong as And merry whips, ding-dong, thae that I hae seen in the Tolbooth at Edinburgh. The And prayer and fasting plenty. hammermen of Edinburgh are to my mind afore the warld for making stancheons, ring-bolts, fetter-bolts, “Weel, Jeanie, I am something herse the night, and I canna bars, and locks. And they arena that bad at girdles for sing muckle mair; and troth, I think, I am gaun to sleep.” carcakes neither, though the Cu’ross hammermen have She drooped her head on her breast, a posture from the gree for that. My mother had ance a bonny Cu’ross which Jeanie, who would have given the world for an girdle, and I thought to have baked carcakes on it for opportunity of quiet to consider the means and the prob-

361 The Heart of Mid-Lothian ability of her escape, was very careful not to disturb her. After nodding, however, for a minute’or two, with “But after a’, Jeanie, my woman, naebody kens weel her eyes half-closed, the unquiet and restless spirit of wha’s living and wha’s dead—or wha’s gone to Fairy- her malady again assailed Madge. She raised her head, land—there’s another question. Whiles I think my puir and spoke, but with a lowered tone, which was again bairn’s dead—ye ken very weel it’s buried—but that sig- gradually overcome by drowsiness, to which the fatigue nifies naething. I have had it on my knee a hundred of a day’s journey on horseback had probably given times, and a hundred till that, since it was buried—and unwonted occasion,— “I dinna ken what makes me sae how could that be were it dead, ye ken?—it’s merely sleepy—I amaist never sleep till my bonny Lady Moon impossible.”—And here, some conviction half-overcom- gangs till her bed—mair by token, when she’s at the ing the reveries of her imagination, she burst into a fit full, ye ken, rowing aboon us yonder in her grand silver of crying and ejaculation, “Wae’s me! wae’s me! wae’s coach—I have danced to her my lane sometimes for very me!” till at length she moaned and sobbed herself into a joy—and whiles dead folk came and danced wi’ me— deep sleep, which was soon intimated by her breathing the like o’ Jock Porteous, or ony body I had ken’d when hard, leaving Jeanie to her own melancholy reflections I was living—for ye maun ken I was ance dead mysell.” and observations. Here the poor maniac sung, in a low and wild tone,

“My banes are buried in yon kirkyard Sae far ayont the sea, And it is but my blithesome ghaist That’s speaking now to thee.

362 Sir Walter Scott the hovel in which she now was from the rest of the waste barn. It was decayed and full of cracks and chinks, CHAPTER SIXTH one of which she enlarged with her fingers, cautiously and without noise, until she could obtain a plain view of the old hag and the taller ruffian, whom they called Bind her quickly; or, by this steel, Levitt, seated together beside the decayed fire of char- I’ll tell, although I truss for company. coal, and apparently engaged in close conference. She was at first terrified by the sight; for the features of the Fletcher. old woman had a hideous cast of hardened and inveterate malice and ill-humour, and those of the man, though naturally less unfavourable, were such as corresponded THE IMPERFECT LIGHT which shone into the window en- well with licentious habits, and a lawless profession. abled Jeanie to see that there was scarcely any chance “But I remembered,” said Jeanie, “my worthy fathers of making her escape in that direction; for the aperture tales of a winter evening, how he was confined with the was high in the wall, and so narrow, that, could she have blessed martyr, Mr. James Renwick, who lifted up the climbed up to it, she might well doubt whether it would fallen standard of the true reformed Kirk of Scotland, have permitted her to pass her body through it. An un- after the worthy and renowned Daniel Cameron, our last successful attempt to escape would be sure to draw down blessed banner-man, had fallen among the swords of worse treatment than she now received, and she, there- the wicked at Airsmoss, and how the very hearts of the fore, resolved to watch her opportunity carefully ere wicked malefactors and murderers, whom they were making such a perilous effort. For this purpose she ap- confined withal, were melted like wax at the sound of plied herself to the ruinous clay partition, which divided

363 The Heart of Mid-Lothian their doctrine: and I bethought mysell, that the same The man opened the conversation by saying, “Now, dame, help that was wi’ them in their strait, wad be wi’ me in you see I am true to my friend. I have not forgot that you mine, an I could but watch the Lord’s time and oppor- planked a chury,* which helped me through the bars of the tunity for delivering my feet from their snare; and I Castle of York, and I came to do your work without asking minded the Scripture of the blessed Psalmist, whilk he questions; for one good turn deserves another. insisteth on, as weel in the forty-second as in the forty- But now that Madge, who is as loud as Tom of Lin- third psalm— ‘Why art thou cast down, O my soul, and coln, is somewhat still, and this same Tyburn Neddie is why art thou disquieted within me? Hope in God, for I shaking his heels after the old nag, why, you must tell shall yet praise Him, who is the health of my counte- me what all this is about, and what’s to be done—for nance, and my God.’” d—n me if I touch the girl, or let her be touched, and Strengthened in a mind naturally calm, sedate, and she with Jim Rat’s pass, too.” firm, by the influence of religious confidence, this poor “Thou art an honest lad, Frank,” answered the old captive was enabled to attend to, and comprehend, a woman, “but e’en too good for thy trade; thy tender great part of an interesting conversation which passed heart will get thee into trouble. I will see ye gang up betwixt those into whose hands she had fallen, notwith- Holborn Hill backward, and a’ on the word of some standing that their meaning was partly disguised by the silly loon that could never hae rapped to ye had ye drawn occasional use of cant terms, of which Jeanie knew not your knife across his weasand.” the import, by the low tone in which they spoke, and by “You may be balked there, old one,” answered the rob- their mode of supplying their broken phrases by shrugs ber; “I have known many a pretty lad cut short in his and signs, as is usual amongst those of their disorderly first summer upon the road, because he was something profession. * Concealed a knife. 364 Sir Walter Scott hasty with his flats and sharps. Besides, a man would “And who cares if he does?” said the man. fain live out his two years with a good conscience. So, “Who cares, ye donnard Neddie! I care; and I will tell me what all this is about, and what’s to be done for strangle her with my own hands, rather than she should you that one can do decently?” come to Madge’s preferment.” “Why, you must know, Frank—but first taste a snap “Madge’s preferment! Does your old blind eyes see no of right Hollands.” She drew a flask from her pocket, farther than that? If he is as you say, dye think he’ll and filled the fellow a large bumper, which he pronounced ever marry a moon-calf like Madge? Ecod, that’s a good to be the right thing.— “You must know, then, Frank— one—Marry Madge Wildfire!—Ha! ha! ha!” wunna ye mend your hand?” again offering the flask. “Hark ye, ye crack-rope padder, born beggar, and bred “No, no,—when a woman wants mischief from you, thief!” replied the hag, “suppose he never marries the she always begins by filling you drunk. D—n all Dutch wench, is that a reason he should marry another, and courage. What I do I will do soberly—I’ll last the longer that other to hold my daughter’s place, and she crazed, for that too.” and I a beggar, and all along of him? But I know that “Well, then, you must know,” resumed the old woman, of him will hang him—I know that of him will hang without any further attempts at propitiation, “that this him, if he had a thousand lives—I know that of him girl is going to London.” will hang—hang—hang him!” Here Jeanie could only distinguish the word sister. She grinned as she repeated and dwelt upon the fatal The robber answered in a louder tone, “Fair enough monosyllable, with the emphasis of a vindictive fiend. that; and what the devil is your business with it?” “Then why don’t you hang—hang—hang him?” said “Business enough, I think. If the b—queers the noose, Frank, repeating her words contemptuously. “There that silly cull will marry her.” would be more sense in that, than in wreaking yourself

365 The Heart of Mid-Lothian here upon two wenches that have done you and your Levitt had by this time lighted a pipe, and was listen- daughter no ill.” ing with great composure to the frantic and vindictive “No ill?” answered the old woman— “and he to marry ravings of the old hag. He was too much, hardened by this jail-bird, if ever she gets her foot loose!” his course of life to be shocked with them—too indiffer- “But as there is no chance of his marrying a bird of ent, and probably too stupid, to catch any part of their your brood, I cannot, for my soul, see what you have to animation or energy. “But, mother,” he said, after a do with all this,” again replied the robber, shrugging his pause, “still I say, that if revenge is your wish, you should shoulders. “Where there is aught to be got, I’ll go as far take it on the young fellow himself.” as my neighbours, but I hate mischief for mischiefs “I wish I could,” she said, drawing in her breath, with sake.” the eagerness of a thirsty person while mimicking the “And would you go nae length for revenge?” said the action of drinking— “I wish I could—but no—I can- hag— “for revenge—the sweetest morsel to the mouth not—I cannot.” that over was cooked in hell!” “And why not?—You would think little of peaching “The devil may keep it for his own eating, then,” said and hanging him for this Scotch affair.—Rat me, one the robber; “for hang me if I like the sauce he dresses it might have milled the Bank of England, and less noise with.” about it.” “Revenge!” continued the old woman; “why, it is the “I have nursed him at this withered breast,” answered best reward the devil gives us for our time here and here- the old woman, folding her hands on her bosom, as if after. I have wrought hard for it—I have suffered for pressing an infant to it, “and, though he has proved an it—and I have sinned for it—and I will have it,—or there adder to me—though he has been the destruction of me is neither justice in heaven or in hell!” and mine—though he has made me company for the

366 Sir Walter Scott devil, if there be a devil, and food for hell, if there be not catch a word she said, until she raised her tone at such a place, yet I cannot take his life.—No, I cannot,” the conclusion of the sentence— “So Madge, in her she continued, with an appearance of rage against her- daffin’, threw it into the Nor’-lock, I trow.” self; “I have thought of it—I have tried it—but, Francis Madge, whose slumbers, like those of most who labour Levitt, I canna gang through wi’t—Na, na—he was the under mental malady, had been short, and were easily bro- first bairn I ever nurst—ill I had been—and man can ken, now made herself heard from her place of repose. never ken what woman feels for the bairn she has held “Indeed, mother, that’s a great lie, for I did nae sic first to her bosom!” thing.” “To be sure,” said Levitt, “we have no experience; but, “Hush, thou hellicat devil,” said her mother— “By mother, they say you ha’n’t been so kind to other bairns, Heaven! the other wench will be waking too.” as you call them, that have come in your way.—Nay, “That may be dangerous,” said Frank; and he rose, d—n me, never lay your hand on the whittle, for I am and followed Meg Murdockson across the floor. captain and leader here, and I will have no rebellion.” “Rise,” said the hag to her daughter, “or I sall drive The hag, whose first motion had been, upon hearing the knife between the planks into the Bedlam back of the question, to grasp the haft of a large knife, now un- thee!” closed her hand, stole it away from the weapon, and Apparently she at the same time seconded her threat suffered it to fall by her side, while she proceeded with a by pricking her with the point of a knife, for Madge, with sort of smile—”Bairns! ye are joking, lad—wha wad a faint scream, changed her place, and the door opened. touch bairns? Madge, puir thing, had a misfortune wi’ The old woman held a candle in one hand, and a knife ane—and the t’other”—Here her voice sunk so much, in the other. Levitt appeared behind her, whether with that Jeanie, though anxiously upon the watch, could a view of preventing, or assisting her in any violence

367 The Heart of Mid-Lothian she might meditate, could not be well guessed. Jeanie’s presence of mind stood her friend in this dreadful crisis. She had resolution enough to maintain the attitude and manner of one who sleeps profoundly, and to regulate even her breathing, notwithstanding the agitation of instant terror, so as to correspond with her attitude. The old woman passed the light across her eyes; and although Jeanie’s fears were so powerfully awakened by this movement, that she often declared afterwards, that she thought she saw the figures of her destined murderers through her closed eyelids, she had still the resolution to maintain the feint, on which her safety perhaps depended. Levitt looked at her with fixed attention; he then turned the old woman out of the place, and followed her himself. Having regained the outward apartment, and seated themselves, Jeanie heard the highwayman say, to her no small relief, “She’s as fast as if she were in Bedfordshire.—Now, old Meg, d—n me if I can understand a glim of this story of yours, or what good it will do you to hang the one wench and torment the other;

368 Sir Walter Scott but, rat me, I will be true to my friend, and serve ye the now guarded by persons of her own sex gave her some way ye like it. I see it will be a bad job; but I do think I confidence, and irresistible lassitude at length threw her could get her down to Surfleet on the Wash, and so on into slumber. board Tom Moonshine’s neat lugger, and keep her out When the captive awakened, the sun was high in of the way three or four weeks, if that will please ye— heaven, and the morning considerably advanced. Madge But d—n me if any one shall harm her, unless they have Wildfire was still in the hovel which had served them a mind to choke on a brace of blue plums.—It’s a cruel, for the night, and immediately bid her good-morning, bad job, and I wish you and it, Meg, were both at the with her usual air of insane glee. “And dye ken, lass,” devil.” said Madge, “there’s queer things chanced since ye hae “Never mind, hinny Levitt,” said the old woman; “you been in the land of Nod. The constables hae been here, are a ruffler, and will have a’ your ain gate—She shanna woman, and they met wi’ my minnie at the door, and gang to heaven an hour sooner for me; I carena whether they whirl’d her awa to the Justice’s about the man’s she live or die—it’s her sister—ay, her sister!” wheat.—Dear! thae English churls think as muckle “Well, we’ll say no more about it; I hear Tom coming about a blade of wheat or grass, as a Scotch laird does in. We’ll couch a hogshead,* and so better had you.” about his maukins and his muir-poots. Now, lass, if ye They retired to repose accordingly, and all was silent like, we’ll play them a fine jink; we will awa out and in this asylum of iniquity. take a walk—they will mak unco wark when they miss Jeanie lay for a long time awake. At break of day she us, but we can easily be back by dinner time, or before heard the two ruffians leave the barn, after whispering dark night at ony rate, and it will be some frolic and to the old woman for some time. The sense that she was fresh air.—But maybe ye wad like to take some breakfast, and then lie down again? I ken by mysell, there’s * Lay ourselves down to sleep. 369 The Heart of Mid-Lothian whiles I can sit wi’ my head in my hand the haill day, With the haste, the joy, the fear, and the hope of a liber- and havena a word to cast at a dog—and other whiles, ated captive, Jeanie snatched up her little bundle, followed that I canna sit still a moment. That’s when the folk Madge into the free air, and eagerly looked round her for a think me warst, but I am aye canny eneugh—ye needna human habitation; but none was to be seen. The ground be feared to walk wi’ me.” was partly cultivated, and partly left in its natural state, Had Madge Wildfire been the most raging lunatic, in- according as the fancy of the slovenly agriculturists had stead of possessing a doubtful, uncertain, and twilight decided. In its natural state it was waste, in some places sort of rationality, varying, probably, from the influ- covered with dwarf trees and bushes, in others swamp, and ence of the most trivial causes, Jeanie would hardly have elsewhere firm and dry downs or pasture grounds. objected to leave a place of captivity, where she had so Jeanie’s active mind next led her to conjecture which much to apprehend. She eagerly assured Madge that she way the high-road lay, whence she had been forced. If had no occasion for further sleep, no desire whatever for she regained that public road, she imagined she must eating; and, hoping internally that she was not guilty soon meet some person, or arrive at some house, where of sin in doing so, she flattered her keeper’s crazy humour she might tell her story, and request protection. But, for walking in the woods. after a glance around her, she saw with regret that she “It’s no a’thegither for that neither,” said poor Madge; had no means whatever of directing her course with any “but I am judging ye will wun the better out o’ thae degree of certainty, and that she was still in dependence folk’s hands; no that they are a’thegither bad folk nei- upon her crazy companion. “Shall we not walk upon ther, but they have queer ways wi’ them, and I whiles the high-road?” said she to Madge, in such a tone as a dinna think it has ever been weel wi’ my mother and me nurse uses to coax a child. “It’s brawer walking on the since we kept sic-like company.” road than amang thae wild bushes and whins.”

370 Sir Walter Scott Madge, who was walking very fast, stopped at this “It’s a dainty thing to be in the woods on a fine morn- question, and looked at Jeanie with a sudden and scru- ing like this! I like it far better than the town, for there tinising glance, that seemed to indicate complete ac- isna a wheen duddie bairns to be crying after ane, as if quaintance with her purpose. “Aha, lass!” she exclaimed, ane were a warld’s wonder, just because ane maybe is a “are ye gaun to guide us that gate?—Ye’ll be for mak- thought bonnier and better put-on than their ing your heels save your head, I am judging.” neighbours—though, Jeanie, ye suld never be proud o’ Jeanie hesitated for a moment, on hearing her com- braw claiths, or beauty neither—wae’s me! they’re but panion thus express herself, whether she had not better a snare—I ance thought better o’them, and what came take the hint, and try to outstrip and get rid of her. But o’t?” she knew not in which direction to fly; she was by no “Are ye sure ye ken the way ye are taking us?” said means sure that she would prove the swiftest, and per- Jeanie, who began to imagine that she was getting deeper fectly conscious that in the event of her being pursued into the woods and more remote from the high-road. and overtaken, she would be inferior to the madwoman “Do I ken the road?—Wasna I mony a day living here, in strength. She therefore gave up thoughts for the and what for shouldna I ken the road? I might hae for- present of attempting to escape in that manner, and, gotten, too, for it was afore my accident; but there are saying a few words to allay Madge’s suspicions, she fol- some things ane can never forget, let them try it as lowed in anxious apprehension the wayward path by muckle as they like.” which her guide thought proper to lead her. Madge, in- By this time they had gained the deepest part of a firm of purpose, and easily reconciled to the present patch of woodland. The trees were a little separated from scene, whatever it was, began soon to talk with her usual each other, and at the foot of one of them, a beautiful diffuseness of ideas. poplar, was a hillock of moss, such as the poet of

371 The Heart of Mid-Lothian Grasmere has described. So soon as she arrived at this “Let me alane!—let me alane!” said the poor young spot, Madge Wildfire, joining her hands above her head woman, as her paroxysm of sorrow began to abate— with a loud scream that resembled laughter, flung her- ”Let me alane—it does me good to weep. I canna shed self all at once upon the spot, and remained lying there tears but maybe ance or twice a year, and I aye come to motionless. wet this turf with them, that the flowers may grow fair, Jeanie’s first idea was to take the opportunity of flight; and the grass may be green.” but her desire to escape yielded for a moment to appre- “But what is the matter with you?” said Jeanie— hension for the poor insane being, who, she thought, ”Why do you weep so bitterly?” might perish for want of relief. With an effort, which in “There’s matter enow,” replied the lunatic,— “mair her circumstances, might be termed heroic, she stooped than ae puir mind can bear, I trow. Stay a bit, and I’ll down, spoke in a soothing tone, and endeavoured to raise tell you a’ about it; for I like ye, Jeanie Deans—a’body up the forlorn creature. She effected this with difficulty, spoke weel about ye when we lived in the Pleasaunts— and as she placed her against the tree in a sitting pos- And I mind aye the drink o’ milk ye gae me yon day, ture, she observed with surprise, that her complexion, when I had been on Arthur’s Seat for four-and-twenty usually florid, was now deadly pale, and that her face hours, looking for the ship that somebody was sailing was bathed in tears. Notwithstanding her own extreme in.” danger, Jeanie was affected by the situation of her com- These words recalled to Jeanie’s recollection, that, in panion; and the rather, that, through the whole train of fact, she had been one morning much frightened by her wavering and inconsistent state of mind and line of meeting a crazy young woman near her father’s house conduct, she discerned a general colour of kindness to- at an early hour, and that, as she appeared to be harm- wards herself, for which she felt gratitude. less, her apprehension had been changed into pity, and

372 Sir Walter Scott she had relieved the unhappy wanderer with some food, and dits up my gude words, and pits a wheen fule sangs which she devoured with the haste of a famished per- and idle vanities in their place.” son. The incident, trifling in itself, was at present of great “Try, Madge,” said Jeanie,— “try to settle your mind importance, if it should be found to have made a and make your breast clean, and you’ll find your heart favourable and permanent impression in her favour on easier.—Just resist the devil, and he will flee from you— the mind of the object of her charity. and mind that, as my worthy father tells me, there is “Yes,” said Madge, “I’ll tell ye a’ about it, for ye are a nae devil sae deceitfu’ as our ain wandering thoughts.” decent man’s daughter—Douce Davie Deans, ye ken— “And that’s true too, lass,” said Madge, starting up; and maybe ye’ll can teach me to find out the narrow “and I’ll gang a gate where the devil daurna follow me; way, and the straight path, for I have been burning bricks and it’s a gate that you will like dearly to gang—but I’ll in Egypt, and walking through the weary wilderness of keep a fast haud o’ your arm, for fear Apollyon should Sinai, for lang and mony a day. But whenever I think stride across the path, as he did in the Pilgrim’s about mine errors, I am like to cover my lips for Progress.” shame.”—Here she looked up and smiled.— “It’s a Accordingly she got up, and, taking Jeanie by the arm, strange thing now—I hae spoke mair gude words to you began to walk forward at a great pace; and soon, to her in ten minutes, than I wad speak to my mother in as companion’s no small joy, came into a marked path, with mony years—it’s no that I dinna think on them—and the meanders of which she seemed perfectly acquainted. whiles they are just at my tongue’s end, but then comes Jeanie endeavoured to bring her back to the confessional, the devil, and brushes my lips with his black wing, and but the fancy was gone by. In fact, the mind of this lays his broad black loof on my mouth—for a black loof deranged being resembled nothing so much as a quan- it is, Jeanie—and sweeps away a’ my gude thoughts, tity of dry leaves, which may for a few minutes remain

373 The Heart of Mid-Lothian still, but are instantly discomposed and put in motion for it suffered baith cauld and hunger when it was liv- by the first casual breath of air. She had now got John ing, and in the grave there is rest for a’ things—rest for Bunyan’s parable into her head, to the exclusion of ev- the doggie, and my puir bairn, and me.” erything else, and on she went with great volubility. “Your bairn?” said Jeanie, conceiving that by speak- “Did ye never read the Pilgrim’s Progress? And you ing on such a topic, supposing it to be a real one, she shall be the woman, Christiana, and I will be the maiden, could not fail to bring her companion to a more com- Mercy—for ye ken Mercy was of the fairer countenance, posed temper. and the more alluring than her companion—and if I She was mistaken, however, for Madge coloured, and had my little messan dog here, it would be Great-heart, replied with some anger, “My bairn? ay, to be sure, my their guide, ye ken, for he was e’en as bauld, that he bairn. Whatfor shouldna I hae a bairn and lose a bairn wad bark at ony thing twenty times his size; and that too, as weel as your bonnie tittie, the Lily of St. was e’en the death of him, for he bit Corporal Leonard’s?” MacAlpine’s heels ae morning when they were hauling The answer struck Jeanie with some alarm, and she me to the guard-house, and Corporal MacAlpine killed was anxious to soothe the irritation she had unwittingly the bit faithfu’ thing wi’ his Lochaber axe—deil pike given occasion to. “I am very sorry for your misfortune.” the Highland banes o’ him.” “Sorry! what wad ye be sorry for?” answered Madge. “O fie! Madge,” said Jeanie, “ye should not speak such “The bairn was a blessing—that is, Jeanie, it wad hae words.” been a blessing if it hadna been for my mother; but my “It’s very true,” said Madge, shaking her head; “but mother’s a queer woman.—Ye see, there was an auld then I maunna think o’ my puir bit doggie, Snap, when carle wi’ a bit land, and a gude clat o’ siller besides, just I saw it lying dying in the gutter. But it’s just as weel, the very picture of old Mr. Feeblemind or Mr. Ready-to-

374 Sir Walter Scott halt, that Great-heart delivered from Slaygood the gi- brawly—Eh, as I used to laugh to see George gang hip- ant, when he was rifling him and about to pick his bones, hop like him!—I dinna ken, I think I laughed heartier for Slaygood was of the nature of the flesh-eaters—and then than what I do now, though maybe no just sae Great-heart killed Giant Despair too—but I am doubt- muckle.” ing Giant Despair’s come alive again, for a’ the story “And who was Gentle George?” said Jeanie, endeav- book—I find him busy at my heart whiles.” ouring to bring her back to her story. “Weel, and so the auld carle,” said Jeanie, for she was “O, he was Geordie Robertson, ye ken, when he was in painfully interested in getting to the truth of Madge’s Edinburgh; but that’s no his right name neither—His history, which she could not but suspect was in some name is—But what is your business wi’ his name?” said extraordinary way linked and entwined with the fate she, as if upon sudden recollection, “What have ye to of her sister. She was also desirous, if possible, to en- do asking for folk’s names?—Have ye a mind I should gage her companion in some narrative which might be scour my knife between your ribs, as my mother says?” carried on in a lower tone of voice, for she was in great As this was spoken with a menacing tone and gesture, apprehension lest the elevated notes of Madge’s conver- Jeanie hastened to protest her total innocence of pur- sation should direct her mother or the robbers in search pose in the accidental question which she had asked, of them. and Madge Wildfire went on somewhat pacified. “And so the auld carle,” said Madge, repeating her “Never ask folk’s names, Jeanie—it’s no civil—I hae words— “I wish ye had seen him stoiting about, aff ae seen half-a-dozen o’ folk in my mother’s at ance, and leg on to the other, wi’ a kind o’ dot-and-go-one sort o’ ne’er ane a’ them ca’d the ither by his name; and Daddie motion, as if ilk ane o’ his twa legs had belanged to Ratton says, it is the most uncivil thing may be, be- sindry folk—but Gentle George could take him aff cause the bailie bodies are aye asking fashions questions,

375 The Heart of Mid-Lothian when ye saw sic a man, or sic a man; and if ye dinna ken deaved wi’ it’s skirling, and she pat it away in below the their names, ye ken there can be nae mair speerd about bit bourock of turf yonder, just to be out o’ the gate; it.” and I think she buried my best wits with it, for I have “In what strange school,” thought Jeanie to herself, never been just mysell since. And only think, Jeanie, “has this poor creature been bred up, where such re- after my mother had been at a’ these pains, the auld mote precautions are taken against the pursuits of jus- doited body Johnny Drottle turned up his nose, and tice? What would my father or Reuben Butler think if wadna hae aught to say to me! But it’s little I care for I were to tell them there are sic folk in the world? And him, for I have led a merry life ever since, and ne’er a to abuse the simplicity of this demented creature! Oh, braw gentleman looks at me but ye wad think he was that I were but safe at hame amang mine ain leal and gaun to drop off his horse for mere love of me. I have true people! and I’ll bless God, while I have breath, that ken’d some o’ them put their hand in their pocket, and placed me amongst those who live in His fear, and un- gie me as muckle as sixpence at a time, just for my weel- der the shadow of His wing.” faured face.” She was interrupted by the insane laugh of Madge This speech gave Jeanie a dark insight into Madge’s Wildfire, as she saw a magpie hop across the path. history. She had been courted by a wealthy suitor, whose “See there!—that was the gate my auld joe used to addresses her mother had favoured, notwithstanding the cross the country, but no just sae lightly—he hadna objection of old age and deformity. She had been se- wings to help his auld legs, I trow; but I behoved to duced by some profligate, and, to conceal her shame and have married him for a’ that, Jeanie, or my mother wad promote the advantageous match she had planned, her hae been the dead o’ me. But then came in the story of mother had not hesitated to destroy the offspring of my poor bairn, and my mother thought he wad be their intrigue. That the consequence should be the total

376 Sir Walter Scott derangement of amind which was constitutionally unsettled by giddiness and vanity, was extremely natural; and such was, in fact, the history of Madge Wildfire’s CHAPTER SEVENTH insanity.

So free from danger, free from fear They crossed the court—right glad they were.

Christabel.

PURSUING THE PATH which Madge had chosen, Jeanie Deans observed, to her no small delight, that marks of more cul- tivation appeared, and the thatched roofs of houses, with their blue smoke arising in little columns, were seen embosomed in a tuft of trees at some distance. The track led in that direction, and Jeanie, therefore, resolved, while Madge continued to pursue it, that she would ask her no questions; having had the penetration to observe, that by doing so she ran the risk of irritating her guide, or awakening suspicions, to the impressions of which, persons in Madge’s unsettled state of mind are particularly liable.

377 The Heart of Mid-Lothian Madge, therefore, uninterrupted, went on with the wild catch me if you can—I think it’s easy to gar you trow disjointed chat which her rambling imagination sug- ony thing.—How suld I ken onything o’ your sister’s gested; a mood in which she was much more communi- wean? Lasses suld hae naething to do wi’ weans till they cative respecting her own history, and that of others, are married—and then a’ the gossips and cummers come than when there was any attempt made, by direct que- in and feast as if it were the blithest day in the warld.— ries, or cross-examinations, to extract information on They say maidens’ bairns are weel guided. I wot that these subjects. wasna true of your tittie’s and mine; but these are sad “It’s a queer thing,” she said, “but whiles I can speak tales to tell.—I maun just sing a bit to keep up my about the bit bairn and the rest of it, just as if it had heart—It’s a sang that Gentle George made on me lang been another body’s, and no my ain; and whiles I am syne, when I went with him to Lockington wake, to see like to break my heart about it—Had you ever a bairn, him act upon a stage, in fine clothes, with the player Jeanie?” folk. He might hae dune waur than married me that Jeanie replied in the negative. night as he promised—better wed over the mixen* as “Ay; but your sister had, though—and I ken what came over the moor, as they say in Yorkshire— o’t too.” “In the name of heavenly mercy,” said Jeanie, forget- he may gang farther and fare waur—but that’s a’ ting the line of conduct which she had hitherto adopted, ane to the sang, “tell me but what became of that unfortunate babe, and—” ‘I’m Madge of the country, I’m Madge of the town, Madge stopped, looked at her gravely and fixedly, and And I’m Madge of the lad I am blithest to own— then broke into a great fit of laughing— “Aha, lass,— * A homely proverb, signifying better wed a neighbour than one fetched from a distance.—Mixen signifies dunghill. 378 Sir Walter Scott The Lady of Beeve in diamonds may shine, count o’ the days o’ the week, and disna ken Sunday But has not a heart half so lightsome as mine. frae Saturday. Besides, it’s a’ your whiggery—in En- gland, folk sings when they like—And then, ye ken, you ‘I am Queen of the Wake, and I’m Lady of May, are Christiana and I am Mercy—and ye ken, as they And I lead the blithe ring round the May-pole to- went on their way, they sang.”—And she immediately day; raised one of John Bunyan’s ditties:— The wildfire that flashes so fair and so free, Was never so bright, or so bonny, as me.’ “He that is down need fear no fall, He that is low no pride, “I like that the best o’ a’ my sangs,” continued the He that is humble ever shall maniac, “because he made it. I am often singing it, and Have God to be his guide. that’s maybe the reason folk ca’ me Madge Wildfire. I aye answer to the name, though it’s no my ain, for what’s “Fulness to such a burthen is the use of making a fash?” That go on pilgrimage; “But ye shouldna sing upon the Sabbath at least,” Here little, and hereafter bliss, said Jeanie, who, amid all her distress and anxiety, could Is best from age to age.” not help being scandalised at the deportment of her companion, especially as they now approached near to the “And do ye ken, Jeanie, I think there’s much truth in little village. that book, the Pilgrim’s Progress. The boy that sings “Ay! is this Sunday?” said Madge. “My mother leads that song was feeding his father’s sheep in the Valley of sic a life, wi’ turning night into day, that ane loses a’ Humiliation, and Mr. Great-heart says, that he lived a

379 The Heart of Mid-Lothian merrier life, and had more of the herb called heart’s- ken a man that will play the Interpreter right weel; for ease in his bosom, than they that wear silk and velvet he has eyes lifted up to Heaven, the best of books in his like me, and are as bonny as I am.” hand, the law of truth written on his lips, and he stands Jeanie Deans had never read the fanciful and delight- as if he pleaded wi’ men—Oh, if I had minded what he ful parable to which Madge alluded. Bunyan was, in- had said to me, I had never been the cutaway creature deed, a rigid Calvinist, but then he was also a member that I am!—But it is all over now.—But we’ll knock at of a Baptist congregation, so that his works had no place the gate, and then the keeper will admit Christiana, but on David Deans’s shelf of divinity. Madge, however, at Mercy will be left out—and then I’ll stand at the door, some time of her life, had been well acquainted, as it trembling and crying, and then Christiana—that’s you, appeared, with the most popular of his performances, Jeanie—will intercede for me; and then Mercy—that’s which, indeed, rarely fails to make a deep impression me, ye ken, will faint; and then the Interpreter—yes, upon children, and people of the lower rank. the Interpreter, that’s Mr. Staunton himself, will come “I am sure,” she continued, “I may weel say I am come out and take me—that’s poor, lost, demented me—by out of the city of Destruction, for my mother is Mrs. the hand, and give me a pomegranate, and a piece of Bat’s-eyes, that dwells at Deadman’s corner; and Frank honeycomb, and a small bottle of spirits, to stay my Levitt, and Tyburn Tam, they may be likened to Mis- fainting—and then the good times will come back again, trust and Guilt, that came galloping up, and struck the and we’ll be the happiest folk you ever saw.” poor pilgrim to the ground with a great club, and stole In the midst of the confused assemblage of ideas indi- a bag of silver, which was most of his spending money, cated in this speech, Jeanie thought she saw a serious and so have they done to many, and will do to more. purpose on the part of Madge, to endeavour to obtain But now we will gang to the Interpreter’s house, for I the pardon and countenance of some one whom she had

380 Sir Walter Scott offended; an attempt the most likely of all others to be as hard upon us as if it was our fault. I like their bring them once more into contact with law and legal skirting as ill as he does, I can tell him; I’m sure I often protection. She, therefore, resolved to be guided by her wish there was a het peat doun their throats when they while she was in so hopeful a disposition, and act for her set them up that gate.” own safety according to circumstances. Conscious of the disorderly appearance of her own They were now close by the village, one of those beau- dress after the adventure of the preceding night, and of tiful scenes which are so often found in merry England, the grotesque habit and demeanour of her guide, and where the cottages, instead of being built in two direct sensible how important it was to secure an attentive and lines on each side of a dusty high-road, stand in detached impatient audience to her strange story from some one groups, interspersed not only with large oaks and elms, who might have the means to protect her, Jeanie readily but with fruit-trees, so many of which were at this time acquiesced in Madge’s proposal to rest under the trees, in flourish, that the grove seemed enamelled with their by which they were still somewhat screened, until the crimson and white blossoms. In the centre of the ham- commencement of service should give them an oppor- let stood the parish church, and its little Gothic tower, tunity of entering the hamlet without attracting a crowd from which at present was heard the Sunday chime of around them. She made the less opposition, that Madge bells. had intimated that this was not the village where her “We will wait here until the folk are a’ in the church— mother was in custody, and that the two squires of the they ca’ the kirk a church in England, Jeanie, be sure pad were absent in a different direction. you mind that—for if I was gaun forward amang them, She sate herself down, therefore, at the foot of an oak, a’ the gaitts o’ boys and lasses wad be crying at Madge and by the assistance of a placid fountain, which had Wildfire’s tail, the little hell-rakers! and the beadle would been dammed up for the use of the villagers, and which

381 The Heart of Mid-Lothian served her as a natural mirror, she began—no uncom- matter so delicate. Across the man’s cap or riding hat mon thing with a Scottish maiden of her rank—to ar- which she wore, Madge placed a broken and soiled white range her toilette in the open air, and bring her dress, feather, intersected with one which had been shed from soiled and disordered as it was, into such order as the the train of a peacock. To her dress, which was a kind place and circumstances admitted. of riding-habit, she stitched, pinned, and otherwise se- She soon perceived reason, however, to regret that she cured, a large furbelow of artificial flowers, all crushed, had set about this task, however decent and necessary, in wrinkled and dirty, which had at first bedecked a lady the present time and society. Madge Wildfire, who, among of quality, then descended to her Abigail, and dazzled other indications of insanity, had a most overweening opin- the inmates of the servants’ hall. A tawdry scarf of ion of those charms, to which, in fact, she had owed her yellow silk, trimmed with tinsel and spangles, which had misery, and whose mind, like a raft upon a lake, was agi- seen as hard service, and boasted as honourable a trans- tated and driven about at random by each fresh impulse, mission, was next flung over one shoulder, and fell across no sooner beheld Jeanie begin to arrange her hair, place her person in the manner of a shoulder-belt, or baldrick. her bonnet in order, rub the dust from her shoes and clothes, Madge then stripped off the coarse ordinary shoes, which adjust her neck-handkerchief and mittans, and so forth, she wore, and replaced them by a pair of dirty satin than with imitative zeal she began to bedizen and trick ones, spangled and embroidered to match the scarf, and herself out with shreds and remnants of beggarly finery, furnished with very high heels. She had cut a willow which she took out of a little bundle, and which, when switch in her morning’s walk, almost as long as a boy’s disposed around her person, made her appearance ten times fishing-rod. This she set herself seriously to peel, and more fantastic and apish than it had been before. when it was transformed into such a wand as the Trea- Jeanie groaned in spirit, but dared not interfere in a surer or High Steward bears on public occasions, she

382 Sir Walter Scott told Jeanie that she thought they now looked decent, as waved Jeanie Deans forward with the condescension of young women should do upon the Sunday morning, and a noble chaperone, who has undertaken the charge of a that, as the bells had done ringing, she was willing to country miss on her first journey to the capital. conduct her to the Interpreter’s house. Jeanie followed in patience, and with her eyes fixed on Jeanie sighed heavily, to think it should be her lot on the ground, that she might save herself the mortifica- the Lord’s day, and during kirk time too, to parade the tion of seeing her companion’s absurdities; but she street of an inhabited village with so very grotesque a started when, ascending two or three steps, she found comrade; but necessity had no law, since, without a posi- herself in the churchyard, and saw that Madge was tive quarrel with the madwoman, which, in the circum- making straight for the door of the church. As Jeanie stances, would have been very unadvisable, she could had no mind to enter the congregation in such company, see no means of shaking herself free of her society. she walked aside from the pathway, and said in a de- As for poor Madge, she was completely elated with cided tone, “Madge, I will wait here till the church comes personal vanity, and the most perfect satisfaction con- out—you may go in by yourself if you have a mind.” cerning her own dazzling dress, and superior appearance. As she spoke these words, she was about to seat her- They entered the hamlet without being observed, ex- self upon one of the grave-stones. cept by one old woman, who, being nearly “high-gravel Madge was a little before Jeanie when she turned aside; blind,” was only conscious that something very fine and but, suddenly changing her course, she followed her with glittering was passing by, and dropped as deep a rever- long strides, and, with every feature inflamed with pas- ence to Madge as she would have done to a countess. sion, overtook and seized her by the arm. “Do ye think, This filled up the measure of Madge’s self-approbation. ye ungratefu’ wretch, that I am gaun to let you sit doun She minced, she ambled, she smiled, she simpered, and upon my father’s grave? The deil settle ye doun, if ye

383 The Heart of Mid-Lothian dinna rise and come into the Interpreter’s house, that’s “This Monument was erected to the Memory of the house of God, wi’ me, but I’ll rive every dud aft Donald your back!” Murdockson of the King’s xxvi., or Cameronian She adapted the action to the phrase; for with one Regiment, a sincere Christian, a brave Soldier, and clutch she stripped Jeanie of her straw bonnet and a a faithful Servant, by his grateful and sorrowing handful of her hair to boot, and threw it up into an old master, Robert Staunton.” yew-tree, where it stuck fast. Jeanie’s first impulse was to scream, but conceiving she might receive deadly harm “It’s very weel read, Jeanie; it’s just the very words,” before she could obtain the assistance of anyone, not- said Madge, whose ire had now faded into deep melan- withstanding the vicinity of the church, she thought it choly, and with a step which, to Jeanie’s great joy, was wiser to follow the madwoman into the congregation, uncommonly quiet and mournful, she led her companion where she might find some means of escape from her, or towards the door of the church. at least be secured against her violence. But when she It was one of those old-fashioned Gothic parish meekly intimated her consent to follow Madge, her churches which are frequent in England, the most guide’s uncertain brain had caught another train of cleanly, decent, and reverential places of worship that ideas. She held Jeanie fast with one hand, and with the are, perhaps, anywhere to be found in the Christian other pointed to the inscription on the grave-stone, and world. Yet, notwithstanding the decent solemnity of its commanded her to read it. Jeanie obeyed, and read these exterior, Jeanie was too faithful to the directory of the words:— Presbyterian kirk to have entered a prelatic place of worship, and would, upon any other occasion, have thought that she beheld in the porch the venerable fig-

384 Sir Walter Scott ure of her father waving her back from the entrance, upon the pavement, and become sensible that she was and pronouncing in a solemn tone, “Cease, my child, to the object of attention to the spectators, than she re- hear the instruction which causeth to err from the words sumed all the fantastic extravagance of deportment of knowledge.” But in her present agitating and alarm- which some transient touch of melancholy had banished ing situation, she looked for safety to this forbidden place for an instant. She swam rather than walked up the cen- of assembly, as the hunted animal will sometimes seek tre aisle, dragging Jeanie after her, whom she held fast shelter from imminent danger in the human habitation, by the hand. She would, indeed, have fain slipped aside or in other places of into the pew nearest to the door, and left Madge to as- refuge most alien to cend in her own manner and alone to the high places of its nature and habits. the synagogue; but this was impossible, without a de- Not even the sound gree of violent resistance, which seemed to her incon- of the organ, and of sistent with the time and place, and she was accord- one or two flutes ingly led in captivity up the whole length of the church which accompanied by her grotesque conductress, who, with half-shut eyes, the psalmody, pre- a prim smile upon her lips, and a mincing motion with vented her from fol- her hands, which corresponded with the delicate and lowing her guide into affected pace at which she was pleased to move, seemed the chancel of the to take the general stare of the congregation, which such church. an exhibition necessarily excited, as a high compliment, No sooner had and which she returned by nods and half-courtesies to Madge put her foot individuals amongst the audience, whom she seemed to

385 The Heart of Mid-Lothian distinguish as acquaintances. Her absurdity was en- she had snatched the prayer-book from his hand, and hanced in the eyes of the spectators by the strange con- ascertained the lesson of the day. She then turned up trast which she formed to her companion, who, with the ritual, and with the most overstrained enthusiasm dishevelled hair, downcast eyes, and a face glowing with of gesture and manner, showed Jeanie the passages as shame, was dragged, as it were in triumph after her. they were read in the service, making, at the same time, Madge’s airs were at length fortunately cut short by her own responses so loud as to be heard above those of her encountering in her progress the looks of the cler- every other person. gyman, who fixed upon her a glance, at once steady, Notwithstanding the shame and vexation which Jeanie compassionate, and admonitory. She hastily opened an felt in being thus exposed in a place of worship, she could empty pew which happened to be near her, and entered, not and durst not omit rallying her spirits so as to look dragging in Jeanie after her. Kicking Jeanie on the shins, around her, and consider to whom she ought to appeal by way of hint that she should follow her example, she for protection so soon as the service should be concluded. sunk her head upon her hand for the space of a minute. Her first ideas naturally fixed upon the clergyman, and Jeanie, to whom this posture of mental devotion was she was confirmed in the resolution by observing that he entirely new, did not attempt to do the like, but looked was an aged gentleman, of a dignified appearance and round her with a bewildered stare, which her neighbours, deportment, who read the service with an undisturbed judging from the company in which they saw her, very and decent gravity, which brought back to becoming at- naturally ascribed to insanity. Every person in their im- tention those younger members of the congregation who mediate vicinity drew back from this extraordinary had been disturbed by the extravagant behaviour of couple as far as the limits of their pew permitted; but Madge Wildfire. To the clergyman, therefore, Jeanie re- one old man could not get beyond Madge’s reach, ere, solved to make her appeal when the service was over.

386 Sir Walter Scott It is true she felt disposed to be shocked at his sur- composed to devotion. Her tormentor would not long plice, of which she had heard so much, but which she have permitted her to remain quiet, but fatigue over- had never seen upon the person of a preacher of the powered her, and she fell fast asleep in the other corner word. Then she was confused by the change of posture of the pew. adopted in different parts of the ritual, the more so as Jeanie, though her mind in her own despite sometimes Madge Wildfire, to whom they seemed familiar, took the reverted to her situation, compelled herself to give at- opportunity to exercise authority over her, pulling her tention to a sensible, energetic, and well-composed dis- up and pushing her down with a bustling assiduity, which course, upon the practical doctrines of Christianity, Jeanie felt must make them both the objects of painful which she could not help approving, although it was attention. But, notwithstanding these prejudices, it was every word written down and read by the preacher, and her prudent resolution, in this dilemma, to imitate as although it was delivered in a tone and gesture very dif- nearly as she could what was done around her. The ferent from those of Boanerges Stormheaven, who was prophet, she thought, permitted Naaman the Syrian to her father’s favourite preacher. The serious and placid bow even in the house of Rimmon. Surely if I, in this attention with which Jeanie listened, did not escape the streight, worship the God of my fathers in mine own clergyman. Madge Wildfire’s entrance had rendered him language, although the manner thereof be strange to apprehensive of some disturbance, to provide against me, the Lord will pardon me in this thing. which, as far as possible, he often turned his eyes to the In this resolution she became so much confirmed, that, part of the church where Jeanie and she were placed, withdrawing herself from Madge as far as the pew per- and became soon aware that, although the loss of her mitted, she endeavoured to evince by serious and com- head-gear, and the awkwardness of her situation, had posed attention to what was passing, that her mind was given an uncommon and anxious air to the features of

387 The Heart of Mid-Lothian the former, yet she was in a state of mind very different from that of her companion. When he dismissed the congregation, he observed her look around with a wild CHAPTER EIGHTH and terrified look, as if uncertain what course she ought to adopt, and noticed that she approached one or two of the most decent of the congregation, as if to address There governed in that year A stern, stout churl—an angry overseer. them, and then shrunk back timidly, on observing that they seemed to shun and to avoid her. The clergyman Crabbe. was satisfied there must be something extraordinary in all this, and as a benevolent man, as well as a good Chris- tian pastor, he resolved to inquire into the matter more WHILE MR. STAUNTON, for such was this worthy minutely. clergyman’s name, was laying aside his gown in the ves- try, Jeanie was in the act of coming to an open rupture with Madge. “We must return to Mummer’s barn directly,” said Madge; “we’ll be ower late, and my mother will be angry.” “I am not going back with you, Madge,” said Jeanie, taking out a guinea, and offering it to her; “I am much obliged to you, but I maun gang my ain road.” “And me coming a’ this way out o’ my gate to pleasure you, ye ungratefu’ cutty,” answered Madge; “and

388 Sir Walter Scott me to be brained by my mother when I gang hame, and as thysell, as if rates were no up enow? Away wi’ thee to a’ for your sake!—But I will gar ye as good” thy thief of a mother; she’s fast in the stocks at Barkston “For God’s sake,” said Jeanie to a man who stood be- town-end—Away wi’ ye out o’ the parish, or I’se be at side them, “keep her off!—she is mad.” ye with the ratan.” “Ey, ey,” answered the boor; “I hae some guess of that, Madge stood sulky for a minute; but she had been too and I trow thou be’st a bird of the same feather.— often taught submission to the beadle’s authority by Howsomever, Madge, I redd thee keep hand off her, or ungentle means to feel courage enough to dispute it. I’se lend thee a whisterpoop.” “And my mother—my puir auld mother, is in the stocks Several of the lower class of the parishioners now gath- at Barkston!—This is a’ your wyte, Miss Jeanie Deans; ered round the strangers, and the cry arose among the but I’ll be upsides wi’ you, as sure as my name’s Madge boys that “there was a-going to be a fite between mad Wildfire—I mean Murdockson—God help me, I forget Madge Murdockson and another Bess of Bedlam.” But my very name in this confused waste!” while the fry assembled with the humane hope of see- So saying, she turned upon her heel, and went off, fol- ing as much of the fun as possible, the laced cocked-hat lowed by all the mischievous imps of the village, some of the beadle was discerned among the multitude, and crying, “Madge, canst thou tell thy name yet?” some all made way for that person of awful authority. His pulling the skirts of her dress, and all, to the best of first address was to Madge. their strength and ingenuity, exercising some new de- “What’s brought thee back again, thou silly donnot, vice or other to exasperate her into frenzy. to plague this parish? Hast thou brought ony more bas- Jeanie saw her departure with infinite delight, though tards wi’ thee to lay to honest men’s doors? or does thou she wished that, in some way or other, she could have think to burden us with this goose, that’s as hare-brained requited the service Madge had conferred upon her.

389 The Heart of Mid-Lothian In the meantime, she applied to the beadle to know “Is that the minister,” said Jeanie, “who preached” whether “there was any house in the village where she “The minister? Lord help thee! What kind o’ Presby- could be civilly entertained for her money, and whether terian art thou?—Why, ’tis the Rector—the Rector’s she could be permitted to speak to the clergyman?” sell, woman, and there isna the like o’ him in the county, “Ay, ay, we’se ha’ reverend care on thee; and I think,” nor the four next to it. Come away—away with thee— answered the man of constituted authority, “that, un- we maunna bide here.” less thou answer the Rector all the better, we’se spare “I am sure I am very willing to go to see the minister,” thy money, and gie thee lodging at the parish charge, said Jeanie; “for though he read his discourse, and wore young woman.” that surplice, as they call it here, I canna but think he “Where am I to go then?” said Jeanie, in some alarm. must be a very worthy God-fearing man, to preach the “Why, I am to take thee to his Reverence, in the first root of the matter in the way he did.” place, to gie an account o’ thysell, and to see thou comena The disappointed rabble, finding that there was like to be a burden upon the parish.” to be no farther sport, had by this time dispersed, and “I do not wish to burden anyone,” replied Jeanie; “I Jeanie, with her usual patience, followed her consequen- have enough for my own wants, and only wish to get on tial and surly, but not brutal, conductor towards the my journey safely.” rectory. “Why, that’s another matter,” replied the beadle, “and This clerical mansion was large and commodious, for if it be true—and I think thou dost not look so the living was an excellent one, and the advowson be- polrumptious as thy playfellow yonder—Thou wouldst longed to a very wealthy family in the neighbourhood, be a mettle lass enow, an thou wert snog and snod a bid who had usually bred up a son or nephew to the church better. Come thou away, then—the Rector is a good man.” for the sake of inducting him, as opportunity offered,

390 Sir Walter Scott into this very comfortable provision. In this manner the considerable additions and improvements, each in the rectory of Willingham had always been considered as a taste of his own age, and without much regard to sym- direct and immediate appanage of Willingham Hall; and metry. But these incongruities of architecture were so as the rich baronets to whom the latter belonged had graduated and happily mingled, that the eye, far from usually a son, or brother, or nephew, settled in the liv- being displeased with the combinations of various styles, ing, the utmost care had been taken to render their habi- saw nothing but what was interesting in the varied and tation not merely respectable and commodious, but even intricate pile which they displayed. Fruit-trees displayed dignified and imposing. on the southern wall, outer staircases, various places of It was situated about four hundred yards from the entrance, a combination of roofs and chimneys of dif- village, and on a rising ground which sloped gently up- ferent ages, united to render the front, not indeed beau- ward, covered with small enclosures, or closes, laid out tiful or grand, but intricate, perplexed, or, to use Mr. irregularly, so that the old oaks and elms, which were Price’s appropriate phrase, picturesque. The most con- planted in hedge-rows, fell into perspective, and were siderable addition was that of the present Rector, who, blended together in beautiful irregularity. When they “being a bookish man,” as the beadle was at the pains approached nearer to the house, a handsome gateway to inform Jeanie, to augment, perhaps, her reverence admitted them into a lawn, of narrow dimensions infor the person before whom she was to appear, had built deed, but which was interspersed with large sweet chest- a handsome library and parlour, and no less than two nut trees and beeches, and kept in handsome order. The additional bedrooms. front of the house was irregular. Part of it seemed very “Mony men would hae scrupled such expense,” con- old, and had, in fact, been the residence of the incum- tinued the parochial officer, “seeing as the living mun bent in Romish times. Successive occupants had made go as it pleases Sir Edmund to will it; but his Reverence

391 The Heart of Mid-Lothian has a canny bit land of his own, and need not look on pleasing accompaniment to the landscape. “It was the two sides of a penny.” best trouting stream,” said the beadle, whom the pa- Jeanie could not help comparing the irregular yet ex- tience of Jeanie, and especially the assurance that she tensive and commodious pile of building before her to was not about to become a burden to the parish, had the “Manses” in her own country, where a set of penuri- rendered rather communicative, “the best trouting ous heritors, professing all the while the devotion of their stream in all Lincolnshire; for when you got lower, there lives and fortunes to the Presbyterian establishment, was nought to be done wi’ fly-fishing.” strain their inventions to discover what may be nipped, Turning aside from the principal entrance, he con- and clipped, and pared from a building which forms but ducted Jeanie towards a sort of portal connected with a poor accommodation even for the present incumbent, the older part of the building, which was chiefly occu- and, despite the superior advantage of stone-masonry, pied by servants, and knocking at the door, it was opened must, in the course of forty or fifty years, again burden by a servant in grave purple livery, such as befitted a their descendants with an expense, which, once liber- wealthy and dignified clergyman. ally and handsomely employed, ought to have freed their “How dost do, Tummas?” said the beadle— “and estates from a recurrence of it for more than a century how’s young Measter Staunton?” at least. “Why, but poorly—but poorly, Measter Stubbs.—Are Behind the Rector’s house the ground sloped down to you wanting to see his Reverence?” a small river, which, without possessing the romantic “Ay, ay, Tummas; please to say I ha’ brought up the vivacity and rapidity of a northern stream, was, never- young woman as came to service to-day with mad Madge theless, by its occasional appearance through the ranges Murdockson seems to be a decentish koind o’ body; but of willows and poplars that crowned its banks, a very I ha’ asked her never a question. Only I can tell his Rev-

392 Sir Walter Scott erence that she is a Scotchwoman, I judge, and as flat as the fens of Holland.” “Ye musquet and calliver-men, Tummas honoured Jeanie Deans with such a stare, as Do you prove true to me, the pampered domestics of the rich, whether spiritual I’ll be the foremost man in fight, or temporal, usually esteem it part of their privilege to Said brave Lord Willoughbee.” bestow upon the poor, and then desired Mr. Stubbs and his charge to step in till he informed his master of their When they had entered this apartment, Tummas as a presence. matter of course offered, and as a matter of course Mr. The room into which he showed them was a sort of Stubbs accepted, a “summat” to eat and drink, being steward’s parlour, hung with a county map or two, and the respectable relies of a gammon of bacon, and a whole three or four prints of eminent persons connected with whiskin, or black pot of sufficient double ale. To these the county, as Sir William Monson, James York the eatables Mr. Beadle seriously inclined himself, and (for blacksmith of Lincoln,* and the famous Peregrine, Lord we must do him justice) not without an invitation to Willoughby, in complete armour, looking as when he said Jeanie, in which Tummas joined, that his prisoner or in the words of the legend below the engraving,— charge would follow his good example. But although she might have stood in need of refreshment, consider- “Stand to it, noble pikemen, ing she had tasted no food that day, the anxiety of the And face ye well about; moment, her own sparing and abstemious habits, and a And shoot ye sharp, bold bowmen, bashful aversion to eat in company of the two strang- And we will keep them out. ers, induced her to decline their courtesy. So she sate in * Author of the Union of Honour, a treatise on English Her- a chair apart, while Mr. Stubbs and Mr. Tummas, who aldry. London, 1641. 393 The Heart of Mid-Lothian had chosen to join his friend in consideration that din- ignate Jeanie, as an event which had just taken place. ner was to be put back till after the afternoon service, He returned with an order that Mr. Stubbs and the young made a hearty luncheon, which lasted for half-an-hour, woman should be instantly ushered up to the library. and might not then have concluded, had not his Rever- The beadle bolted in haste his last mouthful of fat ba- ence rung his bell, so that Tummas was obliged to at- con, washed down the greasy morsel with the last rins- ings of the pot of ale, and immediately marshalled Jeanie through one or two intricate passages which led from the ancient to the more modern buildings, into a handsome little hall, or anteroom, adjoining to the library, and out of which a glass door opened to the lawn. “Stay here,” said Stubbs, “till I tell his Reverence you are come.” So saying, he opened a door and entered the library. Without wishing to hear their conversation, Jeanie, as she was circumstanced, could not avoid it; for as Stubbs stood by the door, and his Reverence was at the upper end of a large room, their conversation was necessarily tend his master. Then, and no sooner, to save himself audible in the anteroom. the labour of a second journey to the other end of the “So you have brought the young woman here at last, house, he announced to his master the arrival of Mr. Mr. Stubbs. I expected you some time since. You know I Stubbs, with the other madwoman, as he chose to des- do not wish such persons to remain in custody a mo-

394 Sir Walter Scott ment without some inquiry into their situation.” “Cash! that is always what you think of, Stubbs—But, “Very true, your Reverence,” replied the beadle; “but has she sense?—has she her wits?—has she the capac- the young woman had eat nought to-day, and so Measter ity of taking care of herself?” Tummas did set down a drap of drink and a morsel, to “Why, your Reverence,” replied Stubbs, “I cannot just be sure.” say—I will be sworn she was not born at Witt-ham;* “Thomas was very right, Mr. Stubbs; and what has, for Gaffer Gibbs looked at her all the time of service, become of the other most unfortunate being?” and he says, she could not turn up a single lesson like a “Why,” replied Mr. Stubbs, “I did think the sight on Christian, even though she had Madge Murdockson to her would but vex your Reverence, and soa I did let her help her—but then, as to fending for herself, why, she’s go her ways back to her mother, who is in trouble in the a bit of a Scotchwoman, your Reverence, and they say next parish.” the worst donnot of them can look out for their own “In trouble!—that signifies in prison, I suppose?” said turn—and she is decently put on enow, and not Mr. Staunton. bechounched like t’other.” “Ay, truly; something like it, an it like your Reverence.” “Send her in here, then, and do you remain below, Mr. “Wretched, unhappy, incorrigible woman!” said the Stubbs.” clergyman. “And what sort of person is this companion This colloquy had engaged Jeanie’s attention so deeply, of hers?” that it was not until it was over that she observed that “Why, decent enow, an it like your Reverence,” said the sashed door, which, we have said, led from the ante- Stubbs; “for aught I sees of her, there’s no harm of her, room into the garden, was opened, and that there en- and she says she has cash enow to carry her out of the tered, or rather was borne in by two assistants, a young county.” * A proverbial and punning expression in that county, to intimate that a person is not very clever. 395 The Heart of Mid-Lothian man, of a very pale and sickly appearance, whom they traces, Jeanie found herself in a handsome library, and in lifted to the nearest couch, and placed there, as if to presence of the Rector of Willingham. The well-furnished recover from the fatigue of an unusual exertion. Just as presses and shelves which surrounded the large and hand- they were making this arrangement, Stubbs came out some apartment, contained more books than Jeanie imag- of the library, and summoned Jeanie to enter it. She ined existed in the world, being accustomed to consider obeyed him, not without tremor; for, besides the nov- as an extensive collection two fir shelves, each about three elty of the situation, to a girl of her secluded habits, feet long, which contained her father’s treasured volumes, she felt also as if the successful prosecution of her jour- the whole pith and marrow, as he used sometimes to boast, ney was to depend upon the impression she should be of modern divinity. An orrery, globes, a telescope, and able to make on Mr. Staunton. some other scientific implements, conveyed to Jeanie an It is true, it was difficult to suppose on what pretext a impression of admiration and wonder, not unmixed with person travelling on her own business, and at her own fear; for, in her ignorant apprehension, they seemed rather charge, could be interrupted upon her route. But the vio- adapted for magical purposes than any other; and a few lent detention she had already undergone, was sufficient stuffed animals (as the Rector was fond of natural his- to show that there existed persons at no great distance tory) added to the impressive character of the apartment. who had the interest, the inclination, and the audacity, Mr. Staunton spoke to her with great mildness. He forcibly to stop her journey, and she felt the necessity of observed, that, although her appearance at church had having some countenance and protection, at least till she been uncommon, and in strange, and he must add, dis- should get beyond their reach. While these things passed creditable society, and calculated, upon the whole, to through her mind, much faster than our pen and ink can disturb the congregation during divine worship, he record, or even the reader’s eye collect the meaning of its wished, nevertheless, to hear her own account of her-

396 Sir Walter Scott self before taking any steps which his duty might seem up to shun evil communication. But these wicked people to demand. He was a justice of peace, he informed her, were thieves, and stopped me by violence and mastery.” as well as a clergyman. “Thieves!” said Mr. Staunton; “then you charge them “His Honour” (for she would not say his Reverence) with robbery, I suppose?” “was very civil and kind,” was all that poor Jeanie could “No, sir; they did not take so much as a boddle from at first bring out. me,” answered Jeanie; “nor did they use me ill, other- “Who are you, young woman?” said the clergyman, wise than by confining me.” more peremptorily— “and what do you do in this coun- The clergyman inquired into the particulars of her try, and in such company?—We allow no strollers or adventure, which she told him from point to point. vagrants here.” “This is an extraordinary, and not a very probable tale, “I am not a vagrant or a stroller, sir,” said Jeanie, a young woman,” resumed Mr. Staunton. “Here has been, little roused by the supposition. “I am a decent Scots according to your account, a great violence committed lass, travelling through the land on my own business without any adequate motive. Are you aware of the law and my own expenses and I was so unhappy as to fall in of this country—that if you lodge this charge, you will with bad company, and was stopped a’ night on my jour- be bound over to prosecute this gang?” ney. And this puir creature, who is something light- Jeanie did not understand him, and he explained, that headed, let me out in the morning.” the English law, in addition to the inconvenience sus- “Bad company!” said the clergyman. “I am afraid, tained by persons who have been robbed or injured, has young woman, you have not been sufficiently anxious the goodness to intrust to them the care and the ex- to avoid them.” pense of appearing as prosecutors. “Indeed, sir,” returned Jeanie, “I have been brought Jeanie said, “that her business at London was express;

397 The Heart of Mid-Lothian all she wanted was, that any gentleman would, out of Christian charity, protect her to some town where she could hire horses and a guide; and finally,” she thought, CHAPTER NINTH “it would be her father’s mind that she was not free to give testimony in an English court of justice, as the land was not under a direct gospel dispensation.” Fantastic passions’ maddening brawl! And shame and terror over all! Mr. Staunton stared a little, and asked if her father Deeds to be hid which were not hid, was a Quaker. Which, all confused, I could not know “God forbid, sir,” said Jeanie— “He is nae schismatic Whether I suffer’d or I did, For all seem’d guilt, remorse, or woe; nor sectary, nor ever treated for sic black commodities My own, or others, still the same as theirs, and that’s weel kend o’ him.” Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame. “And what is his name, pray?” said Mr. Staunton. “David Deans, sir, the cowfeeder at Saint Leonard’s Coleridge. Crags, near Edinburgh.” A deep groan from the anteroom prevented the Rec- tor from replying, and, exclaiming, “Good God! that un- DURING THE INTERVAL while she was thus left alone, Jeanie happy boy!” he left Jeanie alone, and hastened into the anxiously revolved in her mind what course was best for outer apartment. her to pursue. She was impatient to continue her jour- Some noise and bustle was heard, but no one entered ney, yet she feared she could not safely adventure to do the library for the best part of an hour. so while the old hag and her assistants were in the neighbourhood, without risking a repetition of their

398 Sir Walter Scott violence. She thought she could collect from the conver- other prelatical divines of her father’s earlier days, who sation which she had partly overheard, and also from used to get drunk in their canonical dress, and hound the wild confessions of Madge Wildfire, that her mother out the dragoons against the wandering Cameronians. had a deep and revengeful motive for obstructing her The house seemed to be in some disturbance, but as she journey if possible. And from whom could she hope for could not suppose she was altogether forgotten, she assistance if not from Mr. Staunton? His whole appear- thought it better to remain quiet in the apartment where ance and demeanour seemed to encourage her hopes. His she had been left, till some one should take notice of features were handsome, though marked with a deep her. cast of melancholy; his tone and language were gentle The first who entered was, to her no small delight, one and encouraging; and, as he had served in the army for of her own sex, a motherly-looking aged person of a several years during his youth, his air retained that easy housekeeper. To her Jeanie explained her situation in a frankness which is peculiar to the profession of arms. few words, and begged her assistance. He was, besides, a minister of the gospel; and, although The dignity of a housekeeper did not encourage too a worshipper, according to Jeanie’s notions, in the court much familiarity with a person who was at the Rectory of the Gentiles, and so benighted as to wear a surplice; on justice-business, and whose character might seem in although he read the Common Prayer, and wrote down her eyes somewhat precarious; but she was civil, al- every word of his sermon before delivering it; and although distant. though he was, moreover, in strength of lungs, as well “Her young master,” she said, “had had a bad acci- as pith and marrow of doctrine, vastly inferior to dent by a fall from his horse, which made him liable to Boanerges Stormheaven, Jeanie still thought he must fainting fits; he had been taken very ill just now, and it be a very different person from Curate Kilstoup, and was impossible his Reverence could see Jeanie for some

399 The Heart of Mid-Lothian time; but that she need not fear his doing all that was woman?” said the old lady, when their meal was con- just and proper in her behalf the instant he could get cluded, laying her hand upon a large Bible. her business attended to.”—She concluded by offering “I hope sae, madam,” said Jeanie, surprised at the to show Jeanie a room, where she might remain till his question “my father wad hae wanted mony a thing ere Reverence was at leisure. I had wanted that schuling.” Our heroine took the opportunity to request the means “The better sign of him, young woman. There are men of adjusting and changing her dress. here, well to pass in the world, would not want their share The housekeeper, in whose estimation order and clean- of a Leicester plover, and that’s a bag-pudding, if fasting liness ranked high among personal virtues, gladly com- for three hours would make all their poor children read the plied with a request so reasonable; and the change of Bible from end to end. Take thou the book, then, for my dress which Jeanie’s bundle furnished made so impor- eyes are something dazed, and read where thou listest— tant an improvement in her appearance, that the old it’s the only book thou canst not happen wrong in.” lady hardly knew the soiled and disordered traveller, Jeanie was at first tempted to turn up the parable of whose attire showed the violence she had sustained, in the good Samaritan, but her conscience checked her, as the neat, clean, quiet-looking little Scotch-woman, who if it were a use of Scripture, not for her own edification, now stood before her. Encouraged by such a favourable but to work upon the mind of others for the relief of alteration in her appearance, Mrs. Dalton ventured to her worldly afflictions; and under this scrupulous sense invite Jeanie to partake of her dinner, and was equally of duty, she selected, in preference, a CHAPTER of the pleased with the decent propriety of her conduct dur- prophet Isaiah, and read it, notwithstanding her north- ing the meal. ern’ accent and tone, with a devout propriety, which “Thou canst read this book, canst thou, young greatly edified Mrs. Dalton.

400 Sir Walter Scott “Ah,” she said, “an all Scotchwomen were sic as thou “Well, Mr. Jack-Sauce, and what is your business to but it was our luck to get born devils of thy country, I put in your oar?—And how often must I tell you to call think—every one worse than t’other. If thou knowest Mr. Staunton his Reverence, seeing as he is a dignified of any tidy lass like thysell that wanted a place, and clergyman, and not be meastering, meastering him, as could bring a good character, and would not go laiking if he were a little petty squire?” about to wakes and fairs, and wore shoes and stockings As Jeanie was now at the door, and ready to accom- all the day round—why, I’ll not say but we might find pany Tummas, the footman said nothing till he got into room for her at the Rectory. Hast no cousin or sister, the passage, when he muttered, “There are moe mas- lass, that such an offer would suit?” ters than one in this house, and I think we shall have a This was touching upon a sore point, but Jeanie was mistress too, an Dame Dalton carries it thus.” spared the pain of replying by the entrance of the same Tummas led the way through a more intricate range man-servant she had seen before. of passages than Jeanie had yet threaded, and ushered “Measter wishes to see the young woman from Scot- her into an apartment which was darkened by the clos- land,” was Tummas’s address. ing of most of the window-shutters, and in which was a “Go to his Reverence, my dear, as fast as you can, and bed with the curtains partly drawn. tell him all your story—his Reverence is a kind man,” “Here is the young woman, sir,” said Tummas. said Mrs. Dalton. “I will fold down the leaf, and wake “Very well,” said a voice from the bed, but not that of his you a cup of tea, with some nice muffin, against you come Reverence; “be ready to answer the bell, and leave the room.” down, and that’s what you seldom see in Scotland, girl.” “There is some mistake,” said Jeanie, confounded at “Measter’s waiting for the young woman,” said finding herself in the apartment of an invalid; “the ser- Tummas impatiently. vant told me that the minister—”

401 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “Don’t trouble yourself,” said the invalid, “there is no mis- Jeanie sunk down on a chair with clasped hands, and take. I know more of your affairs than my father, and I can gasped in agony. manage them better.—Leave the room, Tom.” The servant “Yes, here I lie,” he said, “like a crushed snake, writh- obeyed.— “We must not,” said the invalid, “lose time, when ing with impatience at my incapacity of motion—here we have little to lose. Open the shutters of that window.” I lie, when I ought to have been in Edinburgh, trying She did so, and as he drew aside the curtain of his every means to save a life that is dearer to me than my bed, the light fell on his pale countenance, as, turban’d own.—How is your sister?—how fares it with her?— with bandages, and dressed in a night-gown, he lay, seem- condemned to death, I know it, by this time! O, the horse ingly exhausted, upon the bed. that carried me safely on a thousand errands of folly “Look at me,” he said, “Jeanie Deans; can you not and wickedness, that he should have broke down with recollect me?” me on the only good mission I have undertaken for years! “No, sir,” said she, full of surprise. “I was never in But I must rein in my passion—my frame cannot en- this country before.” dure it, and I have much to say. Give me some of the “But I may have been in yours. Think—recollect. I cordial which stands on that table.—Why do you should faint did I name the name you are most dearly tremble? But you have too good cause.—Let it stand— bound to loathe and to detest. Think—remember!” I need it not.” A terrible recollection flashed on Jeanie, which every Jeanie, however reluctant, approached him with the tone of the speaker confirmed, and which his next words cup into which she had poured the draught, and could rendered certainty. not forbear saying, “There is a cordial for the mind, sir, “Be composed—remember Muschat’s Cairn, and the if the wicked will turn from their transgressions, and moonlight night!” seek to the Physician of souls.”

402 Sir Walter Scott “Silence!” he said sternly— “and yet I thank you. But urge me to impatience—it will only render me incapable tell me, and lose no time in doing so, what you are doing of serving Effie.” in this country? Remember, though I have been your There was in the looks and words of this unhappy sister’s worst enemy, yet I will serve her with the best of young man a sort of restrained eagerness and impetu- my blood, and I will serve you for her sake; and no one osity which seemed to prey upon itself, as the impatience can serve you to such purpose, for no one can know the of a fiery steed fatigues itself with churning upon the circumstances so well—so speak without fear.” bit. After a moment’s consideration, it occurred to Jeanie “I am not afraid, sir,” said Jeanie, collecting her spir- that she was not entitled to withhold from him, whether its. “I trust in God; and if it pleases Him to redeem my on her sister’s account or her own, the fatal account of sister’s captivity, it is all I seek, whosoever be the in- the consequences of the crime which he had commit- strument. But, sir, to be plain with you, I dare not use ted, nor to reject such advice, being in itself lawful and your counsel, unless I were enabled to see that it ac- innocent, as he might be able to suggest in the way of cords with the law which I must rely upon.” remedy. Accordingly, in as few words as she could ex- “The devil take the Puritan!” cried George Staunton, press it, she told the history of her sister’s trial and con- for so we must now call him— “I beg your pardon; but demnation, and of her own journey as far as Newark. I am naturally impatient, and you drive me mad! What He appeared to listen in the utmost agony of mind, yet harm can it possibly do to tell me in what situation your repressed every violent symptom of emotion, whether sister stands, and your own expectations of being able by gesture or sound, which might have interrupted the to assist her? It is time enough to refuse my advice when speaker, and, stretched on his couch like the Mexican I offer any which you may think improper. I speak monarch on his bed of live coals, only the contortions calmly to you, though ’tis against my nature; but don’t of his cheek, and the quivering of his limbs, gave indi-

403 The Heart of Mid-Lothian cation of his sufferings. To much of what she said he Young Staunton lay for a moment in profound medi- listened with stifled groans, as if he were only hearing tation and at length spoke with more composure than those miseries confirmed, whose fatal reality he had he had yet displayed during their interview.— “You are known before; but when she pursued her tale through a sensible, as well as a good young woman, Jeanie Deans, the circumstances which had interrupted her journey, and I will tell you more of my story than I have told to extreme surprise and earnest attention appeared to suc- any one.—Story did I call it?—it is a tissue of folly, ceed to the symptoms of remorse which he had before guilt, and misery.—But take notice—I do it because I exhibited. He questioned Jeanie closely concerning the desire your confidence in return—that is, that you will appearance of the two men, and the conversation which act in this dismal matter by my advice and direction. she had overheard between the taller of them and the Therefore do I speak.” woman. “I will do what is fitting for a sister, and a daughter, When Jeanie mentioned the old woman having alluded and a Christian woman to do,” said Jeanie; “but do not to her foster-son—”It is too true,” he said; “and the tell me any of your secrets.—It is not good that I should source from which I derived food, when an infant, must come into your counsel, or listen to the doctrine which have communicated to me the wretched—the fated— causeth to err.” propensity to vices that were strangers in my own fam- “Simple fool!” said the young man. “Look at me. My ily.—But go on.” head is not horned, my foot is not cloven, my hands are Jeanie passed slightly over her journey in company not garnished with talons; and, since I am not the very with Madge, having no inclination to repeat what might devil himself, what interest can any one else have in de- be the effect of mere raving on the part of her compan- stroying the hopes with which you comfort or fool your- ion, and therefore her tale was now closed. self? Listen to me patiently, and you will find that, when

404 Sir Walter Scott you have heard my counsel, you may go to the seventh not so bad as your sister’s business, but it was sufficiently heaven with it in your pocket, if you have a mind, and villanous—her folly should have been her protection. not feel yourself an ounce heavier in the ascent.” Soon after this I was sent abroad—To do my father jus- At the risk of being somewhat heavy, as explanations tice, if I have turned out a fiend it is not his fault—he usually prove, we must here endeavour to combine into used the best means. When I returned, I found the a distinct narrative, information which the invalid com- wretched mother and daughter had fallen into disgrace, municated in a manner at once too circumstantial, and and were chased from this country.—My deep share in too much broken by passion, to admit of our giving his their shame and misery was discovered—my father used precise words. Part of it indeed he read from a manu- very harsh language—we quarrelled. I left his house, script, which he had perhaps drawn up for the informa- and led a life of strange adventure, resolving never again tion of his relations after his decease. to see my father or my father’s home. “To make my tale short—this wretched hag—this “And now comes the story!—Jeanie, I put my life into Margaret Murdockson, was the wife of a favourite ser- your hands, and not only my own life, which, God knows, vant of my father—she had been my nurse—her hus- is not worth saving, but the happiness of a respectable band was dead—she resided in a cottage near this old man, and the honour of a family of consideration. place—she had a daughter who grew up, and was then My love of low society, as such propensities as I was a beautiful but very giddy girl; her mother endeavoured cursed with are usually termed, was, I think of an un- to promote her marriage with an old and wealthy churl common kind, and indicated a nature, which, if not de- in the neighbourhood—the girl saw me frequently—She praved by early debauchery, would have been fit for bet- was familiar with me, as our connection seemed to per- ter things. I did not so much delight in the wild revel, mit—and I—in a word, I wronged her cruelly—It was the low humour, the unconfined liberty of those with

405 The Heart of Mid-Lothian whom I associated as in the spirit of adventure, pres- criminal actions than I had yet been concerned in. It ence of mind in peril, and sharpness of intellect which was now I became acquainted with Wilson, a remark- they displayed in prosecuting their maraudings upon the able man in his station of life; quiet, composed, and reso- revenue, or similar adventures.—Have you looked round lute, firm in mind, and uncommonly strong in person, this rectory?—is it not a sweet and pleasant retreat?” gifted with a sort of rough eloquence which raised him Jeanie, alarmed at this sudden change of subject, re- above his companions. Hitherto I had been plied in the affirmative. “Well! I wish it had been ten thousand fathoms under As dissolute as desperate, yet through both ground, with its church-lands, and tithes, and all that Were seen some sparkles of a better hope. belongs to it. Had it not been for this cursed rectory, I should have been permitted to follow the bent of my “But it was this man’s misfortune, as well as mine, own inclinations and the profession of arms, and half that, notwithstanding the difference of our rank and the courage and address that I have displayed among education, he acquired an extraordinary and fascinat- smugglers and deer-stealers would have secured me an ing influence over me, which I can only account for by honourable rank among my contemporaries. Why did I the calm determination of his character being superior not go abroad when I left this house!—Why did I leave to the less sustained impetuosity of mine. Where he led it at all!—why—But it came to that point with me that I felt myself bound to follow; and strange was the cour- it is madness to look back, and misery to look forward!” age and address which he displayed in his pursuits. While He paused, and then proceeded with more composure. I was engaged in desperate adventures, under so strange “The chances of a wandering life brought me unhap- and dangerous a preceptor, I became acquainted with pily to Scotland, to embroil myself in worse and more your unfortunate sister at some sports of the young

406 Sir Walter Scott people in the suburbs, which she frequented by stealth— robbery of the officer of the customs in Fife as a fair and her ruin proved an interlude to the tragic scenes in and honourable reprisal. Hitherto I had observed a cer- which I was now deeply engaged. Yet this let me say— tain line in my criminality, and stood free of assaults the villany was not premeditated, and I was firmly re- upon personal property, but now I felt a wild pleasure solved to do her all the justice which marriage could do, in disgracing myself as much as possible. so soon as I should be able to extricate myself from my “The plunder was no object to me. I abandoned that unhappy course of life, and embrace some one more to my comrades, and only asked the post of danger. I suited to my birth. I had wild visions—visions of con- remember well that when I stood with my drawn sword ducting her as if to some poor retreat, and introducing guarding the door while they committed the felony, I her at once to rank and fortune she never dreamt of. A had not a thought of my own safety. I was only medi- friend, at my request, attempted a negotiation with my tating on my sense of supposed wrong from my family, father, which was protracted for some time, and renewed my impotent thirst of vengeance, and how it would at different intervals. At length, and just when I ex- sound in the haughty cars of the family of Willingham, pected my father’s pardon, he learned by some means that one of their descendants, and the heir apparent of or other my infamy, painted in even exaggerated colours, their honours, should perish by the hands of the hang- which was, God knows, unnecessary. He wrote me a let- man for robbing a Scottish gauger of a sum not equal to ter—how it found me out I know not—enclosing me a one-fifth part of the money I had in my pocket-book. sum of money, and disowning me for ever. I became des- We were taken—I expected no less. We were con- perate—I became frantic—I readily joined Wilson in a demned—that also I looked for. But death, as he ap- perilous smuggling adventure in which we miscarried, proached nearer, looked grimly; and the recollection of and was willingly blinded by his logic to consider the your sister’s destitute condition determined me on an

407 The Heart of Mid-Lothian effort to save my life.—I forgot to tell you, that in they were endured.—I return to my prison thoughts. Edinburgh I again met the woman Murdockson and her “It was not the least miserable of them that your daughter. She had followed the camp when young, and sister’s time approached. I knew her dread of you and had now, under pretence of a trifling traffic, resumed of her father. She often said she would die a thousand predatory habits, with which she had already been too deaths ere you should know her shame—yet her con- familiar. Our first meeting was stormy; but I was liberal finement must be provided for. I knew this woman of what money I had, and she forgot, or seemed to for- Murdockson was an infernal hag, but I thought she loved get, the injury her daughter had received. The unfortu- me, and that money would make her true. She had pro- nate girl herself seemed hardly even to know her seducer, cured a file for Wilson, and a spring-saw for me; and she far less to retain any sense of the injury she had received. undertook readily to take charge of Effie during her ill- Her mind is totally alienated, which, according to her ness, in which she had skill enough to give the necessary mother’s account, is sometimes the consequence of an assistance. I gave her the money which my father had unfavourable confinement. But it was my doing. Here sent me. It was settled that she should receive Effie into was another stone knitted round my neck to sink me her house in the meantime, and wait for farther direc- into the pit of perdition. Every look—every word of tions from me, when I should effect my escape. I com- this poor creature—her false spirits—her imperfect rec- municated this purpose, and recommended the old hag ollections—her allusions to things which she had for- to poor Effie by a letter, in which I recollect that I en- gotten, but which were recorded in my conscience, were deavoured to support the character of Macheath under stabs of a poniard—stabs did I say?—they were tear- condemnation-a fine, gay, bold-faced ruffian, who is ing with hot pincers, and scalding the raw wound with game to the last. Such, and so wretchedly poor, was my burning sulphur—they were to be endured however, and ambition! Yet I had resolved to forsake the courses I

408 Sir Walter Scott had been engaged in, should I be so fortunate as to es- the law were so close after me, that I dared not trust my- cape the gibbet. My design was to marry your sister, self near any of my old haunts, but old Murdockson met and go over to the West Indies. I had still a considerable me by appointment, and informed me that your sister had sum of money left, and I trusted to be able, in one way happily been delivered of a boy. I charged the hag to keep or other, to provide for myself and my wife. her patient’s mind easy, and let her want for nothing that “We made the attempt to escape, and by the obsti- money could purchase, and I retreated to Fife, where, nacy of Wilson, who insisted upon going first, it totally among my old associates of Wilson’s gang, I hid myself in miscarried. The undaunted and self-denied manner in those places of concealment where the men engaged in that which he sacrificed himself to redeem his error, and ac- desperate trade are used to find security for themselves complish my escape from the Tolbooth Church, you must and their uncustomed goods. Men who are disobedient both have heard of—all Scotland rang with it. It was a gal- to human and divine laws are not always insensible to the lant and extraordinary deed—All men spoke of it—all claims of courage and generosity. We were assured that men, even those who most condemned the habits and the mob of Edinburgh, strongly moved with the hardship crimes of this self-devoted man, praised the heroism of of Wilson’s situation, and the gallantry of his conduct, his friendship. I have many vices, but cowardice or want would back any bold attempt that might be made to res- of gratitude, are none of the number. I resolved to re- cue him even from the foot of the gibbet. Desperate as the quite his generosity, and even your sister’s safety be- attempt seemed, upon my declaring myself ready to lead came a secondary consideration with me for the time. the onset on the guard, I found no want of followers who To effect Wilson’s liberation was my principal object, engaged to stand by me, and returned to Lothian, soon and I doubted not to find the means. followed by some steady associates, prepared to act when- “Yet I did not forget Effie neither. The bloodhounds of ever the occasion might require.

409 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “I have no doubt I should have rescued him from the “Scripture! Why, I had not opened a Bible for five very noose that dangled over his head,” he continued with years,” answered Staunton. animation, which seemed a flash of the interest which he “Wae’s me, sirs,” said Jeanie—”and a minister’s son had taken in such exploits; “but amongst other precau- too!” tions, the magistrates had taken one, suggested, as we “It is natural for you to say so; yet do not interrupt afterwards learned, by the unhappy wretch Porteous, me, but let me finish my most accursed history. The which effectually disconcerted my measures. They an- beast, Porteous, who kept firing on the people long af- ticipated, by half-an-hour, the ordinary period for execu- ter it had ceased to be necessary, became the object of tion; and, as it had been resolved amongst us, that, for their hatred for having overdone his duty, and of mine fear of observation from the officers of justice, we should for having done it too well. We that is, I and the other not show ourselves upon the street until the time of ac- determined friends of Wilson, resolved to be avenged— tion approached, it followed, that all was over before our but caution was necessary. I thought I had been marked attempt at a rescue commenced. It did commence, how- by one of the officers, and therefore continued to lurk ever, and I gained the scaffold and cut the rope with my about the vicinity of Edinburgh, but without daring to own hand. It was too late! The bold, stouthearted, gener- venture within the walls. At length I visited, at the haz- ous criminal was no more—and vengeance was all that ard of my life, the place where I hoped to find my fu- remained to us—a vengeance, as I then thought, doubly ture wife and my son—they were both gone. Dame due from my hand, to whom Wilson had given life and Murdockson informed me, that so soon as Effie heard liberty when he could as easily have secured his own.” of the miscarriage of the attempt to rescue Wilson, and “O sir,” said Jeanie, “did the Scripture never come into the hot pursuit after me, she fell into a brain fever; and your mind, ‘Vengeance is mine, and I will repay it?’” that being one day obliged to go out on some necessary

410 Sir Walter Scott business and leave her alone, she had taken that oppor- imprisonment on a criminal charge; thus astounding one tunity to escape, and she had not seen her since. I loaded of mine ears, while he gratified the other. her with reproaches, to which she listened with the most “I again ventured to the Pleasance—again charged provoking and callous composure; for it is one of her Murdockson with treachery to the unfortunate Effie and attributes, that, violent and fierce as she is upon most her child, though I could conceive no reason, save that occasions, there are some in which she shows the most of appropriating the whole of the money I had lodged imperturbable calmness. I threatened her with justice; with her. Your narrative throws light on this, and shows she said I had more reason to fear justice than she had. another motive, not less powerful because less evident— I felt she was right, and was silenced. I threatened her the desire of wreaking vengeance on the seducer of her with vengeance; she replied in nearly the same words, daughter,—the destroyer at once of her reason and repu- that, to judge by injuries received, I had more reason to tation. Great God! how I wish that, instead of the re- fear her vengeance, than she to dread mine. She was venge she made choice of, she had delivered me up to again right, and I was left without an answer. I flung the cord!” myself from her in indignation, and employed a com- “But what account did the wretched woman give of rade to make inquiry in the neighbourhood of Saint Effie and the bairn?” said Jeanie, who, during this long Leonard’s concerning your sister; but ere I received his and agitating narrative, had firmness and discernment answer, the opening quest of a well-scented terrier of enough to keep her eye on such points as might throw the law drove me from the vicinity of Edinburgh, to a light on her sister’s misfortunes. more distant and secluded place of concealment. A se- “She would give none,” said Staunton; “she said the cret and trusty emissary at length brought me the ac- mother made a moonlight flitting from her house, with count of Porteous’s condemnation, and of your sister’s the infant in her arms—that she had never seen either

411 The Heart of Mid-Lothian of them since—that the lass might have thrown the child that of your sister. I spoke the wretch fair; I appeared to into the North Loch or the Quarry Holes for what she confide in her; and to me, so far as I was personally con- knew, and it was like enough she had done so.” cerned, she gave proofs of extraordinary fidelity. I was at “And how came you to believe that she did not speak first uncertain what measures I ought to adopt for your the fatal truth?” said Jeanie, trembling. sister’s liberation, when the general rage excited among “Because, on this second occasion, I saw her daugh- the citizens of Edinburgh on account of the reprieve, of ter, and I understood from her, that, in fact, the child Porteous, suggested to me the daring idea of forcing the had been removed or destroyed during the illness of the jail, and at once carrying off your sister from the clutches mother. But all knowledge to be got from her is so un- of the law, and bringing to condign punishment a miscre- certain and indirect, that I could not collect any farther ant, who had tormented the unfortunate Wilson, even in circumstances. Only the diabolical character of old the hour of death as if he had been a wild Indian taken Murdockson makes me augur the worst.” captive by a hostile tribe. I flung myself among the multi- “The last account agrees with that given by my poor tude in the moment of fermentation—so did others among sister,” said Jeanie; “but gang on wi’ your ain tale, sir.” Wilson’s mates, who had, like me, been disappointed in “Of this I am certain,” said Staunton, “that Effie, in her the hope of glutting their eyes with Porteous’s execution. senses, and with her knowledge, never injured living crea- All was organised, and I was chosen for the captain. I felt ture.—But what could I do in her exculpation?—Noth- not—I do not now feel, compunction for what was to be ing—and, therefore, my whole thoughts were turned to- done, and has since been executed.” ward her safety. I was under the cursed necessity of sup- “O, God forgive ye, sir, and bring ye to a better sense pressing my feelings towards Murdockson; my life was in of your ways!” exclaimed Jeanie, in horror at the avowal the hag’s hand—that I cared not for; but on my life hung of such violent sentiments.

412 Sir Walter Scott “Amen,” replied Staunton, “if my sentiments are render them,” answered Jeanie composedly; “they that wrong. But I repeat, that, although willing to aid the thirst for the blood of their enemies have no taste for deed, I could have wished them to have chosen another the well-spring of life.” leader; because I foresaw that the great and general duty “My hopes,” said Staunton, “were thus a second time of the night would interfere with the assistance which I disappointed. My next efforts were to bring her through proposed to render Effie. I gave a commission however, her trial by means of yourself. How I urged it, and where, to a trusty friend to protect her to a place of safety, so you cannot have forgotten. I do not blame you for your soon as the fatal procession had left the jail. But for no refusal; it was founded, I am convinced, on principle, persuasions which I could use in the hurry of the mo- and not on indifference to your sister’s fate. For me, judge ment, or which my comrade employed at more length, of me as a man frantic; I knew not what hand to turn after the mob had taken a different direction, could the to, and all my efforts were unavailing. In this condition, unfortunate girl be prevailed upon to leave the prison. and close beset on all sides, I thought of what might be His arguments were all wasted upon the infatuated vic- done by means of my family, and their influence. I fled tim, and he was obliged to leave her in order to attend from Scotland—I reached this place—my miserably to his own safety. Such was his account; but, perhaps, wasted and unhappy appearance procured me from my he persevered less steadily in his attempts to persuade father that pardon, which a parent finds it so hard to her than I would have done.” refuse, even to the most undeserving son. And here I “Effie was right to remain,” said Jeanie; “and I love have awaited in anguish of mind, which the condemned her the better for it.” criminal might envy, the event of your sister’s trial.” “Why will you say so?” said Staunton. “Without taking any steps for her relief?” said Jeanie. “You cannot understand my reasons, sir, if I should “To the last I hoped her ease might terminate more

413 The Heart of Mid-Lothian favourably; and it is only two days since that the fatal ever, and would not honour me with making this volun- tidings reached me. My resolution was instantly taken. tary atonement for the injury I have done your sister. I I mounted my best horse with the purpose of making had not rode ten miles, when my horse, the best and most the utmost haste to London and there compounding sure-footed animal in this country, fell with me on a level with Sir Robert Walpole for your sister’s safety, by sur- piece of road, as if he had been struck by a cannon-shot. rendering to him, in the person of the heir of the family I was greatly hurt, and was brought back here in the of Willingham, the notorious George Robertson, the condition in which you now see me.” accomplice of Wilson, the breaker of the Tolbooth As young Staunton had come to the conclusion, the prison, and the well-known leader of the Porteous mob.” servant opened the door, and, with a voice which seemed “But would that save my sister?” said Jeanie, in as- intended rather for a signal, than merely the announc- tonishment. ing of a visit, said, “His Reverence, sir, is coming up “It would, as I should drive my bargain,” said Staunton. stairs to wait upon you.” “Queens love revenge as well as their subjects—Little as “For God’s sake, hide yourself, Jeanie,” exclaimed you seem to esteem it, it is a poison which pleases all pal- Staunton, “in that dressing closet!” ates, from the prince to the peasant. Prime ministers love “No, sir,” said Jeanie; “as I am here for nae ill, I canna no less the power of gratifying sovereigns by gratifying take the shame of hiding mysell frae the master of the their passions.—The life of an obscure village girl! Why, house.” I might ask the best of the crown-jewels for laying the “But, good Heavens!” exclaimed George Staunton, “do head of such an insolent conspiracy at the foot of her but consider—” majesty, with a certainty of being gratified. All my other Ere he could complete the sentence, his father entered plans have failed, but this could not—Heaven is just, how- the apartment.

414 Sir Walter Scott “There goes the purple coat over my ears,” murmured Tummas. “D—n her, why must she needs speak the CHAPTER TENTH truth, when she could have as well said anything else she had a mind?” “George,” said Mr. Staunton, “if you are still, as you And now, will pardon, comfort, kindness, draw have ever been,—lost to all self-respect, you might at The youth from vice? will honour, duty, law? least have spared your father and your father’s house, such a disgraceful scene as this.” Crabbe. “Upon my life—upon my soul, sir!” said George, throwing his feet over the side of the bed, and starting from his recumbent posture. JEANIE AROSE from her seat, and made her quiet rever- “Your life, sir?” interrupted his father, with melan- ence, when the elder Mr. Staunton entered the apart- choly sternness,— “What sort of life has it been?—Your ment. His astonishment was extreme at finding his son soul! alas! what regard have you ever paid to it? Take in such company. care to reform both ere offering either as pledges of your “I perceive, madam, I have made a mistake respect- sincerity.” ing you, and ought to have left the task of interrogat- “On my honour, sir, you do me wrong,” answered ing you, and of righting your wrongs, to this young man, George Staunton; “I have been all that you can call me with whom, doubtless, you have been formerly ac- that’s bad, but in the present instance you do me injus- quainted.” tice. By my honour you do!” “It’s unwitting on my part that I am here;” said Jeanie; “Your honour!” said his father, and turned from him, “the servant told me his master wished to speak with me.”

415 The Heart of Mid-Lothian with a look of the most upbraiding contempt, to Jeanie. and when the man had obeyed, he carefully shut the “From you, young woman, I neither ask nor expect any door behind him. Then, addressing his son, he said explanation; but as a father alike and as a clergyman, I sternly, “Now, sir, what new proof of your infamy have request your departure from this house. If your roman- you to impart to me?” tic story has been other than a pretext to find admis- Young Staunton was about to speak, but it was one sion into it (which, from the society in which you first of those moments when those, who, like Jeanie Deans, appeared, I may be permitted to doubt), you will find a possess the advantage of a steady courage and unruffled justice of peace within two miles, with whom, more temper, can assume the superiority over more ardent properly than with me, you may lodge your complaint.” but less determined spirits. “This shall not be,” said George Staunton, starting “Sir,” she said to the elder Staunton, “ye have an un- up to his feet. “Sir, you are naturally kind and humane— doubted right to ask your ain son to render a reason of you shall not become cruel and inhospitable on my ac- his conduct. But respecting me, I am but a wayfaring count. Turn out that eaves-dropping rascal,” pointing traveller, no ways obligated or indebted to you, unless it to Thomas, “and get what hartshorn drops, or what be for the meal of meat which, in my ain country, is better receipt you have against fainting, and I will ex- willingly gien by rich or poor, according to their ability, plain to you in two words the connection betwixt this to those who need it; and for which, forby that, I am young woman and me. She shall not lose her fair char- willing to make payment, if I didna think it would be acter through me. I have done too much mischief to her an affront to offer siller in a house like this—only I dinna family already, and I know too well what belongs to the ken the fashions of the country.” loss of fame.” “This is all very well, young woman,” said the Rector, “Leave the room, sir,” said the Rector to the servant; a good deal surprised, and unable to conjecture whether

416 Sir Walter Scott to impute Jeanie’s language to simplicity or imperti- answered George Staunton; “I have no title to make any nence; “this may be all very well—but let me bring it to communications respecting the affairs of this young a point. Why do you stop this young man’s mouth, and person’s family without her assent.” prevent his communicating to his father and his best The elder Mr. Staunton turned his eyes from one to friend, an explanation (since he says he has one) of cir- the other with marks of surprise. cumstances which seem in themselves not a little suspi- “This is more, and worse, I fear,” he said, addressing cious?” his son, “than one of your frequent and disgraceful con- “He may tell of his ain affairs what he likes,” answered nections—I insist upon knowing the mystery.” Jeanie; “but my family and friends have nae right to “I have already said, sir,” replied his son, rather sul- hae ony stories told anent them without their express lenly, “that I have no title to mention the affairs of this desire; and, as they canna be here to speak for them- young woman’s family without her consent.” selves, I entreat ye wadna ask Mr. George Rob—I mean “And I hae nae mysteries to explain, sir,” said Jeanie, Staunton, or whatever his name is, ony questions anent “but only to pray you, as a preacher of the gospel and a me or my folk; for I maun be free to tell you, that he will gentleman, to permit me to go safe to the next public- neither have the bearing of a Christian or a gentleman, house on the Lunnon road.” if he answers you against my express desire.” “I shall take care of your safety,” said young Staunton “This is the most extraordinary thing I ever met with,” “you need ask that favour from no one.” said the Rector, as, after fixing his eyes keenly on the “Do you say so before my face?” said the justly-in- placid, yet modest countenance of Jeanie, he turned them censed father. “Perhaps, sir, you intend to fill up the suddenly upon his son. “What have you to say, sir?” cup of disobedience and profligacy by forming a low “That I feel I have been too hasty in my promise, sir,” and disgraceful marriage? But let me bid you beware.”

417 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “If you were feared for sic a thing happening wi’ me, plicity, and, if I am not deceived, innocence also—Should sir,” said Jeanie, “I can only say, that not for all the it be otherwise, I can only say, you are the most accom- land that lies between the twa ends of the rainbow wad plished hypocrite I have ever seen.—I ask to know no I be the woman that should wed your son.” secret that you have unwillingness to divulge, least of “There is something very singular in all this,” said the all those which concern my son. His conduct has given elder Staunton; “follow me into the next room, young me too much unhappiness to permit me to hope com- woman.” fort or satisfaction from him. If you are such as I sup- “Hear me speak first,” said the young man. “I have pose you, believe me, that whatever unhappy circum- but one word to say. I confide entirely in your prudence; stances may have connected you with George Staunton, tell my father as much or as little of these matters as the sooner you break them through the better.” you will, he shall know neither more nor less from me.” “I think I understand your meaning, sir,” replied His father darted at him a glance of indignation, which Jeanie; “and as ye are sae frank as to speak o’ the young softened into sorrow as he saw him sink down on the couch, gentleman in sic a way, I must needs say that it is but exhausted with the scene he had undergone. He left the the second time of my speaking wi’ him in our lives, apartment, and Jeanie followed him, George Staunton rais- and what I hae heard frae him on these twa occasions ing himself as she passed the door-way, and pronouncing has been such that I never wish to hear the like again.” the word, “Remember!” in a tone as monitory as it was “Then it is your real intention to leave this part of the uttered by Charles I. upon the scaffold. The elder Staunton country, and proceed to London?” said the Rector. led the way into a small parlour, and shut the door. “Certainly, sir; for I may say, in one sense, that the “Young woman,” said he, “there is something in your avenger of blood is behind me; and if I were but assured face and appearance that marks both sense and sim- against mischief by the way”

418 Sir Walter Scott “I have made inquiry,” said the clergyman, “after the floated in Mr. Staunton’s mind, respecting her character suspicious characters you described. They have left their and real purpose, and satisfied him, at least, that money place of rendezvous; but as they may be lurking in the did not enter into her scheme of deception, if an impos- neighbourhood, and as you say you have special reason tor she should prove. He next requested to know what to apprehend violence from them, I will put you under part of the city she wished to go to. the charge of a steady person, who will protect you as “To a very decent merchant, a cousin o’ my ain, a Mrs. far as Stamford, and see you into a light coach, which Glass, sir, that sells snuff and tobacco, at the sign o’ the goes from thence to London.” Thistle, somegate in the town.” “A coach is not for the like of me, sir,” said Jeanie, to Jeanie communicated this intelligence with a feeling whom the idea of a stage-coach was unknown, as, in- that a connection so respectable ought to give her con- deed, they were then only used in the neighbourhood of sequence in the eyes of Mr. Staunton; and she was a London. good deal surprised when he answered— Mr. Staunton briefly explained that she would find that “And is this woman your only acquaintance in Lon- mode of conveyance more commodious, cheaper, and don, my poor girl? and have you really no better knowl- more safe, than travelling on horseback. She expressed edge where she is to be found?” her gratitude with so much singleness of heart, that he “I was gaun to see the Duke of Argyle, forby Mrs. was induced to ask her whether she wanted the pecuni- Glass,” said Jeanie; “and if your honour thinks it would ary means of prosecuting her journey. She thanked him, be best to go there first, and get some of his Grace’s folk but said she had enough for her purpose; and, indeed, she to show me my cousin’s shop” had husbanded her stock with great care. This reply served “Are you acquainted with any of the Duke of Argyle’s also to remove some doubts, which naturally enough still people?” said the Rector.

419 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “No, sir.” the evening; but I desire you will have no farther corre- “Her brain must be something touched after all, or it spondence with my son, who is not a proper counsellor would be impossible for her to rely on such introduc- for a person of your age, whatever your difficulties may tions.—Well,” said he aloud, “I must not inquire into be.” the cause of your journey, and so I cannot be fit to give “Your honour speaks ower truly in that,” said Jeanie; you advice how to manage it. But the landlady of the “it was not with my will that I spoke wi’ him just now, house where the coach stops is a very decent person; and—not to wish the gentleman onything but gude—I and as I use her house sometimes, I will give you a rec- never wish to see him between the een again.” ommendation to her.” “If you please,” added the Rector, “as you seem to be Jeanie thanked him for his kindness with her best cour- a seriously disposed young woman, you may attend fam- tesy, and said, “That with his honour’s line, and ane ily worship in the hall this evening.” from worthy Mrs. Bickerton, that keeps the Seven Stars “I thank your honour,” said Jeanie; “but I am doubt- at York, she did not doubt to be well taken out in ful if my attendance would be to edification.” Lunnon.” “How!” said the Rector; “so young, and already un- “And now,” said he, “I presume you will be desirous to fortunate enough to have doubts upon the duties of re- set out immediately.” ligion!” “If I had been in an inn, sir, or any suitable resting- “God forbid, sir,” replied Jeanie; “it is not for that; place,” answered Jeanie, “I wad not have presumed to but I have been bred in the faith of the suffering rem- use the Lord’s day for travelling but as I am on a jour- nant of the Presbyterian doctrine in Scotland, and I ney of mercy, I trust my doing so will not be imputed.” am doubtful if I can lawfully attend upon your fashion “You may, if you choose, remain with Mrs. Dalton for of worship, seeing it has been testified against by many

420 Sir Walter Scott precious souls of our kirk, and specially by my worthy He then ordered Mrs. Dalton into his presence, and father.” consigned Jeanie to her particular charge, with direc- “Well, my good girl,” said the Rector, with a good- tions to be kind to her, and with assurances, that, early humoured smile, “far be it from me to put any force upon in the morning, a trusty guide and a good horse should your conscience; and yet you ought to recollect that the be ready to conduct her to Stamford. He then took a same divine grace dispenses its streams to other kingdoms serious and dignified, yet kind leave of her, wishing her as well as to Scotland. As it is as essential to our spiritual, full success in the objects of her journey, which he said as water to our earthly wants, its springs, various in char- he doubted not were laudable, from the soundness of acter, yet alike efficacious in virtue, are to be found in thinking which she had displayed in conversation. abundance throughout the Christian world.” Jeanie was again conducted by the housekeeper to her own “Ah, but,” said Jeanie, “though the waters may be apartment. But the evening was not destined to pass over with- alike, yet, with your worship’s leave, the blessing upon out farther torment from young Staunton. A paper was slipped them may not be equal. It would have been in vain for into her hand by the faithful Tummas, which intimated his Naaman the Syrian leper to have bathed in Pharpar and young master’s desire, or rather demand, to see her instantly, Abana, rivers of Damascus, when it was only the wa- and assured her he had provided against interruption. ters of Jordon that were sanctified for the cure.” “Tell your young master,” said Jeanie, openly, and re- “Well,” said the Rector, “we will not enter upon the gardless of all the winks and signs by which Tummas great debate betwixt our national churches at present. strove to make her comprehend that Mrs. Dalton was We must endeavour to satisfy you, that, at least, amongst not to be admitted into the secret of the correspondence, our errors, we preserve Christian charity, and a desire to “that I promised faithfully to his worthy father that I assist our brethren.” would not see him again.”

421 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “Tummas,” said Mrs. Dalton, “I think you might be guide and horse were ready, and in attendance. She hast- much more creditably employed, considering the coat ily rose, and, after her morning devotions, was soon ready you wear, and the house you live in, than to be carrying to resume her travels. The motherly care of the house- messages between your young master and girls that keeper had provided an early breakfast, and, after she chance to be in this house.” had partaken of this refreshment, she found herself safe “Why, Mrs. Dalton, as to that, I was hired to carry seated on a pillion behind a stout Lincolnshire peasant, messages, and not to ask any questions about them; and who was, besides, armed with pistols, to protect her it’s not for the like of me to refuse the young gentleman’s against any violence which might be offered. bidding, if he were a little wildish or so. If there was They trudged along in silence for a mile or two along a harm meant, there’s no harm done, you see.” country road, which conducted them, by hedge and gate- “However,” said Mrs. Dalton, “I gie you fair warning, way, into the principal highway, a little beyond Tummas Ditton, that an I catch thee at this work again, Grantham. At length her master of the horse asked her his Reverence shall make a clear house of you.” whether her name was not Jean, or Jane, Deans. She Thomas retired, abashed and in dismay. The rest of answered in the affirmative, with some surprise. “Then the evening passed away without anything worthy of here’s a bit of a note as concerns you,” said the man, notice. handing it over his left shoulder. “It’s from young mas- Jeanie enjoyed the comforts of a good bed and a sound ter, as I judge, and every man about Willingham is fain sleep with grateful satisfaction, after the perils and hard- to pleasure him either for love or fear; for he’ll come to ships of the preceding day; and such was her fatigue, be landlord at last, let them say what they like.” that she slept soundly until six o’clock, when she was Jeanie broke the seal of the note, which was addressed awakened by Mrs. Dalton, who acquainted her that her to her, and read as follows:—

422 Sir Walter Scott “You refuse to see me. I suppose you are shocked at where I am to be found; and you may be assured I will my character: but, in painting myself such as I am, you not give you the dark side of the hill, as at Muschat’s should give me credit for my sincerity. I am, at least, no Cairn; I have no thoughts of stirring from the house I hypocrite. You refuse, however, to see me, and your con- was born in; like the hare, I shall be worried in the seat duct may be natural—but is it wise? I have expressed I started from. I repeat it—make your own terms. I need my anxiety to repair your sister’s misfortunes at the not remind you to ask your sister’s life, for that you will expense of my honour,—my family’s honour—my own do of course; but make terms of advantage for your- life, and you think me too debased to be admitted even self—ask wealth and reward—office and income for to sacrifice what I have remaining of honour, fame, and Butler—ask anything—you will get anything—and all life, in her cause. Well, if the offerer be despised, the for delivering to the hands of the executioner a man victim is still equally at hand; and perhaps there may most deserving of his office;—one who, though young be justice in the decree of Heaven, that I shall not have in years, is old in wickedness, and whose most earnest the melancholy credit of appearing to make this sacri- desire is, after the storms of an unquiet life, to sleep fice out of my own free good-will. You, as you have de- and be at rest.” clined my concurrence, must take the whole upon your- This extraordinary letter was subscribed with the ini- self. Go, then, to the Duke of Argyle, and, when other tials G. S. arguments fail you, tell him you have it in your power Jeanie read it over once or twice with great attention, to bring to condign punishment the most active con- which the slow pace of the horse, as he stalked through spirator in the Porteous mob. He will hear you on this a deep lane, enabled her to do with facility. topic, should he be deaf to every other. Make your own When she had perused this billet, her first employ- terms, for they will be at your own making. You know ment was to tear it into as small pieces as possible, and

423 The Heart of Mid-Lothian disperse these pieces in the air by a few at a time, so Neither did it seem to her that his share in the death that a document containing so perilous a secret might of Porteous, though her mind revolted at the idea of not fall into any other person’s hand. using violence to any one, was in the relation of a com- The question how far, in point of extremity, she was mon murder, against the perpetrator of which every one entitled to save her sister’s life by sacrificing that of a is called to aid the public magistrate. That violent ac- person who, though guilty towards the state, had done tion was blended with many circumstances, which, in her no injury, formed the next earnest and most painful the eyes of those in Jeanie’s rank of life, if they did not subject of consideration. In one sense, indeed, it seemed altogether deprive it of the character of guilt, softened, as if denouncing the guilt of Staunton, the cause of her at least, its most atrocious features. The anxiety of the sister’s errors and misfortunes, would have been an act government to obtain conviction of some of the offend- of just, and even providential retribution. But Jeanie, ers, had but served to increase the public feeling which in the strict and severe tone of morality in which she connected the action, though violent and irregular, with was educated, had to consider not only the general as- the idea of ancient national independence. The rigor- pect of a proposed action, but its justness and fitness in ous measures adopted or proposed against the city of relation to the actor, before she could be, according to Edinburgh, the ancient metropolis of Scotland—the her own phrase, free to enter upon it. What right had extremely unpopular and injudicious measure of com- she to make a barter between the lives of Staunton and pelling the Scottish clergy, contrary to their principles of Effie, and to sacrifice the one for the safety of the and sense of duty, to promulgate from the pulpit the other? His guilt—that guilt for which he was amenable reward offered for the discovery of the perpetrators of to the laws—was a crime against the public indeed, but this slaughter, had produced on the public mind the it was not against her. opposite consequences from what were intended; and

424 Sir Walter Scott Jeanie felt conscious, that whoever should lodge infor- common to those in his situation, he, of course, chose mation concerning that event, and for whatsoever pur- the Willingham family as the subject of his conversa- pose it might be done, it would be considered as an act tion. From this man Jeanie learned some particulars of of treason against the independence of Scotland. With which she had hitherto been ignorant, and which we the fanaticism of the Scottish Presbyterians, there was will briefly recapitulate for the information of the reader. always mingled a glow of national feeling, and Jeanie, The father of George Staunton had been bred a sol- trembled at the idea of her name being handed down to dier, and during service in the West Indies, had married posterity with that of the “fause Monteath,” and one the heiress of a wealthy planter. By this lady he had an or two others, who, having deserted and betrayed the only child, George Staunton, the unhappy young, man cause of their country, are damned to perpetual remem- who has been so often mentioned in this narrative. He brance and execration among its peasantry. Yet, to part passed the first part of his early youth under the charge with Effie’s life once more, when a word spoken might of a doting mother, and in the society of negro slaves, save it, pressed severely on the mind of her affectionate whose study it was to gratify his every caprice. His fa- sister. ther was a man of worth and sense; but as he alone re- “The Lord support and direct me!” said Jeanie, “for it tained tolerable health among the officers of the regi- seems to be His will to try me with difficulties far be- ment he belonged to, he was much engaged with his duty. yond my ain strength.” Besides, Mrs. Staunton was beautiful and wilful, and While this thought passed through Jeanie’s mind, her enjoyed but delicate health; so that it was difficult for a guard, tired of silence, began to show some inclination man of affection, humanity, and a quiet disposition, to to be communicative. He seemed a sensible, steady peas- struggle with her on the point of her over-indulgence to ant, but not having more delicacy or prudence than is an only child. Indeed, what Mr. Staunton did do towards

425 The Heart of Mid-Lothian counteracting the baneful effects of his wife’s system, his teachers. He found means (too easily afforded to all only tended to render it more pernicious; for every re- youths who have certain expectations) of procuring such straint imposed on the boy in his father’s presence, was a command of money as enabled him to anticipate in compensated by treble license during his absence. So that boyhood the frolics and follies of a more mature age, George Staunton acquired, even in childhood, the habit and, with these accomplishments, he was returned on of regarding his father as a rigid censor, from whose se- his father’s hands as a profligate boy, whose example verity he was desirous of emancipating himself as soon might ruin a hundred. and absolutely as possible. The elder Mr. Staunton, whose mind, since his wife’s When he was about ten years old, and when his mind death, had been tinged with a melancholy, which cer- had received all the seeds of those evil weeds which af- tainly his son’s conduct did not tend to dispel, had taken terwards grew apace, his mother died, and his father, orders, and was inducted by his brother Sir William half heart-broken, returned to England. To sum up her Staunton into the family living of Willingham. The rev- imprudence and unjustifiable indulgence, she had con- enue was a matter of consequence to him, for he de- trived to place a considerable part of her fortune at her rived little advantage from the estate of his late wife; son’s exclusive control or disposal, in consequence of and his own fortune was that of a younger brother. which management, George Staunton had not been long He took his son to reside with him at the rectory, but in England till he learned his independence, and how to he soon found that his disorders rendered him an intol- abuse it. His father had endeavoured to rectify the de- erable inmate. And as the young men of his own rank fects of his education by placing him in a well-regulated would not endure the purse-proud insolence of the Cre- seminary. But although he showed some capacity for ole, he fell into that taste for low society, which is worse learning, his riotous conduct soon became intolerable to than “pressing to death, whipping, or hanging.” His fa-

426 Sir Walter Scott ther sent him abroad, but he only returned wilder and more desperate than before. It is true, this unhappy “And yet ’tis pity on Measter George, too,” continued youth was not without his good qualities. He had lively the honest boor, “for he has an open hand, and winna wit, good temper, reckless generosity, and manners, let a poor body want an he has it.” which, while he was under restraint, might pass well in The virtue of profuse generosity, by which, indeed, society. But all these availed him nothing. He was so they themselves are most directly advantaged, is readily well acquainted with the turf, the gaming-table, the admitted by the vulgar as a cloak for many sins. cock-pit, and every worse rendezvous of folly and dissi- At Stamford our heroine was deposited in safety by pation, that his mother’s fortune was spent before he her communicative guide. She obtained a place in the was twenty-one, and he was soon in debt and in dis- coach, which, although termed a light one, and accom- tress. His early history may be concluded in the words modated with no fewer than six horses, only reached of our British Juvenal, when describing a similar char- London on the afternoon of the second day. The recom- acter:— mendation of the elder Mr. Staunton procured Jeanie a civil reception at the inn where the carriage stopped, Headstrong, determined in his own career, and, by the aid of Mrs. Bickerton’s correspondent, she He thought reproof unjust, and truth severe. found out her friend and relative Mrs. Glass, by whom The soul’s disease was to its crisis come, she was kindly received and hospitably entertained. He first abused, and then abjured, his home; And when he chose a vagabond to be, He made his shame his glory, “I’ll be free!”*

* Crabbe’s Borough, Letter xii. 427 The Heart of Mid-Lothian Argyle, the state’s whole thunder born to wield, And shake alike the senate and the field. CHAPTER ELEVENTH He was alike free from the ordinary vices of statesmen, falsehood, namely, and dissimulation; and from those My name is Argyle, you may well think it strange, of warriors, inordinate and violent thirst after self- To live at the court and never to change. aggrandisement. Scotland, his native country, stood at this time in a Ballad. very precarious and doubtful situation. She was indeed united to England, but the cement had not had time to acquire consistence. The irritation of ancient wrongs still FEW NAMES DESERVE more honourable mention in the his- subsisted, and betwixt the fretful jealousy of the Scot- tory of Scotland, during this period, than that of John, tish, and the supercilious disdain of the English, quar- Duke of Argyle and Greenwich. His talents as a states- rels repeatedly occurred, in the course of which the na- man and a soldier were generally admitted; he was not tional league, so important to the safety of both, was in without ambition, but “without the illness that attends the utmost danger of being dissolved. Scotland had, be- it”—without that irregularity of thought and aim, sides, the disadvantage of being divided into intestine which often excites great men, in his peculiar situation, factions, which hated each other bitterly, and waited (for it was a very peculiar one), to grasp the means of but a signal to break forth into action. raising themselves to power, at the risk of throwing a In such circumstances, another man, with the talents kingdom into confusion. Pope has distinguished him as and rank of Argyle, but without a mind so happily regu-

428 Sir Walter Scott lated, would have sought to rise from the earth in the fore, always respected, and often employed; but he was whirlwind, and direct its fury. He chose a course more not a favourite of George the Second, his consort, or his safe and more honourable. Soaring above the petty dis- ministers. At several different periods in his life, the Duke tinctions of faction, his voice was raised, whether in of- might be considered as in absolute disgrace at court, fice or opposition, for those measures which were at once although he could hardly be said to be a declared mem- just and lenient. His high military talents enabled him, ber of opposition. This rendered him the dearer to Scot- during the memorable year 1715, to render such services land, because it was usually in her cause that he incurred to the House of Hanover, as, perhaps, were too great to the displeasure of his sovereign; and upon this very oc- be either acknowledged or repaid. He had employed, too, casion of the Porteous mob, the animated and eloquent his utmost influence in softening the consequences of opposition which he had offered to the severe measures that insurrection to the unfortunate gentlemen whom a which were about to be adopted towards the city of mistaken sense of loyalty had engaged in the affair, and Edinburgh, was the more gratefully received in that was rewarded by the esteem and affection of his coun- metropolis, as it was understood that the Duke’s inter- try in an uncommon degree. This popularity, with a disposition had given personal offence to Queen Caroline. contented and warlike people, was supposed to be a sub- His conduct upon this occasion, as, indeed, that of all ject of jealousy at court, where the power to become the Scottish members of the legislature, with one or two dangerous is sometimes of itself obnoxious, though the unworthy exceptions, had been in the highest degree inclination is not united with it. Besides, the Duke of spirited. The popular tradition, concerning his reply to Argyle’s independent and somewhat haughty mode of Queen Caroline, has been given already, and some frag- expressing himself in Parliament, and acting in public, ments of his speech against the Porteous Bill are still were ill calculated to attract royal favour. He was, there- remembered. He retorted upon the Chancellor, Lord

429 The Heart of Mid-Lothian Hardwicke, the insinuation that he had stated himself fied—shall such a city, for the fault of an obscure and in this case rather as a party than as a judge:— “I ap- unknown body of rioters, be deprived of its honours peal,” said Argyle, “to the House—to the nation, if I and its privileges—its gates and its guards?—and shall can be justly branded with the infamy of being a jobber a native Scotsman tamely behold the havoc? I glory, or a partisan. Have I been a briber of votes?—a buyer my Lords, in opposing such unjust rigour, and reckon it of boroughs?—the agent of corruption for any purpose, my dearest pride and honour to stand up in defence of or on behalf of any party?—Consider my life; examine my native country while thus laid open to undeserved my actions in the field and in the cabinet, and see where shame, and unjust spoliation.” there lies a blot that can attach to my honour. I have Other statesmen and orators, both Scottish and En- shown myself the friend of my country—the loyal sub- glish, used the same arguments, the bill was gradually ject of my king. I am ready to do so again, without an stripped of its most oppressive and obnoxious clauses, instant’s regard to the frowns or smiles of a court. I and at length ended in a fine upon the city of Edinburgh have experienced both, and am prepared with indiffer- in favour of Porteous’s widow. So that, as somebody ob- ence for either. I have given my reasons for opposing served at the time, the whole of these fierce debates this bill, and have made it appear that it is repugnant ended in making the fortune of an old cook-maid, such to the international treaty of union, to the liberty of having been the good woman’s original capacity. Scotland, and, reflectively, to that of England, to com- The court, however, did not forget the baffle they had mon justice, to common sense, and to the public inter- received in this affair, and the Duke of Argyle, who had est. Shall the metropolis of Scotland, the capital of an contributed so much to it, was thereafter considered as independent nation, the residence of a long line of mon- a person in disgrace. It is necessary to place these cir- archs, by whom that noble city was graced and digni- cumstances under the reader’s observation, both because

430 Sir Walter Scott they are connected with the preceding and subsequent in front of her round and good-humoured face, to which part of our narrative. the solemnity of her errand, and her sense of the Duke’s The Duke was alone in his study, when one of his rank and importance, gave an appearance of deep awe, gentlemen acquainted him, that a country-girl, from but not of slavish fear, or fluttered bashfulness. The rest Scotland, was desirous of speaking with his Grace. of Jeanie’s dress was in the style of Scottish maidens of “A country-girl, and from Scotland!” said the Duke; her own class; but arranged with that scrupulous atten- “what can have brought the silly fool to London?—Some tion to neatness and cleanliness, which we often find lover pressed and sent to sea, or some stock sank in the united with that purity of mind, of which it is a natu- South-Sea funds, or some such hopeful concern, I sup- ral emblem. pose, and then nobody to manage the matter but She stopped near the entrance of the room, made her MacCallummore,—Well, this same popularity has its deepest reverence, and crossed her hands upon her bo- inconveniences.—However, show our countrywoman up, som, without uttering a syllable. The Duke of Argyle Archibald—it is ill manners to keep her in attendance.” advanced towards her; and, if she admired his graceful A young woman of rather low stature, and whose coun- deportment and rich dress, decorated with the orders tenance might be termed very modest and pleasing in which had been deservedly bestowed on him, his cour- expression, though sun-burnt, somewhat freckled, and teous manner, and quick and intelligent cast of counte- not possessing regular features, was ushered into the nance, he on his part was not less, or less deservedly, splendid library. She wore the tartan plaid of her coun- struck with the quiet simplicity and modesty expressed try, adjusted so as partly to cover her head, and partly in the dress, manners, and countenance of his humble to fall back over her shoulders. A quantity of fair hair, countrywoman. disposed with great simplicity and neatness, appeared “Did you wish to speak with me, my bonny lass?” said

431 The Heart of Mid-Lothian the Duke, using the encouraging epithet which at once with Mrs. Glass when I purchase my Scots high-dried. acknowledged the connection betwixt them as country- Well, but your business, my bonny woman—time and folk; “or did you wish to see the Duchess?” tide, you know, wait for no one.” “My business is with your honour, my Lord—I mean “Your honour—I beg your Lordship’s pardon—I mean your Lordship’s Grace.” your Grace,”—for it must be noticed, that this matter “And what is it, my good girl?” said the Duke, in the of addressing the Duke by his appropriate title had been same mild and encouraging tone of voice. Jeanie looked anxiously inculcated upon Jeanie by her friend Mrs. at the attendant. “Leave us, Archibald,” said the Duke, Glass, in whose eyes it was a matter of such importance, “and wait in the anteroom.” The domestic retired. “And that her last words, as Jeanie left the coach, were, “Mind now sit down, my good lass,” said the Duke; “take your to say your Grace;” and Jeanie, who had scarce ever in breath—take your time, and tell me what you have got her life spoke to a person of higher quality than the to say. I guess by your dress, you are just come up from Laird of Dumbiedikes, found great difficulty in arrang- poor Scotland—Did you come through the streets in ing her language according to the rules of ceremony. your tartan plaid?” The Duke, who saw her embarrassment, said, with his “No, sir,” said Jeanie; “a friend brought me in ane o’ usual affability, “Never mind my grace, lassie; just speak their street coaches—a very decent woman,” she added, out a plain tale, and show you have a Scots tongue in her courage increasing as she became familiar with the your head.” sound of her own voice in such a presence; “your “Sir, I am muckle obliged—Sir, I am the sister of that Lordship’s Grace kens her—it’s Mrs. Glass, at the sign poor unfortunate criminal, Effie Deans, who is ordered o’ the Thistle.” for execution at Edinburgh.”’ “O, my worthy snuff-merchant—I have always a chat “Ah!” said the Duke, “I have heard of that unhappy

432 Sir Walter Scott story, I think—a case of child-murder, under a special “None, excepting God and your Grace,” said Jeanie, act of parliament—Duncan Forbes mentioned it at din- still keeping her ground resolutely, however. ner the other day.” “Alas!” said the Duke, “I could almost say with old “And I was come up frae the north, sir, to see what Ormond, that there could not be any, whose influence could be done for her in the way of getting a reprieve or was smaller with kings and ministers. It is a cruel part pardon, sir, or the like of that.” of our situation, young woman—I mean of the situa- “Alas! my poor girl,” said the Duke; “you have made a tion of men in my circumstances, that the public as- long and a sad journey to very little purpose—Your sis- cribe to them influence which they do not possess; and ter is ordered for execution.” that individuals are led to expect from them assistance “But I am given to understand that there is law for which we have no means of rendering. But candour and reprieving her, if it is in the king’s pleasure,” said Jeanie. plain dealing is in the power of every one, and I must “Certainly, there is,” said the Duke; “but that is purely not let you imagine you have resources in my influence, in the king’s breast. The crime has been but too com- which do not exist, to make your distress the heavier— mon—the Scots crown-lawyers think it is right there I have no means of averting your sister’s fate—She must should be an example. Then the late disorders in die.” Edinburgh have excited a prejudice in government against “We must a’ die, sir,” said Jeanie; “it is our common the nation at large, which they think can only be man- doom for our father’s transgression; but we shouldna aged by measures of intimidation and severity. What ar- hasten ilk other out o’ the world, that’s what your gument have you, my poor girl, except the warmth of honour kens better than me.” your sisterly affection, to offer against all this?—What is “My good young woman,” said the Duke, mildly, “we your interest?—What friends have you at court?” are all apt to blame the law under which we immedi-

433 The Heart of Mid-Lothian ately suffer; but you seem to have been well educated in “No, sir; but a’ the world kens that the Duke of Ar- your line of life, and you must know that it is alike the gyle is his country’s friend; and that ye fight for the law of God and man, that the murderer shall surely die.” right, and speak for the right, and that there’s nane like “But, sir, Effie—that is, my poor sister, sir—canna be you in our present Israel, and so they that think them- proved to be a murderer; and if she be not, and the law selves wranged draw to refuge under your shadow; and take her life notwithstanding, wha is it that is the mur- if ye wunna stir to save the blood of an innocent derer then?” countrywoman of your ain, what should we expect frae “I am no lawyer,” said the Duke; “and I own I think southerns and strangers? And maybe I had another rea- the statute a very severe one.” son for troubling your honour.” “You are a law-maker, sir, with your leave; and, there- “And what is that?” asked the Duke. fore, ye have power over the law,” answered Jeanie. “I hae understood from my father, that your honour’s “Not in my individual capacity,” said the Duke; house, and especially your gudesire and his father, laid “though, as one of a large body, I have a voice in the down their lives on the scaffold in the persecuting time. legislation. But that cannot serve you—nor have I at And my father was honoured to gie his testimony baith present, I care not who knows it, so much personal in- in the cage and in the pillory, as is specially mentioned fluence with the sovereign, as would entitle me to ask in the books of Peter Walker the packman, that your from him the most insignificant favour. What could honour, I dare say, kens, for he uses maist partly the tempt you, young woman, to address yourself to me?” westland of Scotland. And, sir, there’s ane that takes “It was yourself, sir.” concern in me, that wished me to gang to your Grace’s “Myself?” he replied—”I am sure you have never seen presence, for his gudesire had done your gracious gudesire me before.” some good turn, as ye will see frae these papers.”

434 Sir Walter Scott With these words, she delivered to the Duke the little his during these troublesome times; and do conjure my parcel which she had received from Butler. He opened friends, tenants, kinsmen, and whoever will do aught it, and, in the envelope, read with some surprise, for me, either in the Highlands or Lowlands, to protect “‘Musterroll of the men serving in the troop of that and assist the said Benjamin Butler, and his friends or godly gentleman, Captain Salathiel Bangtext.— family, on their lawful occasions, giving them such coun- Obadiah Muggleton, Sin-Despise Double-knock, Stand- tenance, maintenance, and supply, as may correspond fast-in-faith Gipps, Turn-to-the-right Thwack-away’— with the benefit he hath bestowed on me; witness my What the deuce is this? A list of Praise-God Barebone’s hand—Lorne.’ Parliament I think, or of old Noll’s evangelical army— “This is a strong injunction—This Benjamin Butler that last fellow should understand his wheelings, to judge was your grandfather, I suppose?—You seem too young by his name.—But what does all this mean, my girl?” to have been his daughter.” “It was the other paper, sir,” said Jeanie, somewhat “He was nae akin to me, sir—he was grandfather to abashed at the mistake. ane—to a neighbour’s son—to a sincere weel-wisher of “O, this is my unfortunate grandfather’s hand sure mine, sir,” dropping her little courtesy as she spoke. enough— ‘To all who may have friendship for the house “O, I understand,” said the Duke— “a true-love af- of Argyle, these are to certify, that Benjamin Butler, of fair. He was the grandsire of one you are engaged to?” Monk’s regiment of dragoons, having been, under God, “One I was engaged to, sir,” said Jeanie, sighing; “but the means of saving my life from four English troopers this unhappy business of my poor sister—” who were about, to slay me, I, having no other present “What!” said the Duke, hastily— “he has not deserted means of recompense in my power, do give him this ac- you on that account, has he?” knowledgment, hoping that it may be useful to him or “No, sir; he wad be the last to leave a friend in diffi-

435 The Heart of Mid-Lothian culties,” said Jeanie; “but I maun think for him as weel found the documents, so necessary for supporting her as for mysell. He is a clergyman, sir, and it would not suit, lying in readiness at her arrival. beseem him to marry the like of me, wi’ this disgrace “Sit down in that chair, my good girl,” said the on my kindred.” Duke,— “until I glance over the papers.” “You are a singular young woman,” said the Duke. She obeyed, and watched with the utmost anxiety each “You seem to me to think of every one before yourself. change in his countenance as he cast his eye through And have you really come up from Edinburgh on foot, the papers briefly, yet with attention, and making memo- to attempt this hopeless solicitation for your sister’s randa as he went along. After reading them hastily over, life?” he looked up, and seemed about to speak, yet changed “It was not a’thegither on foot, sir,” answered Jeanie; his purpose, as if afraid of committing himself by giv- “for I sometimes got a cast in a waggon, and I had a ing too hasty an opinion, and read over again several horse from Ferrybridge, and then the coach—” passages which he had marked as being most important. “Well, never mind all that,” interrupted the Duke— All this he did in shorter time than can be supposed by “What reason have you for thinking your sister inno- men of ordinary talents; for his mind was of that acute cent?” and penetrating character which discovers, with the “Because she has not been proved guilty, as will ap- glance of intuition, what facts bear on the particular pear from looking at these papers.” point that chances to be subjected to consideration. At She put into his hand a note of the evidence, and cop- length he rose, after a few minutes’ deep reflection.— ies of her sister’s declaration. These papers Butler had “Young woman,” said he, “your sister’s case must cer- procured after her departure, and Saddletree had them tainly be termed a hard one.” forwarded to London, to Mrs. Glass’s care, so that Jeanie “God bless you, sir, for that very word!” said Jeanie.

436 Sir Walter Scott “It seems contrary to the genius of British law,” con- and you shall hear from me to-morrow or next day. Take tinued the Duke, “to take that for granted which is not care to be at home at Mrs. Glass’s, and ready to come to proved, or to punish with death for a crime, which, for me at a moment’s warning. It will be unnecessary for aught the prosecutor has been able to show, may not you to give Mrs. Glass the trouble to attend you;—and have been committed at all.” by the by, you will please to be dressed just as you are at “God bless you, sir!” again said Jeanie, who had risen present.” from her seat, and, with clasped hands, eyes glittering “I wad hae putten on a cap, sir,” said Jeanie, “but through tears, and features which trembled with anxi- your honour kens it isna the fashion of my country for ety, drank in every word which the Duke uttered. single women; and I judged that, being sae mony hun- “But, alas! my poor girl,” he continued, “what good dred miles frae hame, your Grace’s heart wad warm to will my opinion do you, unless I could impress it upon the tartan,” looking at the corner of her plaid. those in whose hands your sister’s life is placed by the “You judged quite right,” said the Duke. “I know the law? Besides, I am no lawyer; and I must speak with full value of the snood; and MacCallummore’s heart will some of our Scottish gentlemen of the gown about the be as cold as death can make it, when it does not warm matter.” to the tartan. Now, go away, and don’t be out of the “O, but, sir, what seems reasonable to your honour, way when I send.” will certainly be the same to them,” answered Jeanie. Jeanie replied,— “There is little fear of that, sir, for I “I do not know that,” replied the Duke; “ilka man have little heart to go to see sights amang this wilder- buckles his belt his ain gate—you know our old Scots ness of black houses. But if I might say to your gra- proverb?—But you shall not have placed this reliance cious honour, that if ye ever condescend to speak to ony on me altogether in vain. Leave these papers with me, ane that is of greater degree than yoursell, though

437 The Heart of Mid-Lothian maybe it isna civil in me to say sae, just if you would think there can be nae sic odds between you and them, as between poor Jeanie Deans from St. Leonard’s and CHAPTER TWELFTH the Duke of Argyle; and so dinna be chappit back or cast down wi’ the first rough answer.” Ascend While radiant summer opens all its pride, “I am not apt,” said the Duke, laughing, “to mind Thy hill, delightful Shene! Here let us sweep rough answers much—Do not you hope too much from The boundless landscape. what I have promised. I will do my best, but God has the hearts of Kings in his own hand.” Thomson. Jeanie courtesied reverently and withdrew, attended by the Duke’s gentleman, to her hackney-coach, with a respect which her appearance did not demand, but which FROM HER KIND and officious, but somewhat gossiping was perhaps paid to the length of the interview with friend, Mrs. Glass, Jeanie underwent a very close cat- which his master had honoured her. echism on their road to the Strand, where the Thistle of the good lady flourished in full glory, and, with its legend of Nemo me impune, distinguished a shop then well known to all Scottish folk of high and low degree. “And were you sure aye to say your Grace to him?” said the good old lady; “for ane should make a distinction between MacCallummore and the bits o’ southern bodies that they ca’ lords here—there are as mony o’

438 Sir Walter Scott them, Jeanie, as would gar ane think they maun cost a-dozen, aff go the hats, and mony a look after him, but little fash in the making—some of them I wadna and ‘There goes the Prince of Scotland, God bless him!’ trust wi’ six pennies-worth of black-rappee—some of But ye have not told me yet the very words he said t’ye.” them I wadna gie mysell the trouble to put up a Jeanie had no intention to be quite so communica- hapnyworth in brown paper for—But I hope you showed tive. She had, as the reader may have observed, some of your breeding to the Duke of Argyle, for what sort of the caution and shrewdness, as well as of the simplicity folk would he think your friends in London, if you had of her country. She answered generally, that the Duke been lording him, and him a Duke?” had received her very compassionately, and had prom- “He didna seem muckle to mind,” said Jeanie; “he kend ised to interest himself in her sister’s affair, and to let that I was landward bred.” her hear from him in the course of the next day, or the “Weel, weel,” answered the good lady. “His Grace kens day after. She did not choose to make any mention of me weel; so I am the less anxious about it. I never fill his his having desired her to be in readiness to attend him, snug-box but he says, ‘How d’ye do, good Mrs. Glass?— far less of his hint, that she should not bring her land- How are all our friends in the North?’ or it may be— lady. So that honest Mrs. Glass was obliged to remain ‘Have ye heard from the North lately?’ And you may be satisfied with the general intelligence above mentioned, sure, I make my best courtesy, and answer, ‘My Lord after having done all she could to extract more. Duke, I hope your Grace’s noble Duchess, and your It may easily be conceived, that, on the next day, Jeanie Grace’s young ladies, are well; and I hope the snuff con- declined all invitations and inducements, whether of tinues to give your Grace satisfaction.’ And then ye will exercise or curiosity, to walk abroad, and continued to see the people in the shop begin to look about them; inhale the close, and somewhat professional atmosphere and if there’s a Scotsman, as there may be three or half- of Mrs. Glass’s small parlour. The latter flavour it owed

439 The Heart of Mid-Lothian to a certain cupboard, containing, among other articles, it became too late to have any reasonable expectation a few canisters of real Havannah, which, whether from of hearing from the Duke that day; yet the hope which respect to the manufacture, or out of a reverend fear of she disowned, she could not altogether relinquish, and the exciseman, Mrs. Glass did not care to trust in the her heart throbbed, and her ears tingled, with every ca- open shop below, and which communicated to the room sual sound in the shop below. It was in vain. The day a scent, that, however fragrant to the nostrils of the wore away in the anxiety of protracted and fruitless connoisseur, was not very agreeable to those of Jeanie. expectation. “Dear sirs,” she said to herself, “I wonder how my The next morning commenced in the same manner. cousin’s silk manty, and her gowd watch, or ony thing But before noon, a well-dressed gentleman entered Mrs. in the world, can be worth sitting sneezing all her life in Glass’s shop, and requested to see a young woman from this little stilling room, and might walk on green braes Scotland. if she liked.” “That will be my cousin Jeanie Deans, Mr. Archibald,” Mrs. Glass was equally surprised at her cousin’s reluc- said Mrs. Glass, with a courtesy of recognisance. “Have tance to stir abroad, and her indifference to the fine you any message for her from his Grace the Duke of sights of London. “It would always help to pass away Argyle, Mr. Archibald? I will carry it to her in a mo- the time,” she said, “to have something to look at, ment.” though ane was in distress.” But Jeanie was “I believe I must give her the trouble of stepping down, unpersuadable. Mrs. Glass.” The day after her interview with the Duke was spent “Jeanie—Jeanie Deans!” said Mrs. Glass, screaming in that “hope delayed, which maketh the heart sick.” at the bottom of the little staircase, which ascended from Minutes glided after minutes—hours fled after hours— the corner of the shop to the higher regions. “Jeanie—

440 Sir Walter Scott Jeanie Deans, I say! come down stairs instantly; here is “Particularly to the young person?” said Mrs. Glass; the Duke of Argyle’s groom of the chambers desires to “is not that uncommon, Mr. Archibald? But his Grace see you directly.” This was announced in a voice so loud, is the best judge; and you are a steady person, Mr. as to make all who chanced to be within hearing aware Archibald. It is not every one that comes from a great of the important communication. man’s house I would trust my cousin with.—But, Jeanie, It may easily be supposed, that Jeanie did not tarry you must not go through the streets with Mr. Archibald long in adjusting herself to attend the summons, yet with your tartan what-d’ye-call-it there upon your shoul- her feet almost failed her as she came down stairs. ders, as if you had come up with a drove of Highland “I must ask the favour of your company a little way,” cattle. Wait till I bring down my silk cloak. Why, we’ll said Archibald, with civility. have the mob after you!” “I am quite ready, sir,” said Jeanie. “I have a hackney-coach in waiting, madam,” said Mr. “Is my cousin going out, Mr. Archibald? then I will Archibald, interrupting the officious old lady, from hae to go wi’ her, no doubt.—James Rasper—Look to whom Jeanie might otherwise have found it difficult to the shop, James.—Mr. Archibald,” pushing a jar towards escape; “and, I believe, I must not allow her time for him, “you take his Grace’s mixture, I think. Please to any change of dress.” fill your box, for old acquaintance’ sake, while I get on So saying, he hurried Jeanie into the coach, while she my things.” internally praised and wondered at the easy manner in Mr. Archibald transferred a modest parcel of snuff which he shifted off Mrs. Glass’s officious offers and from the jar to his own mull, but said he was obliged to inquiries, without mentioning his master’s orders, or decline the pleasure of Mrs. Glass’s company, as his mes- entering into any explanation, sage was particularly to the young person. On entering the coach, Mr. Archibald seated himself

441 The Heart of Mid-Lothian in the front seat opposite to our heroine, and they drove will remain here with the hackney-coach till your re- on in silence. After they had driven nearly half-an-hour, turn.” without a word on either side, it occurred to Jeanie, that Ere Jeanie could make answer, she found herself, to the distance and time did not correspond with that which her no small astonishment, seated by the side of a duke, had been occupied by her journey on the former occa- in a carriage which rolled forward at a rapid yet smooth sion, to and from the residence of the Duke of Argyle. rate, very different in both particulars from the lum- At length she could not help asking her taciturn com- bering, jolting vehicle which she had just left; and which, panion, “Whilk way they were going?” lumbering and jolting as it was, conveyed to one who “My Lord Duke will inform you himself, madam,” an- had seldom been in a coach before a certain feeling of swered Archibald, with the same solemn courtesy which dignity and importance. marked his whole demeanour. Almost as he spoke, the “Young woman,” said the Duke, “after thinking as hackney-coach drew up, and the coachman dismounted attentively on your sister’s case as is in my power, I con- and opened the door. Archibald got out, and assisted tinue to be impressed with the belief that great injus- Jeanie to get down. She found herself in a large turn- tice may be done by the execution of her sentence. So pike road, without the bounds of London, upon the other are one or two liberal and intelligent lawyers of both side of which road was drawn up a plain chariot and countries whom I have spoken with.—Nay, pray hear four horses, the panels without arms, and the servants me out before you thank me.—I have already told you without liveries. my personal conviction is of little consequence, unless I “You have been punctual, I see, Jeanie,” said the Duke could impress the same upon others. Now I have done of Argyle, as Archibald opened the carriage-door. “You for you what I would certainly not have done to serve must be my companion for the rest of the way. Archibald any purpose of my own—I have asked an audience of a

442 Sir Walter Scott lady whose interest with the king is deservedly very high. “But, sir, your Grace,” said Jeanie, “if it wasna ower It has been allowed me, and I am desirous that you muckle trouble, wad it no be better to tell me what I should see her and speak for yourself. You have no occa- should say, and I could get it by heart?” sion to be abashed; tell your story simply, as you did to “No, Jeanie, that would not have the same effect— me.” that would be like reading a sermon, you know, which “I am much obliged to your Grace,” said Jeanie, re- we good Presbyterians think has less unction than when membering Mrs. Glass’s charge, “and I am sure, since I spoken without book,” replied the Duke. “Just speak as have had the courage to speak to your Grace in poor plainly and boldly to this lady, as you did to me the day Effie’s cause, I have less reason to be shame-faced in before yesterday, and if you can gain her consent, I’ll speaking to a leddy. But, sir, I would like to ken what to wad ye a plack, as we say in the north, that you get the ca’ her, whether your grace or your honour, or your pardon from the king.” leddyship, as we say to lairds and leddies in Scotland, As he spoke, he took a pamphlet from his pocket, and and I will take care to mind it; for I ken leddies are full began to read. Jeanie had good sense and tact, which mair particular than gentlemen about their titles of constitute betwixt them that which is called natural honour.” good breeding. She interpreted the Duke’s manoeuvre “You have no occasion to call her anything but Madam. as a hint that she was to ask no more questions, and she Just say what you think is likely to make the best im- remained silent accordingly. pression—look at me from time to time—and if I put The carriage rolled rapidly onwards through fertile my hand to my cravat so—(showing her the motion)— meadows, ornamented with splendid old oaks, and catch- you will stop; but I shall only do this when you say any- ing occasionally a glance of the majestic mirror of a thing that is not likely to please.” broad and placid river. After passing through a pleas-

443 The Heart of Mid-Lothian ant village, the equipage stopped on a commanding reverted to his own more grand, and scarce less beauti- eminence, where the beauty of English landscape was ful, domains of Inverary.— “This is a fine scene,” he displayed in its utmost luxuriance. Here the Duke said to his companion, curious, perhaps, to draw out alighted, and desired Jeanie to follow him. They paused her sentiments; “we have nothing like it in Scotland.” for a moment on the brow of a hill, to gaze on the unri- “It’s braw rich feeding for the cows, and they have a valled landscape which it presented. A huge sea of ver- fine breed o’ cattle here,” replied Jeanie; “but I like just dure, with crossing and intersecting promontories of as weel to look at the craigs of Arthur’s Seat, and the massive and tufted groves, was tenanted by numberless sea coming in ayont them as at a’ thae muckle trees.” flocks and herds, which seemed to wander unrestrained The Duke smiled at a reply equally professional and and unbounded through the rich pastures. The Thames, national, and made a signal for the carriage to remain here turreted with villas, and there garlanded with for- where it was. Then adopting an unfrequented footpath, ests, moved on slowly and placidly, like the mighty mon- he conducted Jeanie through several complicated mazes arch of the scene, to whom all its other beauties were to a postern-door in a high brick wall. but accessories, and bore on its bosom an hundred barks It was shut; but as the Duke tapped slightly at it, a and skiffs, whose white sails and gaily fluttering pen- person in waiting within, after reconnoitring through a nons gave life to the whole. small iron grate, contrived for the purpose, unlocked the The Duke of Argyle was, of course, familiar with this door and admitted them. They entered, and it was im- scene; but to a man of taste it must be always new. Yet, mediately closed and fastened behind them. This was as he paused and looked on this inimitable landscape, all done quickly, the door so instantly closing, and the with the feeling of delight which it must give to the bo- person who opened it so suddenly disappearing, that som of every admirer of nature, his thoughts naturally Jeanie could not even catch a glimpse of his exterior.

444 Sir Walter Scott They found themselves at the extremity of a deep and narrow alley, carpeted with the most verdant and close- shaven turf, which felt like velvet under their feet, and CHAPTER THIRTEETH screened from the sun by the branches of the lofty elms which united over the path, and caused it to resemble, in the solemn obscurity of the light which they admit- I beseech you— These tears beseech you, and these chaste hands woo you ted, as well as from the range of columnar stems, and That never yet were heaved but to things holy— intricate union of their arched branches, one of the nar- Things like yourself—You are a God above us; row side aisles in an ancient Gothic cathedral. Be as a God, then, full of saving mercy!

The Bloody Brother.

ENCOURAGED AS SHE WAS by the courteous manners of her noble countryman, it was not without a feeling of something like terror that Jeanie felt herself in a place apparently so lonely with a man of such high rank. That she should have been permitted to wait on the Duke in his own house, and have been there received to a private interview, was in itself an uncommon and distinguished event in the annals of a life so simple as hers; but to find herself his travelling companion in a journey, and then 445 The Heart of Mid-Lothian suddenly to be left alone with him in so secluded a situ- had thought o’ coming before the face of majesty—and ation, had something in it of awful mystery. A roman- after a’, this is mair like a gentleman’s policy than a tic heroine might have suspected and dreaded the power royal palace.” of her own charms; but Jeanie was too wise to let such a There was some sense in Jeanie’s reasoning; yet she silly thought intrude on her mind. Still, however, she was not sufficiently mistress either of the circumstances had a most eager desire to know where she now was, of etiquette, or the particular relations which existed and to whom she was to be presented. betwixt the government and the Duke of Argyle, to form She remarked that the Duke’s dress, though still such an accurate judgment. The Duke, as we have said, was as indicated rank and fashion (for it was not the custom at this time in open opposition to the administration of of men of quality at that time to dress themselves like Sir Robert Walpole, and was understood to be out of their own coachmen or grooms), was nevertheless plainer favour with the royal family, to whom he had rendered than that in which she had seen him upon a former oc- such important services. But it was a maxim of Queen casion, and was divested, in particular, of all those Caroline to bear herself towards her political friends with badges of external decoration which intimated superior such caution, as if there was a possibility of their one consequence. In short, he was attired as plainly as any day being her enemies, and towards political opponents gentleman of fashion could appear in the streets of Lon- with the same degree of circumspection, as if they might don in a morning; and this circumstance helped to shake again become friendly to her measures, Since Margaret an opinion which Jeanie began to entertain, that, per- of Anjou, no queen-consort had exercised such weight haps, he intended she should plead her cause in the pres- in the political affairs of England, and the personal ad- ence of royalty itself. “But surely,” said she to, herself, dress which she displayed on many occasions, had no “he wad hae putten on his braw star and garter, an he small share in reclaiming from their political heresy

446 Sir Walter Scott many of those determined Tories, who, after the reign She was proud by nature, and even her policy could not of the Stuarts had been extinguished in the person of always temper her expressions of displeasure, although Queen Anne, were disposed rather to transfer their alle- few were more ready at repairing any false step of this giance to her brother the Chevalier de St. George, than kind, when her prudence came up to the aid of her pas- to acquiesce in the settlement of the crown on the sions. She loved the real possession of power rather than Hanover family. Her husband, whose most shining qual- the show of it, and whatever she did herself that was ity was courage in the field of battle, and who endured either wise or popular, she always desired that the King the office of King of England, without ever being able should have the full credit as well as the advantage of to acquire English habits, or any familiarity with En- the measure, conscious that, by adding to his respect- glish dispositions, found the utmost assistance from the ability, she was most likely to maintain her own. And so address of his partner, and while he jealously affected desirous was she to comply with all his tastes, that, when to do everything according to his own will and pleasure, threatened with the gout, she had repeatedly had re- was in secret prudent enough to take and follow the course to checking the fit, by the use of the cold bath, advice of his more adroit consort. He intrusted to her thereby endangering her life, that she might be able to the delicate office of determining the various degrees attend the king in his walks. of favour necessary to attach the wavering, or to con- It was a very consistent part of Queen Caroline’s char- firm such as were already friendly, or to regain those acter, to keep up many private correspondences with whose good-will had been lost. those to whom in public she seemed unfavourable, or With all the winning address of an elegant, and, ac- who, for various reasons, stood ill with the court. By cording to the times, an accomplished woman, Queen this means she kept in her hands the thread of many a Caroline possessed the masculine soul of the other sex. political intrigue, and, without pledging herself to any-

447 The Heart of Mid-Lothian thing, could often prevent discontent from becoming force of all the Highland chiefs; there was little doubt, hatred, and opposition from exaggerating itself into that, with the slightest encouragement, he could put rebellion. If by any accident her correspondence with them all in motion, and renew the civil war; and it was such persons chanced to be observed or discovered, which well known that the most flattering overtures had been she took all possible pains to prevent, it was represented transmitted to the Duke from the court of St. Germains. as a mere intercourse of society, having no reference to The character and temper of Scotland was still little politics; an answer with which even the prime minister, known, and it was considered as a volcano, which might, Sir Robert Walpole, was compelled to remain satisfied, indeed, slumber for a series of years, but was still liable, when he discovered that the Queen had given a private at a moment the least expected, to break out into a audience to Pulteney, afterwards Earl of Bath, his most wasteful irruption. It was, therefore, of the highest im- formidable and most inveterate enemy. portance to retain come hold over so important a per- In thus maintaining occasional intercourse with sev- sonage as the Duke of Argyle, and Caroline preserved eral persons who seemed most alienated from the crown, the power of doing so by means of a lady, with whom, it may readily be supposed that Queen Caroline had as wife of George II., she might have been supposed to taken care not to break entirely with the Duke of Ar- be on less intimate terms. gyle. His high birth, his great talents, the estimation in It was not the least instance of the Queen’s address, which he was held in his own country, the great services that she had contrived that one of her principal atten- which he had rendered the house of Brunswick in 1715, dants, Lady Suffolk, should unite in her own person the placed him high in that rank of persons who were not two apparently inconsistent characters, of her husband’s to be rashly neglected. He had, almost by his single and mistress, and her own very obsequious and complaisant unassisted talents, stopped the irruption of the banded confidant. By this dexterous management the Queen

448 Sir Walter Scott secured her power against the danger which might most tion remained open betwixt them, though it had been have threatened it—the thwarting influence of an am- of late disused on both sides. These remarks will be found bitious rival; and if she submitted to the mortification necessary to understand the scene which is about to be of being obliged to connive at her husband’s infidelity, presented to the reader. she was at least guarded against what she might think From the narrow alley which they had traversed, the its most dangerous effects, and was besides at liberty, Duke turned into one of the same character, but broader now and then, to bestow a few civil insults upon “her and still longer. Here, for the first time since they had good Howard,” whom, however, in general, she treated entered these gardens, Jeanie saw persons approaching with great decorum.* them. Lady Suffolk lay under strong obligations to the Duke They were two ladies; one of whom walked a little of Argyle, for reasons which may be collected from behind the other, yet not so much as to prevent her from Horace Walpole’s Reminiscences of that reign, and hearing and replying to whatever observation was ad- through her means the Duke had some occasional cor- dressed to her by the lady who walked foremost, and respondence with Queen Caroline, much interrupted, that without her having the trouble to turn her person. however, since the part he had taken in the debate con- As they advanced very slowly, Jeanie had time to study cerning the Porteous mob, an affair which the Queen, their features and appearance. The Duke also slackened though somewhat unreasonably, was disposed to resent, his pace, as if to give her time to collect herself, and rather as an intended and premeditated insolence to her repeatedly desired her not to be afraid. The lady who own person and authority, than as a sudden ebullition seemed the principal person had remarkably good fea- of popular vengeance. Still, however, the communica- tures, though somewhat injured by the small-pox, that venomous scourge which each village Esculapius (thanks * See Horace Walpole’s Reminiscences. 449 The Heart of Mid-Lothian to Jenner) can now tame as easily as their tutelary deity was natural to him, made a profound obeisance, which subdued the Python. The lady’s eyes were brilliant, her was formally, yet in a dignified manner, returned by the teeth good, and her countenance formed to express at personage whom he approached. will either majesty or courtesy. Her form, though rather “I hope,” she said, with an affable and condescending embonpoint, was nevertheless graceful; and the elastic- smile, “that I see so great a stranger at court, as the ity and firmness of her step gave no room to suspect, Duke of Argyle has been of late, in as good health as what was actually the case, that she suffered occasion- his friends there and elsewhere could wish him to en- ally from a disorder the most unfavourable to pedes- joy.” trian exercise. Her dress was rather rich than gay, and The Duke replied, “That he had been perfectly well;” her manner commanding and noble. and added, “that the necessity of attending to the pub- Her companion was of lower stature, with light brown lic business before the House, as well as the time occu- hair and expressive blue eyes. Her features, without be- pied by a late journey to Scotland, had rendered him ing absolutely regular, were perhaps more pleasing than less assiduous in paying his duty at the levee and draw- if they had been critically handsome. A melancholy, or ing-room than he could have desired.” at least a pensive expression, for which her lot gave too “When your Grace can find time for a duty so frivo- much cause, predominated when she was silent, but gave lous,” replied the Queen, “you are aware of your title to way to a pleasing and good-humoured smile when she be well received. I hope my readiness to comply with spoke to any one. the wish which you expressed yesterday to Lady Suf- When they were within twelve or fifteen yards of these folk, is, a sufficient proof that one of the royal family, ladies, the Duke made a sign that Jeanie should stand at least, has not forgotten ancient and important ser- still, and stepping forward himself, with the grace which vices, in resenting something which resembles recent

450 Sir Walter Scott neglect.” This was said apparently with great good have I any to prefer for myself personally, although I humour, and in a tone which expressed a desire of con- feel in full force my obligation to your Majesty. It is a ciliation. business which concerns his Majesty, as a lover of jus- The Duke replied, “That he would account himself tice and of mercy, and which, I am convinced, may be the most unfortunate of men, if he could be supposed highly useful in conciliating the unfortunate irritation capable of neglecting his duty, in modes and circum- which at present subsists among his Majesty’s good sub- stances when it was expected, and would have been jects in Scotland.” agreeable. He was deeply gratified by the honour which There were two parts of this speech disagreeable to her Majesty was now doing to him personally; and he Caroline. In the first place, it removed the flattering trusted she would soon perceive that it was in a matter notion she had adopted, that Argyle designed to use her essential to his Majesty’s interest that he had the bold- personal intercession in making his peace with the ad- ness to give her this trouble.” ministration, and recovering the employments of which “You cannot oblige me more, my Lord Duke,” replied he had been deprived; and next, she was displeased that the Queen, “than by giving me the advantage of your he should talk of the discontents in Scotland as irrita- lights and experience on any point of the King’s ser- tions to be conciliated, rather than suppressed. vice. Your Grace is aware, that I can only be the me- Under the influence of these feelings, she answered dium through which the matter is subjected to his hastily, “That his Majesty has good subjects in England, Majesty’s superior wisdom; but if it is a suit which re- my Lord Duke, he is bound to thank God and the laws— spects your Grace personally, it shall lose no support by that he has subjects in Scotland, I think he may thank being preferred through me.” God and his sword.” “It is no suit of mine, madam,” replied the Duke; “nor The Duke, though a courtier, coloured slightly, and

451 The Heart of Mid-Lothian the Queen, instantly sensible of her error, added, with- It was now the Queen’s turn to colour, and she did so out displaying the least change of countenance, and as over cheek and brow, neck and bosom. She paused a if the words had been an original branch of the sen- moment as if unwilling to trust her voice with the first tence— “And the swords of those real Scotchmen who expression of her displeasure; and on assuming the air are friends to the House of Brunswick, particularly that of dignity and an austere regard of control, she at length of his Grace of Argyle.” replied, “My Lord Duke, I will not ask your motives for “My sword, madam,” replied the Duke, “like that of addressing to me a request, which circumstances have my fathers, has been always at the command of my law- rendered such an extraordinary one. Your road to the ful king, and of my native country—I trust it is impos- King’s closet, as a peer and a privy-councillor, entitled sible to separate their real rights and interests. But the to request an audience, was open, without giving me present is a matter of more private concern, and respects the pain of this discussion. I, at least, have had enough the person of an obscure individual.” of Scotch pardons.” “What is the affair, my Lord?” said the Queen. “Let The Duke was prepared for this burst of indignation, us find out what we are talking about, lest we should and he was not shaken by it. He did not attempt a reply misconstrue and misunderstand each other.” while the Queen was in the first heat of displeasure, but “The matter, madam,” answered the Duke of Argyle, remained in the same firm, yet respectful posture, which “regards the fate of an unfortunate young woman in he had assumed during the interview. The Queen, trained Scotland, now lying under sentence of death, for a crime from her situation to self-command, instantly perceived of which I think it highly probable that she is innocent. the advantage she might give against herself by yielding And my humble petition to your Majesty is, to obtain to passion; and added, in the same condescending and your powerful intercession with the King for a pardon.” affable tone in which she had opened the interview, “You

452 Sir Walter Scott must allow me some of the privileges of the sex, my Lord; little deaf—the Duke of Argyle, when disposed to re- and do not judge uncharitably of me, though I am a little new his acquaintance with his master and mistress, will moved at the recollection of the gross insult and outrage hardly find many topics on which we should disagree.” done in your capital city to the royal authority, at the “Let me hope,” said the Duke, bowing profoundly to very time when it was vested in my unworthy person. so flattering an intimation, “that I shall not be so un- Your Grace cannot be surprised that I should both have fortunate as to have found one on the present occasion.” felt it at the time, and recollected it now.” “I must first impose on your Grace the duty of con- “It is certainly a matter not speedily to be forgotten,” fession,” said the Queen, “before I grant you absolu- answered the Duke. “My own poor thoughts of it have tion. What is your particular interest in this young been long before your Majesty, and I must have expressed woman? She does not seem” (and she scanned Jeanie, myself very ill if I did not convey my detestation of the as she said this, with the eye of a connoisseur) “much murder which was committed under such extraordinary qualified to alarm my friend the Duchess’s jealousy.” circumstances. I might, indeed, be so unfortunate as to “I think your Majesty,” replied the Duke, smiling in differ with his Majesty’s advisers on the degree in which his turn, “will allow my taste may be a pledge for me on it was either just or politic to punish the innocent instead that score.” of the guilty. But I trust your Majesty will permit me to “Then, though she has not much the air d’une grande be silent on a topic in which my sentiments have not the dame, I suppose she is some thirtieth cousin in the ter- good fortune to coincide with those of more able men.” rible CHAPTER of Scottish genealogy?” “We will not prosecute a topic on which we may prob- “No, madam,” said the Duke; “but I wish some of my ably differ,” said the Queen. “One word, however, I may nearer relations had half her worth, honesty, and affec- say in private—you know our good Lady Suffolk is a tion.”

453 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “Her name must be Campbell, at least?” said Queen of a sister, for whose sake she was willing to sacrifice all Caroline. but truth and conscience. “No, madam; her name is not quite so distinguished, Queen Caroline listened with attention; she was rather if I may be permitted to say so,” answered the Duke. fond, it must be remembered, of an argument, and soon “Ah! but she comes from Inverary or Argyleshire?” found matter in what the Duke told her for raising diffi- said the Sovereign. culties to his request. “She has never been farther north in her life than “It appears to me, my Lord,” she replied, “that this is a se- Edinburgh, madam.” vere law. But still it is adopted upon good grounds, I am bound “Then my conjectures are all ended,” said the Queen, to suppose, as the law of the country, and the girl has been “and your Grace must yourself take the trouble to ex- convicted under it. The very presumptions which the law con- plain the affair of your prote’ge’e.” strues into a positive proof of guilt exist in her case; and all that With that precision and easy brevity which is only your Grace has said concerning the possibility of her innocence acquired by habitually conversing in the higher ranks may be a very good argument for annulling the Act of Parlia- of society, and which is the diametrical opposite of that ment, but cannot, while it stands good, be admitted in favour protracted style of disquisition, of any individual convicted upon the statute.” The Duke saw and avoided the snare, for he was con- Which squires call potter, and which men call prose, scious, that, by replying to the argument, he must have been inevitably led to a discussion, in the course of which the Duke explained the singular law under which Effie the Queen was likely to be hardened in her own opinion, Deans had received sentence of death, and detailed the until she became obliged, out of mere respect to consis- affectionate exertions which Jeanie had made in behalf tency, to let the criminal suffer.

454 Sir Walter Scott “If your Majesty,” he said, “would condescend to hear my poor countrywoman herself, perhaps she may find an advocate in your own heart, more able than I am, to combat the doubts suggested by your understanding.” The Queen seemed to acquiesce, and the Duke made a signal for Jeanie to advance from the spot where she had hitherto remained watching countenances, which were too long accustomed to suppress all apparent signs of emotion, to convey to her any interesting intelligence. Her Majesty could not help smiling at the awe-struck manner in which the quiet demure figure of the little Scotchwoman advanced towards her, and yet more at the first sound of her broad northern accent. But Jeanie had a voice low and sweetly toned, an admirable thing in woman, and eke besought “her Leddyship to have pity on a poor misguided young creature,” in tones so affecting, that, like the notes of some of her native songs, provincial vulgarity was lost in pathos. “Stand up, young woman,” said the Queen, but in a kind tone, “and tell me what sort of a barbarous people your country-folk are, where child-murder is become so common as to require the restraint of laws like yours?”

455 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “If your Leddyship pleases,” answered Jeanie, “there “The what?” said Lady Suffolk, to whom the phrase are mony places besides Scotland where mothers are was new, and who besides was rather deaf. unkind to their ain flesh and blood.” “That’s the stool of repentance, madam, if it please It must be observed, that the disputes between George your Leddyship,” answered Jeanie, “for light life and the Second and Frederick Prince of Wales were then at conversation, and for breaking the seventh command.” the highest, and that the good-natured part of the pub- Here she raised her eyes to the Duke, saw his hand at lic laid the blame on the Queen. She coloured highly, his chin, and, totally unconscious of what she had said and darted a glance of a most penetrating character first out of joint, gave double effect to the innuendo, by stop- at Jeanie, and then at the Duke. Both sustained it un- ping short and looking embarrassed. moved; Jeanie from total unconsciousness of the offence As for Lady Suffolk, she retired like a covering party, she had given, and the Duke from his habitual compo- which, having interposed betwixt their retreating friends sure. But in his heart he thought, My unlucky protegee and the enemy, have suddenly drawn on themselves a has with this luckless answer shot dead, by a kind of fire unexpectedly severe. chance-medley, her only hope of success. The deuce take the lass, thought the Duke of Argyle Lady Suffolk, good-humouredly and skilfully, inter- to himself; there goes another shot—and she has hit with posed in this awkward crisis. “You should tell this lady,” both barrels right and left! she said to Jeanie, “the particular causes which render Indeed the Duke had himself his share of the confu- this crime common in your country.” sion, for, having acted as master of ceremonies to this “Some thinks it’s the Kirk-session—that is—it’s the— innocent offender, he felt much in the circumstances of it’s the cutty-stool, if your Leddyship pleases,” said a country squire, who, having introduced his spaniel into Jeanie, looking down and courtesying. a well-appointed drawing-room, is doomed to witness

456 Sir Walter Scott the disorder and damage which arises to china and to that ye canna be sensible of the weariness of the limbs,” dress-gowns, in consequence of its untimely frolics. said Jeanie. That came better off, thought the Duke; Jeanie’s last chance-hit, however, obliterated the ill im- it’s the first thing she has said to the purpose. pression which had arisen from the first; for her Maj- “And I didna just a’thegither walk the haill way nei- esty had not so lost the feelings of a wife in those of a ther, for I had whiles the cast of a cart; and I had the Queen, but that she could enjoy a jest at the expense of cast of a horse from Ferrybridge—and divers other ease- “her good Suffolk.” She turned towards the Duke of ments,” said Jeanie, cutting short her story, for she ob- Argyle with a smile, which marked that she enjoyed the served the Duke made the sign he had fixed upon. triumph, and observed, “The Scotch are a rigidly moral “With all these accommodations,” answered the Queen, people.” Then, again applying herself to Jeanie, she “you must have had a very fatiguing journey, and, I fear, to asked how she travelled up from Scotland. little purpose; since, if the King were to pardon your sister, “Upon my foot mostly, madam,” was the reply. in all probability it would do her little good, for I suppose “What, all that immense way upon foot?—How far your people of Edinburgh would hang her out of spite.” can you walk in a day.” She will sink herself now outright, thought the Duke. “Five-and-twenty miles and a bittock.” But he was wrong. The shoals on which Jeanie had “And a what?” said the Queen, looking towards the touched in this delicate conversation lay under ground, Duke of Argyle. and were unknown to her; this rock was above water, “And about five miles more,” replied the Duke. and she avoided it. “I thought I was a good walker,” said the Queen, “but “She was confident,” she said, “that baith town and this shames me sadly.” country wad rejoice to see his Majesty taking compas- “May your Leddyship never hae sae weary a heart, sion on a poor unfriended creature.”

457 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “His Majesty has not found it so in a late instance,” “No, madam,” answered Jeanie, happy that the ques- said the Queen; “but I suppose my Lord Duke would tion was so framed that she could, with a good con- advise him to be guided by the votes of the rabble them- science, answer it in the negative. selves, who should be hanged and who spared?” “But I suppose,” continued the Queen, “if you were “No, madam,” said the Duke; “but I would advise his possessed of such a secret, you would hold it a matter Majesty to be guided by his own feelings, and those of of conscience to keep it to yourself?” his royal consort; and then I am sure punishment will “I would pray to be directed and guided what was the only attach itself to guilt, and even then with cautious line of duty, madam,” answered Jeanie. reluctance.” “Yes, and take that which suited your own inclina- “Well, my Lord,” said her Majesty, “all these fine speeches tions,” replied her Majesty. do not convince me of the propriety of so soon showing “If it like you, madam,” said Jeanie, “I would hae any mark of favour to your—I suppose I must not say gaen to the end of the earth to save the life of John rebellious?—but, at least, your very disaffected and intrac- Porteous, or any other unhappy man in his condition; table metropolis. Why, the whole nation is in a league to but I might lawfully doubt how far I am called upon to screen the savage and abominable murderers of that un- be the avenger of his blood, though it may become the happy man; otherwise, how is it possible but that, of so civil magistrate to do so. He is dead and gane to his many perpetrators, and engaged in so public an action for place, and they that have slain him must answer for their such a length of time, one at least must have been ain act. But my sister, my puir sister, Effie, still lives, recognised? Even this wench, for aught I can tell, may be a though her days and hours are numbered! She still lives, depositary of the secret.—Hark you, young woman, had and a word of the King’s mouth might restore her to a you any friends engaged in the Porteous mob?” brokenhearted auld man, that never in his daily and

458 Sir Walter Scott nightly exercise, forgot to pray that his Majesty might in that hour, come when it may, than if a word of your be blessed with a long and a prosperous reign, and that mouth could hang the haill Porteous mob at the tail of his throne, and the throne of his posterity, might be ae tow.” established in righteousness. O madam, if ever ye kend Tear followed tear down Jeanie’s cheeks, as, her fea- what it was to sorrow for and with a sinning and a suf- tures glowing and quivering with emotion, she pleaded fering creature, whose mind is sae tossed that she can be her sister’s cause with a pathos which was at once simple neither ca’d fit to live or die, have some compassion on and solemn. our misery!—Save an honest house from dishonour, and “This is eloquence,” said her Majesty to the Duke of an unhappy girl, not eighteen years of age, from an early Argyle. “Young woman,” she continued, addressing her- and dreadful death! Alas! it is not when we sleep soft self to Jeanie, “I cannot grant a pardon to your sister— and wake merrily ourselves that we think on other but you shall not want my warm intercession with his people’s sufferings. Our hearts are waxed light within Majesty. Take this house-wife case,” she continued, put- us then, and we are for righting our ain wrangs and fight- ting a small embroidered needle-case into Jeanie’s hands; ing our ain battles. But when the hour of trouble comes “do not open it now, but at your leisure—you will find to the mind or to the body—and seldom may it visit something in it which will remind you that you have your Leddyship—and when the hour of death comes, had an interview with Queen Caroline.” that comes to high and low—lang and late may it be Jeanie, having her suspicions thus confirmed, dropped yours!—Oh, my Leddy, then it isna what we hae dune on her knees, and would have expanded herself in grati- for oursells, but what we hae dune for others, that we tude; but the Duke who was upon thorns lest she should think on maist pleasantly. And the thoughts that ye hae say more or less than just enough, touched his chin once intervened to spare the puir thing’s life will be sweeter more.

459 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “Our business is, I think, ended for the present, my Lord Duke,” said the Queen, “and, I trust, to your satisfaction. Hereafter I hope to see your Grace more fre- CHAPTER FOURTEENTH quently, both at Richmond and St. James’s.—Come Lady Suffolk, we must wish his Grace good-morning.” They exchanged their parting reverences, and the So soon as I can win the offended king, I will be known your advocate. Duke, so soon as the ladies had turned their backs, assisted Jeanie to rise from the ground, and conducted her Cymbeline. back through the avenue, which she trode with the feeling of one who walks in her sleep.

THE DUKE OF ARGYLE led the way in silence to the small postern by which they had been admitted into Richmond Park, so long the favourite residence of Queen Caroline. It was opened by the same half-seen janitor, and they found themselves beyond the precincts of the royal de- mesne. Still not a word was spoken on either side. The Duke probably wished to allow his rustic prote’ge’e time to recruit her faculties, dazzled and sunk with colloquy sublime; and betwixt what she had guessed, had heard, and had seen, Jeanie Deans’s mind was too much agitated to permit her to ask any questions.

460 Sir Walter Scott They found the carriage of the Duke in the place where tainty of Effie’s pardon then?” continued she, still hold- they had left it; and when they resumed their places, ing in her hand the unopened pocket-book. soon began to advance rapidly on their return to town. “Why, kings are kittle cattle to shoe behind, as we say “I think, Jeanie,” said the Duke, breaking silence, “you in the north,” replied the Duke; “but his wife knows his have every reason to congratulate yourself on the issue trim, and I have not the least doubt that the matter is of your interview with her Majesty.” quite certain.” “And that leddy was the Queen herself?” said Jeanie; “Oh, God be praised! God be praised!” ejaculated “I misdoubted it when I saw that your honour didna Jeanie; “and may the gude leddy never want the heart’s put on your hat—And yet I can hardly believe it, even ease she has gien me at this moment!—And God bless when I heard her speak it herself.” you too, my Lord!—without your help I wad ne’er hae “It was certainly Queen Caroline,” replied the Duke. won near her.” “Have you no curiosity to see what is in the little pocket- The Duke let her dwell upon this subject for a consider- book?” able time, curious, perhaps, to see how long the feelings “Do you think the pardon will be in it, sir?” said Jeanie, of gratitude would continue to supersede those of curi- with the eager animation of hope. osity. But so feeble was the latter feeling in Jeanie’s mind, “Why, no,” replied the Duke; “that is unlikely. They that his Grace, with whom, perhaps, it was for the time a seldom carry these things about them, unless they were little stronger, was obliged once more to bring forward likely to be wanted; and, besides, her Majesty told you the subject of the Queen’s present. It was opened accord- it was the King, not she, who was to grant it.” ingly. In the inside of the case was the usual assortment “That is true, too,” said Jeanie; “but I am so confused of silk and needles, with scissors, tweezers, etc.; and in in my mind—But does your honour think there is a cer- the pocket was a bank-bill for fifty pounds.

461 The Heart of Mid-Lothian The Duke had no sooner informed Jeanie of the value “He has a house not far from Dalkeith, wears a black of this last document, for she was unaccustomed to see wig and a laced hat?” notes for such sums, than she expressed her regret at “Yes sir,” answered Jeanie, who had her reasons for the mistake which had taken place. “For the hussy being brief in her answers upon this topic. itsell,” she said, “was a very valuable thing for a keep- “Ah, my old friend Dumbie!” said the Duke; “I have sake, with the Queen’s name written in the inside with thrice seen him fou, and only once heard the sound of her ain hand doubtless—Caroline—as plain as could be, his voice—Is he a cousin of yours, Jeanie?” and a crown drawn aboon it.” “No, sir,—my Lord.” She therefore tendered the bill to the Duke, request- “Then he must be a well-wisher, I suspect?” ing him to find some mode of returning it to the royal “Ye—yes,—my Lord, sir,” answered Jeanie, blushing, owner. and with hesitation. “No, no, Jeanie,” said the Duke, “there is no mistake “Aha! then, if the Laird starts, I suppose my friend in the case. Her Majesty knows you have been put to Butler must be in some danger?” great expense, and she wishes to make it up to you.” “O no, sir,” answered Jeanie, much more readily, but “I am sure she is even ower gude,” said Jeanie, “and it at the same time blushing much more deeply. glads me muckle that I can pay back Dumbiedikes his “Well, Jeanie,” said the Duke, “you are a girl may be siller, without distressing my father, honest man.” safely trusted with your own matters, and I shall in- “Dumbiedikes! What, a freeholder of Mid-Lothian, is quire no farther about them. But as to this same par- he not?” said his Grace, whose occasional residence in don, I must see to get it passed through the proper forms; that county made him acquainted with most of the and I have a friend in office who will for auld lang syne, heritors, as landed persons are termed in Scotland.— do me so much favour. And then, Jeanie, as I shall have

462 Sir Walter Scott occasion to send an express down to Scotland, who will “Does your Honour like cheese?” said Jeanie, with a travel with it safer and more swiftly than you can do, I gleam of conscious delight as she asked the question. will take care to have it put into the proper channel; “Like it?” said the Duke, whose good-nature antici- meanwhile you may write to your friends by post of pated what was to follow,— “cakes and cheese are a din- your good success.” ner for an emperor, let alone a Highlandman.” “And does your Honour think,” said Jeanie, “that will “Because,” said Jeanie, with modest confidence, and do as weel as if I were to take my tap in my lap, and slip great and evident self-gratulation, “we have been my ways hame again on my ain errand?” thought so particular in making cheese, that some folk “Much better, certainly,” said the Duke. “You know think it as gude as the real Dunlop; and if your honour’s the roads are not very safe for a single woman to travel.” Grace wad but accept a stane or twa, blithe, and fain, Jeanie internally acquiesced in this observation. and proud it wad make us? But maybe ye may like the “And I have a plan for you besides. One of the Duchess’s ewe-milk, that is, the Buckholmside* cheese better; or attendants, and one of mine—your acquaintance maybe the gait-milk, as ye come frae the Highlands— Archibald—are going down to Inverary in a light calash, and I canna pretend just to the same skeel o’ them; but with four horses I have bought, and there is room enough in my cousin Jean, that lives at Lockermachus in the carriage for you to go with them as far as Glasgow, where Lammermuir, I could speak to her, and—” Archibald will find means of sending you safely to “Quite unnecessary,” said the Duke; “the Dunlop is Edinburgh.—And in the way I beg you will teach the woman the very cheese of which I am so fond, and I will take it as much as you can of the mystery of cheese-making, for as the greatest favour you can do me to send one to she is to have a charge in the dairy, and I dare swear you are * The hilly pastures of Buckholm, which the Author now sur- as tidy about your milk-pail as about your dress.” veys,— “Not in the frenzy of a dreamer’s eye,”—are famed for producing the best ewe-milk cheese in the south of Scotland. 463 The Heart of Mid-Lothian Caroline Park. But remember, be on honour with it, where they had left it. While the coachman again bridled Jeanie, and make it all yourself, for I am a real good his lean cattle, which had been indulged with a bite of judge.” musty hay, the Duke cautioned Jeanie not to be too com- “I am not feared,” said Jeanie, confidently, “that I municative to her landlady concerning what had passed. may please your Honour; for I am sure you look as if “There is,” he said, “no use of speaking of matters till you could hardly find fault wi’ onybody that did their they are actually settled; and you may refer the good best; and weel is it my part, I trow, to do mine.” lady to Archibald, if she presses you hard with ques- This discourse introduced a topic upon which the two tions. She is his old acquaintance, and he knows how to travellers, though so different in rank and education, manage with her.” found each a good deal to say. The Duke, besides his He then took a cordial farewell of Jeanie, and told her other patriotic qualities, was a distinguished agricultur- to be ready in the ensuing week to return to Scotland— ist, and proud of his knowledge in that department. He saw her safely established in her hackney-coach, and entertained Jeanie with his observations on the differ- rolled of in his own carriage, humming a stanza of the ent breeds of cattle in Scotland, and their capacity for ballad which he is said to have composed:— the dairy, and received so much information from her practical experience in return, that he promised her a “At the sight of Dumbarton once again, couple of Devonshire cows in reward for the lesson. In I’ll cock up my bonnet and march amain, short his mind was so transported back to his rural em- With my claymore hanging down to my heel, ployments and amusements, that he sighed when his To whang at the bannocks of barley meal.” carriage stopped opposite to the old hackney-coach, which Archibald had kept in attendance at the place Perhaps one ought to be actually a Scotsman to con-

464 Sir Walter Scott ceive how ardently, under all distinctions of rank and to sustain the overwhelming cataract of her questions, situation, they feel their mutual connection with each which burst forth with the sublimity of a grand other as natives of the same country. There are, I be- gardyloo:— lieve, more associations common to the inhabitants of “Had she seen the Duke, God bless him—the Duch- a rude and wild, than of a well-cultivated and fertile ess—the young ladies?—Had she seen the King, God country; their ancestors have more seldom changed their bless him—the Queen—the Prince of Wales—the Prin- place of residence; their mutual recollection of remark- cess—or any of the rest of the royal family?—Had she able objects is more accurate; the high and the low are got her sister’s pardon?—Was it out and out—or was it more interested in each other’s welfare; the feelings of only a commutation of punishment?—How far had she kindred and relationship are more widely extended, and gone—where had she driven to—whom had she seen— in a word, the bonds of patriotic affection, always what had been said—what had kept her so long?” honourable even when a little too exclusively strained, Such were the various questions huddled upon each have more influence on men’s feelings and actions. other by a curiosity so eager, that it could hardly wait The rumbling hackney-coach, which tumbled over the for its own gratification. Jeanie would have been more (then) execrable London pavement, at a rate very dif- than sufficiently embarrassed by this overbearing tide ferent from that which had conveyed the ducal carriage of interrogations, had not Archibald, who had probably to Richmond, at length deposited Jeanie Deans and her received from his master a hint to that purpose, advanced attendant at the national sign of the Thistle. Mrs. Glass, to her rescue. “Mrs. Glass,” said Archibald, “his Grace who had been in long and anxious expectation, now desired me particularly to say, that he would take it as a rushed, full of eager curiosity and open-mouthed inter- great favour if you would ask the young woman no ques- rogation, upon our heroine, who was positively unable tions, as he wishes to explain to you more distinctly than

465 The Heart of Mid-Lothian she can do how her affairs stand, and consult you on and—But you have had a far drive, Mr. Archibald, as I some matters which she cannot altogether so well ex- guess by the time of your absence, and I guess” (with plain. The Duke will call at the Thistle to-morrow or an engaging smile) “you winna be the waur o’ a glass of next day for that purpose.” the right Rosa Solis.” “His Grace is very condescending,” said Mrs. Glass, “I thank you, Mrs. Glass,” said the great man’s great her zeal for inquiry slaked for the present by the dexter- man, “but I am under the necessity of returning to my ous administration of this sugar plum—“his Grace is Lord directly.” And, making his adieus civilly to both sensible that I am in a manner accountable for the con- cousins, he left the shop of the Lady of the Thistle. duct of my young kinswoman, and no doubt his Grace “I am glad your affairs have prospered so well, Jeanie, is the best judge how far he should intrust her or me my love,” said Mrs. Glass; “though, indeed, there was with the management of her affairs.” little fear of them so soon as the Duke of Argyle was so “His Grace is quite sensible of that,” answered condescending as to take them into hand. I will ask you Archibald, with national gravity, “and will certainly no questions about them, because his Grace, who is most trust what he has to say to the most discreet of the two; considerate and prudent in such matters, intends to tell and therefore, Mrs. Glass, his Grace relies you will speak me all that you ken yourself, dear, and doubtless a great nothing to Mrs. Jean Deans, either of her own affairs or deal more; so that anything that may lie heavily on your her sister’s, until he sees you himself. He desired me to mind may be imparted to me in the meantime, as you assure you, in the meanwhile, that all was going on as see it is his Grace’s pleasure that I should be made ac- well as your kindness could wish, Mrs. Glass.” quainted with the whole matter forthwith, and whether “His Grace is very kind—very considerate, certainly, you or he tells it, will make no difference in the world, Mr. Archibald—his Grace’s commands shall be obeyed, ye ken. If I ken what he is going to say beforehand, I

466 Sir Walter Scott will be much more ready to give my advice, and whether spite of her promise, urged Jeanie with still farther ques- you or he tell me about it, cannot much signify after all, tions. “Had she been a’ that time at Argyle House? Was my dear. So you may just say whatever you like, only the Duke with her the whole time? and had she seen the mind I ask you no questions about it.” Duchess? and had she seen the young ladies—and spe- Jeanie was a little embarrassed. She thought that the cially Lady Caroline Campbell?”—To these questions communication she had to make was perhaps the only Jeanie gave the general reply, that she knew so little of means she might have in her power to gratify her friendly the town that she could not tell exactly where she had and hospitable kinswoman. But her prudence instantly been; that she had not seen the Duchess to her knowl- suggested that her secret interview with Queen Caroline, edge; that she had seen two ladies, one of whom, she which seemed to pass under a certain sort of mystery, understood, bore the name of Caroline; and more, she was not a proper subject for the gossip of a woman like said, she could not tell about the matter. Mrs. Glass, of whose heart she had a much better opin- “It would be the Duke’s eldest daughter, Lady Caroline ion than of her prudence. She, therefore, answered in Campbell, there is no doubt of that,” said Mrs. Glass; general, that the Duke had had the extraordinary kind- “but doubtless, I shall know more particularly through ness to make very particular inquiries into her sister’s his Grace.—And so, as the cloth is laid in the little bad affair, and that he thought he had found the means parlour above stairs, and it is past three o’clock, for I of putting it a’ straight again, but that he proposed to have been waiting this hour for you, and I have had a tell all that he thought about the matter to Mrs. Glass snack myself; and, as they used to say in Scotland in my herself. time—I do not ken if the word be used now—there is ill This did not quite satisfy the penetrating mistress of talking between a full body and a fasting.” the Thistle. Searching as her own small rappee, she, in

467 The Heart of Mid-Lothian

“Sir,—To prevent farder mischieves, whereof there hath CHAPTER FIFTEENTH been enough, comes these: Sir, I have my sister’s pardon from the Queen’s Majesty, whereof I do not doubt you will be glad, having had to say naut of matters whereof Heaven first taught letters for some wretch’s aid,— you know the purport. So, Sir, I pray for your better Some banished lover or some captive maid. welfare in bodie and soul, and that it will please the fisycian to visit you in His good time. Alwaies, sir, I pray Pope. you will never come again to see my sister, whereof there has been too much. And so, wishing you no evil, but even your best good, that you may be turned from your BY DINT OF UNWONTED labour with the pen, Jeanie Deans iniquity (for why suld ye die?) I rest your humble ser- contrived to indite, and give to the charge of the post- vant to command, man on the ensuing day, no less than three letters, an “Ye ken wha.” exertion altogether strange to her habits; insomuch so, that, if milk had been plenty, she would rather have The next letter was to her father. It is too long alto- made thrice as many Dunlop cheeses. The first of them gether for insertion, so we only give a few extracts. It was very brief. It was addressed to George Staunton, commenced— Esq., at the Rectory, Willingham, by Grantham; the address being part of the information she had extracted “Dearest and truly honoured father,—This comes with from the communicative peasant who rode before her my duty to inform you, that it has pleased God to re- to Stamford. It was in these words:—

468 Sir Walter Scott deem that captivitie of my poor sister, in respect the they awe him. Also his honour the Duke will accept ane Queen’s blessed Majesty, for whom we are ever bound to of our Dunlop cheeses, and it sall be my faut if a better pray, hath redeemed her soul from the slayer, granting was ever yearned in Lowden.”—[Here follow some ob- the ransom of her, whilk is ane pardon or reprieve. And servations respecting the breed of cattle, and the pro- I spoke with the Queen face to face and yet live; for she duce of the dairy, which it is our intention to forward to is not muckle differing from other grand leddies, saying the Board of Agriculture.]— “Nevertheless, these are that she has a stately presence, and een like a blue huntin’ but matters of the after-harvest, in respect of the great hawk’s, whilk gaed throu’ and throu’ me like a High- good which Providence hath gifted us with—and, in es- land durk—And all this good was, alway under the Great pecial, poor Effie’s life. And oh, my dear father, since it Giver, to whom all are but instruments, wrought forth hath pleased God to be merciful to her, let her not want for us by the Duk of Argile, wha is ane native true- your free pardon, whilk will make her meet to be ane hearted Scotsman, and not pridefu’, like other folk we vessel of grace, and also a comfort to your ain graie hairs. ken of—and likewise skeely enow in bestial, whereof he Dear Father, will ye let the Laird ken that we have had has promised to gie me twa Devonshire kye, of which friends strangely raised up to us, and that the talent he is enamoured, although I do still haud by the real whilk he lent me will be thankfully repaid. I hae some hawlit Airshire breed—and I have promised him a of it to the fore; and the rest of it is not knotted up in cheese; and I wad wuss ye, if Gowans, the brockit cow, ane purse or napkin, but in ane wee bit paper, as is the has a quey, that she suld suck her fill of milk, as I am fashion heir, whilk I am assured is gude for the siller. given to understand he has none of that breed, and is And, dear father, through Mr. Butler’s means I hae gude not scornfu’ but will take a thing frae a puir body, that friendship with the Duke, for their had been kindness it may lighten their heart of the loading of debt that between their forbears in the auld troublesome time bye-

469 The Heart of Mid-Lothian past. And Mrs. Glass has been kind like my very mother. The third letter was to Butler, and its tenor as fol- She has a braw house here, and lives bien and warm, wi’ lows:— twa servant lasses, and a man and a callant in the shop. And she is to send you doun a pound of her hie-dried, “Master Butler.—Sir,—It will be pleasure to you to ken, and some other tobaka, and we maun think of some that all I came for is, thanks be to God, weel dune and propine for her, since her kindness hath been great. And to the gude end, and that your forbear’s letter was right the Duk is to send the pardun doun by an express mes- welcome to the Duke of Argile, and that he wrote your senger, in respect that I canna travel sae fast; and I am name down with a kylevine pen in a leathern book, to come doun wi’ twa of his Honour’s servants—that whereby it seems like he will do for you either wi’ a scule is, John Archibald, a decent elderly gentleman, that says or a kirk; he has enow of baith, as I am assured. And I he has seen you lang syne, when ye were buying beasts have seen the queen, which gave me a hussy-case out of in the west frae the Laird of Aughtermuggitie—but her own hand. She had not her crown and skeptre, but maybe ye winna mind him—ony way, he’s a civil man— they are laid by for her, like the bairns’ best claise, to be and Mrs. Dolly Dutton, that is to be dairy-maid at worn when she needs them. And they are keepit in a Inverara; and they bring me on as far as Glasgo, whilk tour, whilk is not like the tour of Libberton, nor yet will make it nae pinch to win hame, whilk I desire of all Craigmillar, but mair like to the castell of Edinburgh, things. May the Giver of all good things keep ye in your if the buildings were taen and set down in the midst of outgauns and incomings, whereof devoutly prayeth your the Nor’-Loch. Also the Queen was very bounteous, giv- loving dauter, ing me a paper worth fiftie pounds, as I am assured, to “Jean Deans.” pay my expenses here and back agen. Sae, Master But- ler, as we were aye neebours’ bairns, forby onything else

470 Sir Walter Scott that may hae been spoken between us, I trust you winna company, and safe—and I had troubles in gaun up whilk skrimp yoursell for what is needfu’ for your health, since makes me blither of travelling wi’ kend folk. My cousin, it signifies not muckle whilk o’ us has the siller, if the Mrs. Glass, has a braw house here, but a’ thing is sae other wants it. And mind this is no meant to haud ye to poisoned wi’ snuff, that I am like to be scomfished whiles. onything whilk ye wad rather forget, if ye suld get a But what signifies these things, in comparison of the charge of a kirk or a scule, as above said. Only I hope it great deliverance whilk has been vouchsafed to my will be a scule, and not a kirk, because of these difficul- father’s house, in whilk you, as our auld and dear well- ties anent aiths and patronages, whilk might gang ill wisher, will, I dout not, rejoice and be exceedingly glad. down wi’ my honest father. Only if ye could compass a And I am, dear Mr. Butler, your sincere well-wisher in harmonious call frae the parish of Skreegh-me-dead, as temporal and eternal things, ye anes had hope of, I trow it wad please him weel; since “J. D.” I hae heard him say, that the root of the matter was mair deeply hafted in that wild muirland parish than in After these labours of an unwonted kind, Jeanie re- the Canongate of Edinburgh. I wish I had whaten books tired to her bed, yet scarce could sleep a few minutes ye wanted, Mr. Butler, for they hae haill houses of them together, so often was she awakened by the heart-stir- here, and they are obliged to set sum out in the street, ring consciousness of her sister’s safety, and so power- whilk are sald cheap, doubtless, to get them out of the fully urged to deposit her burden of joy, where she had weather. It is a muckle place, and I hae seen sae muckle before laid her doubts and sorrows, in the warm and of it, that my poor head turns round. And ye ken sincere exercises of devotion. langsyne, I am nae great pen-woman, and it is near All the next, and all the succeeding day, Mrs. Glass eleven o’clock o’ the night. I am cumming down in good fidgeted about her shop in the agony of expectation,

471 The Heart of Mid-Lothian like a pea (to use a vulgar simile which her profession Majesty’s ministers, that, within the course of only seven renders appropriate) upon one of her own tobacco pipes. years, twenty-one instances of child-murder had oc- With the third morning came the expected coach, with curred in Scotland. four servants clustered behind on the footboard, in dark “Weary on him!” said Mrs. Glass, “what for needed he brown and yellow liveries; the Duke in person, with laced to have telled that of his ain country, and to the En- coat, gold-headed cane, star and garter, all, as the story- glish folk abune a’? I used aye to think the Advocate a book says, very grand. douce decent man, but it is an ill bird*—begging your He inquired for his little countrywoman of Mrs. Glass, Grace’s pardon for speaking of such a coorse by-word. but without requesting to see her, probably because he And then what is the poor lassie to do in a foreign was unwilling to give an appearance of personal inter- land?—Why, wae’s me, it’s just sending her to play the course betwixt them, which scandal might have misin- same pranks ower again, out of sight or guidance of her terpreted. “The Queen,” he said to Mrs. Glass, “had friends.” taken the case of her kinswoman into her gracious con- “Pooh! pooh!” said the Duke, “that need not be an- sideration, and being specially moved by the affection- ticipated. Why, she may come up to London, or she may ate and resolute character of the elder sister, had conde- go over to America, and marry well for all that is come scended to use her powerful intercession with his Maj- and gone.” esty, in consequence of which a pardon had been des- “In troth, and so she may, as your Grace is pleased to patched to Scotland to Effie Deans, on condition of her intimate,” replied Mrs. Glass; “and now I think upon it, banishing herself forth of Scotland for fourteen years. there is my old correspondent in Virginia, Ephraim The King’s Advocate had insisted,” he said, “upon this Buckskin, that has supplied the Thistle this forty years qualification of the pardon, having pointed out to his * It’s an ill bird that fouls its own pest. 472 Sir Walter Scott with tobacco, and it is not a little that serves our turn, not forget my cheese when she gets down to Scotland. and he has been writing to me this ten years to send him Archibald has my orders to arrange all her expenses.” out a wife. The carle is not above sixty, and hale and “Begging your Grace’s humble pardon,” said Mrs. hearty, and well to pass in the world, and a line from my Glass, “it is a pity to trouble yourself about them; the hand would settle the matter, and Effie Deans’s misfor- Deanses are wealthy people in their way, and the lass tune (forby that there is no special occasion to speak has money in her pocket.” about it) would be thought little of there.” “That’s all very true,” said the Duke; “but you know, “Is she a pretty girl?” said the Duke; “her sister does where MacCallummore travels he pays all; it is our High- not get beyond a good comely sonsy lass.” land privilege to take from all what we want, and to “Oh, far prettier is Effie than Jeanie,” said Mrs. Glass; give to all what they want.” “though it is long since I saw her mysell, but I hear of “Your Grace is better at giving than taking,” said Mrs. the Deanses by all my Lowden friends when they come— Glass. your Grace kens we Scots are clannish bodies.” “To show you the contrary,” said the Duke, “I will fill “So much the better for us,” said the Duke, “and the my box out of this canister without paying you a worse for those who meddle with us, as your good old- bawbee;” and again desiring to be remembered to Jeanie, fashioned sign says, Mrs. Glass. And now I hope you with his good wishes for her safe journey, he departed, will approve of the measures I have taken for restoring leaving Mrs. Glass uplifted in heart and in countenance, your kinswoman to her friends.” These he detailed at the proudest and happiest of tobacco and snuff deal- length, and Mrs. Glass gave her unqualified approba- ers. tion, with a smile and a courtesy at every sentence. “And Reflectively, his Grace’s good humour and affability now, Mrs. Glass, you must tell Jeanie, I hope, she will had a favourable effect upon Jeanie’s situation.—Her

473 The Heart of Mid-Lothian kinswoman, though civil and kind to her, had acquired self of the opportunity. As Mrs. Dabby was the second too much of London breeding to be perfectly satisfied lady of great rank whom Jeanie had seen in London, with her cousin’s rustic and national dress, and was, she used sometimes afterwards to draw a parallel be- besides, something scandalised at the cause of her jour- twixt her and the Queen, in which she observed, “that ney to London. Mrs. Glass might, therefore, have been Mrs. Dabby was dressed twice as grand, and was twice less sedulous in her attentions towards Jeanie, but for as big, and spoke twice as loud, and twice as muckle, as the interest which the foremost of the Scottish nobles the Queen did, but she hadna the same goss-hawk glance (for such, in all men’s estimation, was the Duke of Ar- that makes the skin creep, and the knee bend; and gyle) seemed to take in her fate. Now, however, as a kins- though she had very kindly gifted her with a loaf of woman whose virtues and domestic affections had at- sugar and twa punds of tea, yet she hadna a’thegither tracted the notice and approbation of royalty itself, the sweet look that the Queen had when she put the Jeanie stood to her relative in a light very different and needle-book into her hand.” much more favourable, and was not only treated with Jeanie might have enjoyed the sights and novelties of kindness, but with actual observance and respect. this great city more, had it not been for the qualifica- It depended on herself alone to have made as many tion added to her sister’s pardon, which greatly grieved visits, and seen as many sights, as lay within Mrs. Glass’s her affectionate disposition. On this subject, however, power to compass. But, excepting that she dined abroad her mind was somewhat relieved by a letter which she with one or two “far away kinsfolk,” and that she paid received in return of post, in answer to that which she the same respect, on Mrs. Glass’s strong urgency, to Mrs. had written to her father. With his affectionate bless- Deputy Dabby, wife of the Worshipful Mr. Deputy ing, it brought his full approbation of the step which Dabby, of Farringdon Without, she did not avail her- she had taken, as one inspired by the immediate dic-

474 Sir Walter Scott tates of Heaven, and which she had been thrust upon in nowhere. But we are to hold in remembrance that Scot- order that she might become the means of safety to a land, though it be our native land, and the land of our perishing household. fathers, is not like Goshen, in Egypt, on whilk the sun “If ever a deliverance was dear and precious, this,” of the heavens and of the gospel shineth allenarly, and said the letter, “is a dear and precious deliverance—and leaveth the rest of the world in utter darkness. There- if life saved can be made more sweet and savoury, it is fore, and also because this increase of profit at Saint when it cometh by the hands of those whom we hold in Leonard’s Crags may be a cauld waff of wind blawing the ties of affection. And do not let your heart be dis- from the frozen land of earthly self, where never plant quieted within you, that this victim, who is rescued from of grace took root or grew, and because my concerns the horns of the altar, whereuntil she was fast bound by make me take something ower muckle a grip of the gear the chains of human law, is now to be driven beyond the of the warld in mine arms, I receive this dispensation bounds of our land. Scotland is a blessed land to those anent Effie as a call to depart out of Haran, as righ- who love the ordinances of Christianity, and it is a faer teous Abraham of old, and leave my father’s kindred land to look upon, and dear to them who have dwelt in and my mother’s house, and the ashes and mould of it a’ their days; and weel said that judicious Christian, them who have gone to sleep before me, and which wait worthy John Livingstone, a sailor in Borrowstouness, to be mingled with these auld crazed bones of mine own. as the famous Patrick Walker reporteth his words, that And my heart is lightened to do this, when I call to mind howbeit he thought Scotland was a Gehennah of wick- the decay of active and earnest religion in this land, and edness when he was at home, yet when he was abroad, survey the height and the depth, the length and the he accounted it ane paradise; for the evils of Scotland breadth, of national defections, and how the love of he found everywhere, and the good of Scotland he found many is waxing lukewarm and cold; and I am strength-

475 The Heart of Mid-Lothian ened in this resolution to change my domicile likewise, says comes instead of the auld apprisings, and will not as I hear that store-farms are to be set at an easy mail lose weel-won gear with the like of him, if it may be in Northumberland, where there are many precious souls helped. As for the Queen, and the credit that she hath that are of our true though suffering persuasion. And done to a poor man’s daughter, and the mercy and the sic part of the kye or stock as I judge it fit to keep, may grace ye found with her, I can only pray for her weel- be driven thither without incommodity—say about being here and hereafter, for the establishment of her Wooler, or that gate, keeping aye a shouther to the house now and for ever, upon the throne of these king- hills,—and the rest may be sauld to gude profit and ad- doms. I doubt not but what you told her Majesty, that I vantage, if we had grace weel to use and guide these was the same David Deans of whom there was a sport gifts of the warld. The Laird has been a true friend on at the Revolution, when I noited thegither the heads of our unhappy occasions, and I have paid him back the twa false prophets, these ungracious Graces the prel- siller for Effie’s misfortune, whereof Mr. Nichil Novit ates, as they stood on the Hie Street, after being ex- returned him no balance, as the Laird and I did expect pelled from the Convention-parliament.* he wad hae done. But law licks up a’, as the common The Duke of Argyle is a noble and true-hearted noble- folk say. I have had the siller to borrow out of sax purses. man, who pleads the cause of the poor, and those who Mr. Saddletree advised to give the Laird of Lounsbeck a have none to help them; verily his reward shall not be charge on his hand for a thousand merks. But I hae nae lacking unto him.—I have, been writing of many things, broo’ of charges, since that awfu’ morning that a tout but not of that whilk lies nearest mine heart. I have of a horn, at the Cross of Edinburgh, blew half the seen the misguided thing, she will be at freedom the faithfu’ ministers of Scotland out of their pulpits. How- morn, on enacted caution that she shall leave Scotland ever, I sall raise an adjudication, whilk Mr. Saddletree * Note P. Expulsion of the Scotch Bishops. 476 Sir Walter Scott in four weeks. Her mind is in an evil frame,—casting minute particulars not necessary to be quoted. A single her eye backward on Egypt, I doubt, as if the bitter line in the letter, but not the least frequently read by waters of the wilderness were harder to endure than the the party to whom it was addressed, intimated, that brick furnaces, by the side of which there were savoury “Reuben Butler had been as a son to him in his sor- flesh-pots. I need not bid you make haste down, for you rows.” As David Deans scarce ever mentioned Butler are, excepting always my Great Master, my only com- before, without some gibe, more or less direct, either at fort in these straits. I charge you to withdraw your feet his carnal gifts and learning, or at his grandfather’s her- from the delusion of that Vanity-fair in whilk ye are a esy, Jeanie drew a good omen from no such qualifying sojourner, and not to go to their worship, whilk is an ill- clause being added to this sentence respecting him. mumbled mass, as it was weel termed by James the Sext, A lover’s hope resembles the bean in the nursery tale,— though he afterwards, with his unhappy son, strove to let it once take root, and it will grow so rapidly, that in bring it ower back and belly into his native kingdom, the course of a few hours the giant Imagination builds wherethrough their race have been cut off as foam upon a castle on the top, and by and by comes Disappoint- the water, and shall be as wanderers among the nations- ment with the “curtal axe,” and hews down both the see the prophecies of Hosea, ninth and seventeenth, and plant and the superstructure. Jeanie’s fancy, though not the same, tenth and seventh. But us and our house, let the most powerful of her faculties, was lively enough to us say with the same prophet, ‘Let us return to the Lord, transport her to a wild farm in Northumberland, well for he hath torn, and he will heal us—He hath smitten, stocked with milk-cows, yeald beasts, and sheep; a meet- and he will bind us up.’” ing-house, hard by, frequented by serious Presbyterians, He proceeded to say, that he approved of her proposed who had united in a harmonious call to Reuben Butler mode of returning by Glasgow, and entered into sundry to be their spiritual guide—Effie restored, not to gai-

477 The Heart of Mid-Lothian ety, but to cheerfulness at least—their father, with his grey hairs smoothed down, and spectacles on his nose— herself, with the maiden snood exchanged for a matron’s CHAPTER SIXTEENTH curch—all arranged in a pew in the said meeting-house, listening to words of devotion, rendered sweeter and more powerful by the affectionate ties which combined One was a female, who had grievous ill Wrought in revenge, and she enjoy’d it still; them with the preacher. She cherished such visions from Sullen she was, and threatening; in her eye day to day, until her residence in London began to be- Glared the stern triumph that she dared to die. come insupportable and tedious to her; and it was with no ordinary satisfaction that she received a summons Crabbe. from Argyle House, requiring her in two days to be prepared to join their northward party. THE SUMMONS of preparation arrived after Jeanie Deans had resided in the metropolis about three weeks. On the morning appointed she took a grateful farewell of Mrs. Glass, as that good woman’s attention to her particularly required, placed herself and her movable goods, which purchases and presents had greatly increased, in a hackney-coach, and joined her travelling companions in the housekeeper’s apartment at Argyle House. While the carriage was getting ready, she was informed that the

478 Sir Walter Scott Duke wished to speak with her; and being ushered into a “Well, hold your peace, you discontented monkeys, and splendid saloon, she was surprised to find that he wished go dress your babies; and as for the Bob of Dunblane, to present her to his lady and daughters. “I bring you my little countrywoman, Duchess,” these ‘If it wasna weel bobbit, weel bobbit, weel bobbit, were the words of the introduction. “With an army of If it wasna weel bobbit, we’ll bob it again.’” young fellows, as gallant and steady as she is, and, a good cause, I would not fear two to one.” “Papa’s wit is running low,” said Lady Mary: “the poor “Ah, papa!” said a lively young lady, about twelve years gentleman is repeating himself—he sang that on the field old, “remember you were full one to two at Sheriffmuir, of battle, when he was told the Highlanders had cut his and yet” (singing the well-known ballad)— left wing to pieces with their claymores.” A pull by the hair was the repartee to this sally. “Some say that we wan, and some say that they wan, “Ah! brave Highlanders and bright claymores,” said the And some say that nane wan at a’, man Duke, “well do I wish them, ‘for a’ the ill they’ve done me But of ae thing I’m sure, that on Sheriff-muir yet,’ as the song goes.—But come, madcaps, say a civil A battle there was that I saw, man.” word to your countrywoman—I wish ye had half her canny hamely sense; I think you may be as leal and true-hearted.” “What, little Mary turned Tory on my hands?—This The Duchess advanced, and, in a few words, in which will be fine news for our countrywoman to carry down there was as much kindness as civility, assured Jeanie to Scotland!” of the respect which she had for a character so affec- “We may all turn Tories for the thanks we have got for tionate, and yet so firm, and added, “When you get remaining Whigs,” said the second young lady. home, you will perhaps hear from me.”

479 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “And from me.” “And from me.” “And from me, “I thought your father would have had more sense,” Jeanie,” added the young ladies one after the other, “for said the Duke, “unless indeed he prefers brandy. But, you are a credit to the land we love so well.” however, Jeanie, if you will not drink, you must eat, to Jeanie, overpowered by these unexpected compli- save the character of my house.” ments, and not aware that the Duke’s investigation had He thrust upon her a large piece of cake, nor would he made him acquainted with her behaviour on her sister’s permit her to break off a fragment, and lay the rest on trial, could only answer by blushing, and courtesying a salver. round and round, and uttering at intervals, “Mony “Put it in your pouch, Jeanie,” said he; “you will be thanks! mony thanks!” glad of it before you see St. Giles’s steeple. I wish to “Jeanie,” said the Duke, “you must have doch an’ Heaven I were to see it as soon as you! and so my best dorroch, or you will be unable to travel.” service to all my friends at and about Auld Reekie, and There was a salver with cake and wine on the table. a blithe journey to you.” He took up a glass, drank “to all true hearts that lo’ed And, mixing the frankness of a soldier with his natu- Scotland,” and offered a glass to his guest. ral affability, he shook hands with his prote’ge’e, and Jeanie, however, declined it, saying, “that she had committed her to the charge of Archibald, satisfied that never tasted wine in her life.” he had provided sufficiently for her being attended to “How comes that, Jeanie?” said the Duke,— “wine by his domestics, from the unusual attention with which maketh glad the heart, you know.” he had himself treated her. “Ay, sir, but my father is like Jonadab the son of Accordingly, in the course of her journey, she found Rechab, who charged his children that they should drink both her companions disposed to pay her every possible no wine.” civility, so that her return, in point of comfort and safety,

480 Sir Walter Scott formed a strong contrast to her journey to London. cion,— “Jeanie Deans is no the lass to pu’ him by the Her heart also was disburdened of the weight of grief, sleeve, or put him in mind of what he wishes to forget. I shame, apprehension, and fear, which had loaded her shall wish him weel and happy a’ the same; and if he before her interview with the Queen at Richmond. But has the luck to get a kirk in our country, I sall gang and the human mind is so strangely capricious, that, when hear him just the very same, to show that I bear nae freed from the pressure of real misery, it becomes open malice.” And as she imagined the scene, the tear stole and sensitive to the apprehension of ideal calamities. over her eye. She was now much disturbed in mind, that she had heard In these melancholy reveries, Jeanie had full time to nothing from Reuben Butler, to whom the operation of indulge herself; for her travelling companions, servants writing was so much more familiar than it was to her- in a distinguished and fashionable family, had, of course, self. many topics of conversation, in which it was absolutely “It would have cost him sae little fash,” she said to impossible she could have either pleasure or portion. She herself; “for I hae seen his pen gan as fast ower the pa- had, therefore, abundant leisure for reflection, and even per, as ever it did ower the water when it was in the grey for self-tormenting, during the several days which, in- goose’s wing. Wae’s me! maybe he may be badly—but dulging the young horses the Duke was sending down then my father wad likely hae said somethin about it— to the North with sufficient ease and short stages, they Or maybe he may hae taen the rue, and kensna how to occupied in reaching the neighbourhood of Carlisle. let me wot of his change of mind. He needna be at In approaching the vicinity of that ancient city, they muckle fash about it,”—she went on, drawing herself discerned a considerable crowd upon an eminence at a up, though the tear of honest pride and injured affec- little distance from the high road, and learned from some tion gathered in her eye, as she entertained the suspi- passengers who were gathering towards that busy scene

481 The Heart of Mid-Lothian from the southward, that the cause of the concourse around, owing to the flatness of the country through was, the laudable public desire “to see a doomed Scotch which the Eden flows. Here many an outlaw, and bor- witch and thief get half of her due upo’ Haribeebroo’ der-rider of both kingdoms, had wavered in the wind yonder, for she was only to be hanged; she should hae during the wars, and scarce less hostile truces, between been boorned aloive, an’ cheap on’t.” the two countries. Upon Harabee, in latter days, other “Dear Mr. Archibald,” said the dame of the dairy elect, executions had taken place with as little ceremony as “I never seed a woman hanged in a’ my life, and only compassion; for these frontier provinces remained long four men, as made a goodly spectacle.” unsettled, and, even at the time of which we write, were Mr. Archibald, however, was a Scotchman, and prom- ruder than those in the centre of England. ised himself no exuberant pleasure in seeing his The postilions drove on, wheeling as the Penrith road countrywoman undergo “the terrible behests of law.” led them, round the verge of the rising ground. Yet still Moreover, he was a man of sense and delicacy in his way, the eyes of Mrs. Dolly Dutton, which, with the head and the late circumstances of Jeanie’s family, with the and substantial person to which they belonged, were all cause of her expedition to London, were not unknown to turned towards the scene of action, could discern plainly him; so that he answered drily, it was impossible to stop, the outline of the gallows-tree, relieved against the clear as he must be early at Carlisle on some business of the sky, the dark shade formed by the persons of the execu- Duke’s, and he accordingly bid the postilions get on. tioner and the criminal upon the light rounds of the tall The road at that time passed at about a quarter of a aerial ladder, until one of the objects, launched into the mile’s distance from the eminence, called Haribee or air, gave unequivocal signs of mortal agony, though ap- Harabee-brow, which, though it is very moderate in size pearing in the distance not larger than a spider depen- and height, is nevertheless seen from a great distance dent at the extremity of his invisible thread, while the

482 Sir Walter Scott remaining form descended from its elevated situation, ness of Jeanie’s countenance, he stopped the carriage, and regained with all speed an undistinguished place and jumping out himself, went in search of the most among the crowd. This termination of the tragic scene obvious and most easily procured of Mrs. Dutton’s phar- drew forth of course a squall from Mrs. Dutton, and macopoeia—a draught, namely, of fair water. Jeanie, with instinctive curiosity, turned her head in the While Archibald was absent on this good-natured piece same direction. of service, damning the ditches which produced noth- The sight of a female culprit in the act of undergoing ing but mud, and thinking upon the thousand bubbling the fatal punishment from which her beloved sister had springlets of his own mountains, the attendants on the been so recently rescued, was too much, not perhaps for execution began to pass the stationary vehicle in their her nerves, but for her mind and feelings. She turned way back to Carlisle. her head to the other side of the carriage, with a sensa- From their half-heard and half-understood words, tion of sickness, of loathing, and of fainting. Her fe- Jeanie, whose attention was involuntarily rivetted by male companion overwhelmed her with questions, with them, as that of children is by ghost stories, though they proffers of assistance, with requests that the carriage know the pain with which they will afterwards remem- might be stopped—that a doctor might be fetched— ber them, Jeanie, I say, could discern that the present that drops might be gotten—that burnt feathers and victim of the law had died game, as it is termed by those asafoetida, fair water, and hartshorn, might be procured, unfortunates; that is, sullen, reckless, and impenitent, all at once, and without one instant’s delay. Archibald, neither fearing God nor regarding man. more calm and considerate, only desired the carriage to “A sture woife, and a dour,” said one Cumbrian peas- push forward; and it was not till they had got beyond ant, as he clattered by in his wooden brogues, with a sight of the fatal spectacle, that, seeing the deadly pale- noise like the trampling of a dray-horse.

483 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “She has gone to ho master, with ho’s name in her how one witch will speak for t’other—Scots or English, mouth,” said another; “Shame the country should be the same to them.” harried wi’ Scotch witches and Scotch bitches this gate— His companion shook his head, and replied in the same but I say hang and drown.” subdued tone, “Ay, ay, when a Sark-foot wife gets on her “Ay, ay, Gaffer Tramp, take awa yealdon, take awa broomstick, the dames of Allonby are ready to mount, low—hang the witch, and there will be less scathe amang just as sure as the by-word gangs o’ the hills,— us; mine owsen hae been reckan this towmont.” “And mine bairns hae been crining too, mon,” replied If Skiddaw hath a cap, his neighbour. Criffel, wots full weel of that.” “Silence wi’ your fule tongues, ye churls,” said an old woman, who hobbled past them, as they stood talking “But,” continued Gager Tramp, “thinkest thou the near the carriage; “this was nae witch, but a bluidy- daughter o’ yon hangit body isna as rank a witch as fingered thief and murderess.” ho?” “Ay? was it e’en sae, Dame Hinchup?” said one in a “I kenna clearly,” returned the fellow, “but the folk civil tone, and stepping out of his place to let the old are speaking o’ swimming her i’ the Eden.” And they woman pass along the footpath— “Nay, you know best, passed on their several roads, after wishing each other sure—but at ony rate, we hae but tint a Scot of her, and good-morning. that’s a thing better lost than found.” Just as the clowns left the place, and as Mr. Archibald The old woman passed on without making any an- returned with some fair water, a crowd of boys and girls, swer. and some of the lower rabble of more mature age, came “Ay, ay, neighbour,” said Gaffer Tramp, “seest thou up from the place of execution, grouping themselves

484 Sir Walter Scott with many a yell of delight around a tall female fantas- ing to the carriage, and detaining around them her noisy tically dressed, who was dancing, leaping, and bound- and mischievous attendants, was all this while looking ing in the midst of them. A horrible recollection pressed out for a constable or beadle, to whom he might commit on Jeanie as she looked on this unfortunate creature; the unfortunate creature. But seeing no such person of and the reminiscence was mutual, for by a sudden exer- authority, he endeavoured to loosen her hold from the tion of great strength and agility, Madge Wildfire broke carriage, that they might escape from her by driving out of the noisy circle of tormentors who surrounded on. This, however, could hardly be achieved without her, and clinging fast to the door of the calash, uttered, some degree of violence; Madge held fast, and renewed in a sound betwixt laughter and screaming, “Eh, d’ye her frantic entreaties to be permitted to cut down her ken, Jeanie Deans, they hae hangit our mother?” Then mother. “It was but a tenpenny tow lost,” she said, “and suddenly changing her tone to that of the most piteous what was that to a woman’s life?” There came up, how- entreaty, she added, “O gar them let me gang to cut her ever, a parcel of savage-looking fellows, butchers and down!—let me but cut her down!—she is my mother, if graziers chiefly, among whose cattle there had been of she was waur than the deil, and she’ll be nae mair late a very general and fatal distemper, which their wis- kenspeckle than half-hangit Maggie Dickson,* that cried dom imputed to witchcraft. They laid violent hands on saut mony a day after she had been hangit; her voice Madge, and tore her from the carriage, exclaiming— was roupit and hoarse, and her neck was a wee agee, or ”What, doest stop folk o’ king’s high-way? Hast no done ye wad hae kend nae odds on her frae ony other saut- mischief enow already, wi’ thy murders and thy wife.” witcherings?” Mr. Archibald, embarrassed by the madwoman’s cling- “Oh, Jeanie Deans—Jeanie Deans!” exclaimed the poor maniac, “save my mother, and I will take ye to the * Note Q. Half-hanged Maggie Dickson. 485 The Heart of Mid-Lothian Interpreter’s house again,—and I will teach ye a’ my that deep and dire note, they could discern the screams bonny sangs,—and I will tell ye what came o’ the.” The of the unfortunate victim. They were soon out of hear- rest of her entreaties were drowned in the shouts of the ing of the cries, but had no sooner entered the streets of rabble. Carlisle, than Archibald, at Jeanie’s earnest and urgent “Save her, for God’s sake!—save her from those entreaty, went to a magistrate, to state the cruelty which people!” exclaimed Jeanie to Archibald. was likely to be exercised on this unhappy creature. “She is mad, but quite innocent; she is mad, gentle- In about an hour and a half he returned, and reported men,” said Archibald; “do not use her ill, take her be- to Jeanie, that the magistrate had very readily gone in fore the Mayor.” person, with some assistance, to the rescue of the un- “Ay, ay, we’se hae care enow on her,” answered one of fortunate woman, and that he had himself accompa- the fellows; “gang thou thy gate, man, and mind thine nied him; that when they came to the muddy pool, in own matters.” which the mob were ducking her, according to their “He’s a Scot by his tongue,” said another; “and an he favourite mode of punishment, the magistrate succeeded will come out o’ his whirligig there, I’se gie him his tar- in rescuing her from their hands, but in a state of insen- tan plaid fu’ o’ broken banes.” sibility, owing to the cruel treatment which she had re- It was clear nothing could be done to rescue Madge; ceived. He added, that he had seen her carried to the and Archibald, who was a man of humanity, could only workhouse, and understood that she had been brought bid the postilions hurry on to Carlisle, that he might to herself, and was expected to do well. obtain some assistance to the unfortunate woman. As This last averment was a slight alteration in point of they drove off, they heard the hoarse roar with which fact, for Madge Wildfire was not expected to survive the the mob preface acts of riot or cruelty, yet even above treatment she had received; but Jeanie seemed so much

486 Sir Walter Scott agitated, that Mr. Archibald did not think it prudent to matter of humanity, how she was attended to under her tell her the worst at once. Indeed, she appeared so flut- present misfortunes. That complaisant person immedi- tered and disordered by this alarming accident, that, ately went to the workhouse, or hospital, in which he although it had been their intention to proceed to had seen the sufferer lodged, and brought back for re- Longtown that evening, her companions judged it most ply, that the medical attendants positively forbade her advisable to pass the night at Carlisle. seeing any one. When the application for admittance This was particularly agreeable to Jeanie, who re- was repeated next day, Mr. Archibald was informed that solved, if possible, to procure an interview with Madge she had been very quiet and composed, insomuch that Wildfire. Connecting some of her wild flights with the the clergyman who acted as chaplain to the establish- narrative of George Staunton, she was unwilling to omit ment thought it expedient to read prayers beside her the opportunity of extracting from her, if possible, some bed, but that her wandering fit of mind had returned information concerning the fate of that unfortunate soon after his departure; however, her countrywoman infant which had cost her sister so dear. Her acquain- might see her if she chose it. She was not expected to tance with the disordered state of poor Madge’s mind live above an hour or two. did not permit her to cherish much hope that she could Jeanie had no sooner received this information than acquire from her any useful intelligence; but then, since she hastened to the hospital, her companions attending Madge’s mother had suffered her deserts, and was silent her. They found the dying person in a large ward, where for ever, it was her only chance of obtaining any kind of there were ten beds, of which the patient’s was the only information, and she was loath to lose the opportunity. one occupied. She coloured her wish to Mr. Archibald by saying that Madge was singing when they entered—singing her she had seen Madge formerly, and wished to know, as a own wild snatches of songs and obsolete airs, with a

487 The Heart of Mid-Lothian voice no longer overstrained by false spirits, but softened, saddened, and subdued by bodily exhaustion. She Jeanie advanced to the bedside when the strain was was still insane, but was no longer able to express her finished, and addressed Madge by her name. But it pro- wandering ideas in the wild notes of her former state of duced no symptoms of recollection. On the contrary, exalted imagination. There was death in the plaintive the patient, like one provoked by interruption, changed tones of her voice, which yet, in this moderated and her posture, and called out with an impatient tone, melancholy mood, had something of the lulling sound “Nurse—nurse, turn my face to the wa’, that I may with which a mother sings her infant asleep. As Jeanie never answer to that name ony mair, and never see mair entered she heard first the air, and then a part of the of a wicked world.” chorus and words, of what had been, perhaps, the song The attendant on the hospital arranged her in her bed of a jolly harvest-home. as she desired, with her face to the wall and her back to the light. So soon as she was quiet in this new position, “Our work is over—over now, she began again to sing in the same low and modulated The goodman wipes his weary brow, strains, as if she was recovering the state of abstraction The last long wain wends slow away, which the interruption of her visitants had disturbed. And we are free to sport and play. The strain, however, was different, and rather resembled the music of the Methodist hymns, though the measure “The night comes on when sets the sun, of the song was similar to that of the former: And labour ends when day is done. When Autumn’s gone and Winter’s come, “When the fight of grace is fought— We hold our jovial harvest-home.” When the marriage vest is wrought—

488 Sir Walter Scott When Faith hath chased cold Doubt away, ing in the last conflict. But the spirit of melody, which And Hope but sickens at delay— must originally have so strongly possessed this unfortunate young woman, seemed, at every interval of ease, “When Charity, imprisoned here, to triumph over her pain and weakness. And it was re- Longs for a more expanded sphere, markable that there could always be traced in her songs Doff thy robes of sin and clay; something appropriate, though perhaps only obliquely Christian, rise, and come away.” or collaterally so, to her present situation. Her next seemed the fragment of some old ballad: The strain was solemn and affecting, sustained as it was by the pathetic warble of a voice which had naturally “Cauld is my bed, Lord Archibald, been a fine one, and which weakness, if it diminished its And sad my sleep of sorrow; power, had improved in softness. Archibald, though a But thine sall be as sad and cauld, follower of the court, and a pococurante by profession, My fause true-love! to-morrow. was confused, if not affected; the dairy-maid blubbered; and Jeanie felt the tears rise spontaneously to her eyes. “And weep ye not, my maidens free, Even the nurse, accustomed to all modes in which the Though death your mistress borrow; spirit can pass, seemed considerably moved. For he for whom I die to-day The patient was evidently growing weaker, as was in- Shall die for me to-morrow.” timated by an apparent difficulty of breathing, which seized her from time to time, and by the utterance of Again she changed the tune to one wilder, less monoto- low listless moans, intimating that nature was succumb- nous, and less regular. But of the words, only a frag-

489 The Heart of Mid-Lothian ment or two could be collected by those who listened to this singular scene: Her voice died away with the last notes, and she fell into a slumber, from which the experienced attendant “Proud Maisie is in the wood, assured them that she never would awake at all, or only Walking so early; in the death agony. Sweet Robin sits on the bush, The nurse’s prophecy proved true. The poor maniac Singing so rarely. parted with existence, without again uttering a sound of any kind. But our travellers did not witness this ca- “‘Tell me, thou bonny bird. tastrophe. They left the hospital as soon as Jeanie had When shall I marry me?’ satisfied herself that no elucidation of her sister’s mis- ‘When six braw gentlemen fortunes was to be hoped from the dying person.* Kirkward shall carry ye.’

“‘Who makes the bridal bed, Birdie, say truly?’— ‘The grey-headed sexton, That delves the grave duly.

“The glow-worm o’er grave and stone Shall light thee steady; The owl from the steeple sing, ‘Welcome, proud lady.’” * Note R. Madge Wildfire. 490 Sir Walter Scott before, pounded for six months in the mortar of old Mungo Mangleman, the surgeon at Greenock), he was CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH obstinate whenever a matter of health was in question. In this case he discovered febrile symptoms, and having once made a happy application of that learned Wilt thou go on with me? phrase to Jeanie’s case, all farther resistance became in The moon is bright, the sea is calm, And I know well the ocean paths … vain; and she was glad to acquiesce, and even to go to Thou wilt go on with me! bed, and drink water-gruel, in order that she might possess her soul in quiet and without interruption. Thalaba. Mr. Archibald was equally attentive in another particular. He observed that the execution of the old woman, and the miserable fate of her daughter, seemed THE FATIGUE AND AGITATION of these various scenes had to have had a more powerful effect upon Jeanie’s mind, agitated Jeanie so much, notwithstanding her robust than the usual feelings of humanity might naturally strength of constitution, that Archibald judged it nec- have been expected to occasion. Yet she was obviously a essary that she should have a day’s repose at the village strong-minded, sensible young woman, and in no respect of Longtown. It was in vain that Jeanie protested subject to nervous affections; and therefore Archibald, against any delay. The Duke of Argyle’s man of confi- being ignorant of any special connection between his dence was of course consequential; and as he had been master’s prote’ge’e and these unfortunate persons, ex- bred to the medical profession in his youth (at least he cepting that she had seen Madge formerly in Scotland, used this expression to describe his having, thirty years naturally imputed the strong impression these events

491 The Heart of Mid-Lothian had made upon her, to her associating them with the with the profit of such a wholesale transaction, instantly unhappy circumstances in which her sister had so lately returned to Carlisle to supply himself with more. stood. He became anxious, therefore, to prevent any- The considerate Mr. Archibald was about to commit thing occurring which might recall these associations to his whole purchase to the flames, but it was rescued by Jeanie’s mind. the yet more considerate dairy-damsel, who said, very Archibald had speedily an opportunity of exercising prudently, it was a pity to waste so much paper, which this precaution. A pedlar brought to Longtown that might crepe hair, pin up bonnets, and serve many other evening, amongst other wares, a large broad-side sheet, useful purposes; and who promised to put the parcel into giving an account of the “Last Speech and Execution her own trunk, and keep it carefully out of the sight of of Margaret Murdockson, and of the barbarous Murder Mrs. Jeanie Deans: “Though, by-the-bye, she had no of her Daughter, Magdalene or Madge Murdockson, great notion of folk being so very nice. Mrs. Deans might called Madge Wildfire; and of her pious conversation have had enough to think about the gallows all this time with his Reverence Archdeacon Fleming;” which authen- to endure a sight of it, without all this to-do about it.” tic publication had apparently taken place on the day Archibald reminded the dame of the dairy of the they left Carlisle, and being an article of a nature pecu- Duke’s particular charge, that they should be attentive liarly acceptable to such country-folk as were within and civil to Jeanie as also that they were to part com- hearing of the transaction, the itinerant bibliopolist had pany soon, and consequently would not be doomed to forthwith added them to his stock in trade. He found a observing any one’s health or temper during the rest of merchant sooner than he expected; for Archibald, much the journey. With which answer Mrs. Dolly Dutton was applauding his own prudence, purchased the whole lot obliged to hold herself satisfied. On the morning they for two shillings and ninepence; and the pedlar, delighted resumed their journey, and prosecuted it successfully,

492 Sir Walter Scott travelling through Dumfriesshire and part of her sister behoved to be very anxious to see her—there Lanarkshire, until they arrived at the small town of were other friends she had that werena weel in health. Rutherglen, within about four miles of Glasgow. Here She was willing to pay for man and horse at Glasgow, an express brought letters to Archibald from the princi- and surely naebody wad meddle wi’ sae harmless and pal agent of the Duke of Argyle in Edinburgh. feckless a creature as she was.—She was muckle obliged He said nothing of their contents that evening; but by the offer; but never hunted deer langed for its rest- when they were seated in the carriage the next day, the ing-place as I do to find myself at Saint Leonard’s.” faithful squire informed Jeanie, that he had received di- The groom of the chambers exchanged a look with rections from the Duke’s factor, to whom his Grace had his female companion, which seemed so full of mean- recommended him to carry her, if she had no objection, ing, that Jeanie screamed aloud— “O Mr. Archibald— for a stage or two beyond Glasgow. Some temporary Mrs. Dutton, if ye ken of onything that has happened causes of discontent had occasioned tumults in that city at Saint Leonard’s, for God’s sake—for pity’s sake, tell and the neighbourhood, which would render it unadvis- me, and dinna keep me in suspense!” able for Mrs. Jeanie Deans to travel alone and unpro- “I really know nothing, Mrs. Deans,” said the groom tected betwixt that city and Edinburgh; whereas, by of the chambers. going forward a little farther, they would meet one of “And I—I—I am sure, I knows as little,” said the dame his Grace’s subfactors, who was coming down from the of the dairy, while some communication seemed to tremble Highlands to Edinburgh with his wife, and under whose on her lips, which, at a glance of Archibald’s eye, she ap- charge she might journey with comfort and in safety. peared to swallow down, and compressed her lips thereaf- Jeanie remonstrated against this arrangement. “She ter into a state of extreme and vigilant firmness, as if she had been lang,” she said, “frae hame—her father and had been afraid of its bolting out before she was aware.

493 The Heart of Mid-Lothian Jeanie saw there was to be something concealed from ing views down the side of that noble stream, till, ceas- her, and it was only the repeated assurances of Archibald ing to hold its inland character, it began to assume that that her father—her sister—all her friends were, as far of a navigable river. as he knew, well and happy, that at all pacified her alarm. “You are not for gaun intill Glasgow then?” said Jeanie, From such respectable people as those with whom she as she observed that the drivers made no motion for in- travelled she could apprehend no harm, and yet her dis- clining their horses’ heads towards the ancient bridge, tress was so obvious, that Archibald, as a last resource, which was then the only mode of access to St. Mungo’s pulled out, and put into her hand, a slip of paper, on capital. which these words were written:— “No,” replied Archibald; “there is some popular com- “Jeanie Deans—You will do me a favour by going with motion, and as our Duke is in opposition to the court, Archibald and my female domestic a day’s journey be- perhaps we might be too well received; or they might yond Glasgow, and asking them no questions, which will take it in their heads to remember that the Captain of greatly oblige your friend, ‘Argyle & Greenwich.’” Carrick came down upon them with his Highlandmen Although this laconic epistle, from a nobleman to in the time of Shawfield’s mob in 1725, and then we whom she was bound by such inestimable obligations, would be too ill received.* And, at any rate, it is best for silenced all Jeanie’s objections to the proposed route, it rather added to than diminished the eagerness of her * In 1725, there was a great riot in Glasgow on account of the malt-tax. Among the troops brought in to restore order, curiosity. The proceeding to Glasgow seemed now no was one of the independent companies of Highlanders lev- longer to be an object with her fellow-travellers. On the ied in Argyleshire, and distinguished, in a lampoon of the contrary, they kept the left-hand side of the river Clyde, period, as “Campbell of Carrick and his Highland thieves.” It was called Shawfield’s Mob, because much of the popular and travelled through a thousand beautiful and chang- violence was directed against Daniel Campbell, Esq. of Shawfield, M. P., Provost of the town. 494 Sir Walter Scott us, and for me in particular, who may be supposed to possess his Grace’s mind upon many particulars, to leave “Which way lies Inverary?” said Jeanie, gazing on the the good people of the Gorbals to act according to their dusky ocean of Highland hills, which now, piled above own imaginations, without either provoking or encour- each other, and intersected by many a lake, stretched aging them by my presence.” away on the opposite side of the river to the northward. To reasoning of such tone and consequence Jeanie had “Is yon high castle the Duke’s hoose?” nothing to reply, although it seemed to her to contain “That, Mrs. Deans?—Lud help thee,” replied fully as much self-importance as truth. Archibald, “that’s the old castle of Dumbarton, the The carriage meantime rolled on; the river expanded strongest place in Europe, be the other what it may. Sir itself, and gradually assumed the dignity of an estuary William Wallace was governor of it in the old war with or arm of the sea. The influence of the advancing and the English, and his Grace is governor just now. It is retiring tides became more and more evident, and in the always entrusted to the best man in Scotland.” beautiful words of him of the laurel wreath, the river “And does the Duke live on that high rock, then?” de- waxed— manded Jeanie. “No, no, he has his deputy-governor, who commands A broader and yet broader stream. in his absence; he lives in the white house you see at the The cormorant stands upon its shoals, bottom of the rock—His Grace does not reside there His black and dripping wings himself.” Half open’d to the wind. “I think not, indeed,” said the dairy-woman, upon whose mind the road, since they had left Dumfries, had made no [From Southey’s Thalaba, Book xi. stanza 36.] very favourable impression, “for if he did, he might go

495 The Heart of Mid-Lothian whistle for a dairy-woman, an he were the only duke in “Mr. Archibald,” said Mrs. Dutton, “I will not con- England. I did not leave my place and my friends to come sent to it; I was never engaed to leave the country, and I down to see cows starve to death upon hills as they be at desire you will bid the boys drive round the other way that pig-stye of Elfinfoot, as you call it, Mr. Archibald, or to the Duke’s house.” to be perched upon the top of a rock, like a squirrel in his “There is a safe pinnace belonging to his Grace, ma’am, cage, hung out of a three pair of stairs’ window.” close by,” replied Archibald, “and you need be under no Inwardly chuckling that these symptoms of apprehensions whatsoever.” recalcitration had not taken place until the fair malcon- “But I am under apprehensions,” said the damsel; tent was, as he mentally termed it, under his thumb, “and I insist upon going round by land, Mr. Archibald, Archibald coolly replied, “That the hills were none of were it ten miles about.” his making, nor did he know how to mend them; but as “I am sorry I cannot oblige you, madam, as Roseneath to lodging, they would soon be in a house of the Duke’s happens to be an island.” in a very pleasant island called Roseneath, where they “If it were ten islands,” said the incensed dame, “that’s went to wait for shipping to take them to Inverary, and no reason why I should be drowned in going over the would meet the company with whom Jeanie was to re- seas to it.” turn to Edinburgh.” “No reason why you should be drowned certainly, “An island?” said Jeanie, who, in the course of her ma’am,” answered the unmoved groom of the cham- various and adventurous travels, had never quitted terra bers, “but an admirable good one why you cannot pro- firma, “then I am doubting we maun gang in ane of ceed to it by land.” And, fixed his master’s mandates to these boats; they look unco sma’, and the waves are perform, he pointed with his hand, and the drivers, turn- something rough, and” ing off the high-road, proceeded towards a small ham-

496 Sir Walter Scott let of fishing huts, where a shallop, somewhat more gaily low!” (this was addressed to a Highlander who was lift- decorated than any which they had yet seen, having a ing a travelling trunk), “that trunk is mine, and that flag which displayed a boar’s head, crested with a ducal there band-box, and that pillion mail, and those seven coronet, waited with two or three seamen, and as many bundles, and the paper-bag; and if you venture to touch Highlanders. one of them, it shall be at your peril.” The carriage stopped, and the men began to unyoke The Celt kept his eye fixed on the speaker, then turned their horses, while Mr. Archibald gravely superintended his head towards Archibald, and receiving no the removal of the baggage from the carriage to the little countervailing signal, he shouldered the portmanteau, vessel. “Has the Caroline been long arrived?” said and without farther notice of the distressed damsel, or Archibald to one of the seamen. paying any attention to remonstrances, which probably “She has been here in five days from Liverpool, and he did not understand, and would certainly have equally she’s lying down at Greenock,” answered the fellow. disregarded whether he understood them or not, moved “Let the horses and carriage go down to Greenock off with Mrs. Dutton’s wearables, and deposited the then,” said Archibald, “and be embarked there for trunk containing them safely in the boat. Inverary when I send notice—they may stand in my The baggage being stowed in safety, Mr. Archibald cousin’s, Duncan Archibald the stabler’s.—Ladies,” he handed Jeanie out of the carriage, and, not without some added, “I hope you will get yourselves ready; we must tremor on her part, she was transported through the not lose the tide.” surf and placed in the boat. He then offered the same “Mrs. Deans,” said the Cowslip of Inverary, “you may civility to his fellow-servant, but she was resolute in her do as you please—but I will sit here all night, rather refusal to quit the carriage, in which she now remained than go into that there painted egg-shell.—Fellow—fel- in solitary state, threatening all concerned or uncon-

497 The Heart of Mid-Lothian cerned with actions for wages and board-wages, dam- and began to pull from the shore, then spread their sail, ages and expenses, and numbering on her fingers the and drove merrily across the firth. gowns and other habiliments, from which she seemed in “You Scotch villain!” said the infuriated damsel to the act of being separated for ever. Mr. Archibald did Archibald, “how dare you use a person like me in this way?” not give himself the trouble of making many remon- “Madam,” said Archibald, with infinite composure, strances, which, indeed, seemed only to aggravate the “it’s high time you should know you are in the Duke’s damsel’s indignation, but spoke two or three words to country, and that there is not one of these fellows but the Highlanders in Gaelic; and the wily mountaineers, would throw you out of the boat as readily as into it, if approaching the carriage cautiously, and without giv- such were his Grace’s pleasure.” ing the slightest intimation of their intention, at once “Then the Lord have mercy on me!” said Mrs. Dutton. seized the recusant so effectually fast that she could “If I had had any on myself, I would never have en- neither resist nor struggle, and hoisting her on their gaged with you.” shoulders in nearly a horizontal posture, rushed down “It’s something of the latest to think of that now, Mrs. with her to the beach, and through the surf, and with Dutton,” said Archibald; “but I assure you, you will find no other inconvenience than ruffling her garments a the Highlands have their pleasures. You will have a dozen little, deposited her in the boat; but in a state of sur- of cow-milkers under your own authority at Inverary, prise, mortification, and terror, at her sudden transpor- and you may throw any of them into the lake, if you tation, which rendered her absolutely mute for two or have a mind, for the Duke’s head people are almost as three minutes. The men jumped in themselves; one tall great as himself.” fellow remained till he had pushed off the boat, and then “This is a strange business, to be sure, Mr. Archibald,” tumbled in upon his companions. They took their oars said the lady; “but I suppose I must make the best

498 Sir Walter Scott on’t.—Are you sure the boat will not sink? it leans terri- “Well,” said Mrs. Dutton, “it is a beautiful thing to bly to one side, in my poor mind.” have learned to write and read, for one can always say “Fear nothing,” said Mr. Archibald, taking a most im- such fine words whatever should befall them.” portant pinch of snuff; “this same ferry on Clyde knows Archibald, rejoicing in the impression which his vig- us very well, or we know it, which is all the same; no orous measures had made upon the intractable dairy- fear of any of our people meeting with any accident. maid, now applied himself, as a sensible and good-na- We should have crossed from the opposite shore, but for tured man, to secure by fair means the ascendency which the disturbances at Glasgow, which made it improper he had obtained by some wholesome violence; and he for his Grace’s people to pass through the city.” succeeded so well in representing to her the idle nature “Are you not afeard, Mrs. Deans,” said the dairy-ves- of her fears, and the impossibility of leaving her upon tal, addressing Jeanie, who sat, not in the most com- the beach enthroned in an empty carriage, that the good fortable state of mind, by the side of Archibald, who understanding of the party was completely revived ere himself managed the helm.— “are you not afeard of they landed at Roseneath. these wild men with their naked knees, and of this nut- shell of a thing, that seems bobbing up and down like a skimming-dish in a milk-pail?” “No—no—madam,” answered Jeanie with some hesitation, “I am not feared; for I hae seen Hielandmen before, though never was sae near them; and for the danger of the deep waters, I trust there is a Providence by sea as well as by land.”

499 The Heart of Mid-Lothian bar which is drawn along the mouth of the firth, leaving large intervals, however, of ocean. Roseneath, a CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH smaller isle, lies much higher up the firth, and towards its western shore, near the opening of the lake called the Gare Loch, and not far from Loch Long and Loch Did Fortune guide, Scant, or the Holy Loch, which wind from the moun- Or rather Destiny, our bark, to which We could appoint no port, to this best place? tains of the Western Highlands to join the estuary of the Clyde. Fletcher. In these isles the severe frost winds which tyrannise over the vegetable creation during a Scottish spring, are comparatively little felt; nor, excepting the gigantic

THE ISLANDS in the Firth of Clyde, which the daily pas- strength of Arran, are they much exposed to the Atlan- sage of so many smoke-pennoned steamboats now ren- tic storms, lying landlocked and protected to the west- ders so easily accessible, were in our fathers’ times se- ward by the shores of Ayrshire. Accordingly, the weep- cluded spots, frequented by no travellers, and few visi- ing-willow, the weeping-birch, and other trees of early tants of any kind. They are of exquisite, yet varied and pendulous shoots, flourish in these favoured recesses beauty. Arran, a mountainous region, or Alpine island, in a degree unknown in our eastern districts; and the air abounds with the grandest and most romantic scenery. is also said to possess that mildness which is favourable Bute is of a softer and more woodland character. The to consumptive cases. Cumbrays, as if to exhibit a contrast to both, are green, The picturesque beauty of the island of Roseneath, level, and bare, forming the links of a sort of natural in particular, had such recommendations, that the Earls

500 Sir Walter Scott and Dukes of Argyle, from an early period, made it their Sunday’s coat, with broad metal buttons, and waistcoat occasional residence, and had their temporary accom- and breeches of the same, his strong gramashes or leg- modation in a fishing or hunting-lodge, which succeed- gins of thick grey cloth—the very copper buckles—the ing improvements have since transformed into a palace. broad Lowland blue bonnet, thrown back as he lifted It was in its original simplicity when the little bark which his eyes to Heaven in speechless gratitude—the grey we left traversing the firth at the end of last CHAP- locks that straggled from beneath it down his weather- TER approached the shores of the isle. beaten “haffets”—the bald and furrowed forehead—the When they touched the landing-place, which was clear blue eye, that, undimmed by years, gleamed bright partly shrouded by some old low but wide-spreading oak- and pale from under its shaggy grey pent-house—the trees, intermixed with hazel-bushes, two or three fig- features, usually so stern and stoical, now melted into ures were seen as if awaiting their arrival. To these Jeanie the unwonted expression of rapturous joy, affection, and paid little attention, so that it was with a shock of sur- gratitude—were all those of David Deans; and so hap- prise almost electrical, that, upon being carried by the pily did they assort together, that, should I ever again rowers out of the boat to the shore, she was received in see my friends Wilkie or Allan, I will try to borrow or the arms of her father! steal from them a sketch of this very scene. It was too wonderful to be believed—too much like a “Jeanie—my ain Jeanie—my best—my maist dutiful happy dream to have the stable feeling of reality—She bairn—the Lord of Israel be thy father, for I am hardly extricated herself from his close and affectionate em- worthy of thee! Thou hast redeemed our captivity—brought brace, and held him at arm’s length, to satisfy her mind back the honour of our house—Bless thee, my bairn, with that it was no illusion. But the form was indisputable— mercies promised and purchased! But He has blessed thee, Douce David Deans himself, in his best light-blue in the good of which He has made thee the instrument.”

501 The Heart of Mid-Lothian These words broke from him not without tears, though “Thank God—but O, dear father, Effie?—Effie?” David was of no melting mood. Archibald had, with “You will never see her mair, my bairn,” answered delicate attention, withdrawn the spectators from the Deans in a solemn tone— “You are the ae and only leaf interview, so that the wood and setting sun alone were left now on the auld tree—hale be your portion!” witnesses of the expansion of their feelings. “She is dead!—She is slain!—It has come ower late!” “And Effie?—and Effie, dear father?” was an eager exclaimed Jeanie, wringing her hands. interjectional question which Jeanie repeatedly threw “No, Jeanie,” returned Deans, in the same grave mel- in among her expressions of joyful thankfulness. ancholy tone. “She lives in the flesh, and is at freedom “Ye will hear—Ye will hear,” said David hastily, and from earthly restraint, if she were as much alive in faith, over and anon renewed his grateful acknowledgments and as free from the bonds of Satan.” to Heaven for sending Jeanie safe down from the land “The Lord protect us!” said Jeanie.— “Can the un- of prelatic deadness and schismatic heresy; and had de- happy bairn hae left you for that villain?” livered her from the dangers of the way, and the lions “It is ower truly spoken,” said Deans—”She has left that were in the path. her auld father, that has wept and prayed for her—She “And Effie?” repeated her affectionate sister again and has left her sister, that travailed and toiled for her like a again. “And—and” (fain would she have said Butler, but mother—She has left the bones of her mother, and the she modified the direct inquiry)— “and Mr. and Mrs. land of her people, and she is ower the march wi’ that Saddletree—and Dumbiedikes—and a’ friends?” son of Belial—She has made a moonlight flitting of it.” “A’ weel—a’ weel, praise to His name!” He paused, for a feeling betwixt sorrow and strong re- “And—Mr. Butler—he wasna weel when I gaed awa?” sentment choked his utterance. “He is quite mended—quite weel,” replied her father. “And wi’ that man?—that fearfu’ man?” said Jeanie.

502 Sir Walter Scott “And she has left us to gang aff wi’ him?—O Effie, Effie, There was a melancholy pause which followed these wha could hae thought it, after sic a deliverance as you expressions. Jeanie would fain have asked more circum- had been gifted wi’!” stances relating to her sister’s departure, but the tone “She went out from us, my bairn, because she was not of her father’s prohibition was positive. She was about of us,” replied David. “She is a withered branch will to mention her interview with Staunton at his father’s never bear fruit of grace—a scapegoat gone forth into rectory; but, on hastily running over the particulars in the wilderness of the world, to carry wi’ her, as I trust, her memory, she thought that, on the whole, they were the sins of our little congregation. The peace of the warld more likely to aggravate than diminish his distress of gang wi’ her, and a better peace when she has the grace mind. She turned, therefore, the discourse from this to turn to it! If she is of His elected, His ain hour will painful subject, resolving to suspend farther inquiry come. What would her mother have said, that famous until she should see Butler, from whom she expected to and memorable matron, Rebecca MacNaught, whose learn the particulars of her sister’s elopement. memory is like a flower of sweet savour in Newbattle, But when was she to see Butler? was a question she and a pot of frankincense in Lugton? But be it sae—let could not forbear asking herself, especially while her fa- her part—let her gang her gate—let her bite on her ain ther, as if eager to escape from the subject of his young- bridle—The Lord kens his time—She was the bairn of est daughter, pointed to the opposite shore of prayers, and may not prove an utter castaway. But never, Dumbartonshire, and asking Jeanie “if it werena a pleas- Jeanie, never more let her name be spoken between you ant abode?” declared to her his intention of removing and me—She hath passed from us like the brook which his earthly tabernacle to that country, “in respect he vanisheth when the summer waxeth warm, as patient was solicited by his Grace the Duke of Argyle, as one Job saith—let her pass, and be forgotten.” well skilled in country labour, and a’ that appertained

503 The Heart of Mid-Lothian to flocks and herds, to superintend a store-farm, whilk them to be driven before the other beasts, that men his Grace had taen into his ain hand for the improve- might say, as when the son of Jesse returned from ment of stock.” battle, ‘This is David’s spoil.’” Jeanie’s heart sunk within her at this declaration. “She Upon more particular inquiry, Jeanie found new oc- allowed it was a goodly and pleasant land, and sloped casion to admire the active beneficence of her friend the bonnily to the western sun; and she doubtedna that the Duke of Argyle. While establishing a sort of experimen- pasture might be very gude, for the grass looked green, tal farm on the skirts of his immense Highland estates, for as drouthy as the weather had been. But it was far he had been somewhat at a loss to find a proper person frae hame, and she thought she wad be often thinking in whom to vest the charge of it. The conversation his on the bonny spots of turf, sae fu’ of gowans and yellow Grace had upon country matters with Jeanie Deans king-cups, amang the Crags at St. Leonard’s.” during their return from Richmond, had impressed him “Dinna speak on’t, Jeanie,” said her father; “I wish with a belief that the father, whose experience and suc- never to hear it named mair—that is, after the rouping cess she so frequently quoted, must be exactly the sort is ower, and the bills paid. But I brought a’ the beasts of person whom he wanted. When the condition annexed owerby that I thought ye wad like best. There is to Effie’s pardon rendered it highly probable that David Gowans, and there’s your ain brockit cow, and the wee Deans would choose to change his place of residence, hawkit ane, that ye ca’d—I needna tell ye how ye ca’d this idea again occurred to the Duke more strongly, and it—but I couldna bid them sell the petted creature, as he was an enthusiast equally in agriculture and in though the sight o’ it may sometimes gie us a sair benevolence, he imagined he was serving the purposes heart—it’s no the poor dumb creature’s fault—And of both, when he wrote to the gentleman in Edinburgh ane or twa beasts mair I hae reserved, and I caused entrusted with his affairs, to inquire into the character

504 Sir Walter Scott of David Deans, cowfeeder, and so forth, at St. Leonard’s of “her’ship”* from the neighbouring mountains, in- Crags; and if he found him such as he had been repre- deed, but the awful name of the Duke of Argyle would sented, to engage him without delay, and on the most be a great security, and a trifle of black-mail would, liberal terms, to superintend his fancy-farm in David was aware, assure his safety. Dumbartonshire. Still however, there were two points on which he The proposal was made to old David by the gentle- haggled. The first was the character of the clergyman man so commissioned, on the second day after his with whose worship he was to join; and on this delicate daughter’s pardon had reached Edinburgh. His resolu- point he received, as we will presently show the reader, tion to leave St. Leonard’s had been already formed; the perfect satisfaction. The next obstacle was the condi- honour of an express invitation from the Duke of Ar- tion of his youngest daughter, obliged as she was to leave gyle to superintend a department where so much skill Scotland for so many years. and diligence was required, was in itself extremely flat- The gentleman of the law smiled, and said, “There tering; and the more so, because honest David, who was was no occasion to interpret that clause very strictly— not without an exeellent opinion of his own talents, that if the young woman left Scotland for a few months, persuaded himself that, by accepting this charge, he or even weeks, and came to her father’s new residence would in some sort repay the great favour he had re- by sea from the western side of England, nobody would ceived at the hands of the Argyle family. The appoint- know of her arrival, or at least nobody who had either ments, including the right of sufficient grazing for a the right or inclination to give her disturbance. The ex- small stock of his own, were amply liberal; and David’s keen eye saw that the situation was convenient for traf- * Her’ship, a Scottish word which may be said to be now obsolete; because, fortunately, the practice of “plundering ficking to advantage in Highland cattle. There was risk by armed force,” which is its meaning, does not require to be commonly spoken of. 505 The Heart of Mid-Lothian tensive heritable jurisdictions of his Grace excluded the towards the Lodge, which showed itself among the trees, interference of other magistrates with those living on at about half-a-mile’s distance from the little bay in his estates, and they who were in immediate dependence which they had landed. As they approached the house, on him would receive orders to give the young woman David Deans informed his daughter, with somewhat like no disturbance. Living on the verge of the Highlands, a grim smile, which was the utmost advance he ever she might, indeed, be said to be out of Scotland, that is, made towards a mirthful expression of visage, that beyond the bounds of ordinary law and civilisation.” “there was baith a worshipful gentleman, and ane rev- Old Deans was not quite satisfied with this reasoning; erend gentleman, residing therein. The worshipful but the elopement of Effie, which took place on the third gentleman was his honour the Laird of Knocktarlitie, night after her liberation, rendered his residence at St. who was bailie of the lordship under the Duke of Ar- Leonard’s so detestable to him, that he closed at once gyle, ane Highland gentleman, tarr’d wi’ the same stick,” with the proposal which had been made him, and en- David doubted, “as mony of them, namely, a hasty and tered with pleasure into the idea of surprising Jeanie, choleric temper, and a neglect of the higher things that as had been proposed by the Duke, to render the change belong to salvation, and also a gripping unto the things of residence more striking to her. The Duke had apprised of this world, without muckle distinction of property; Archibald of these circumstances, with orders to act but, however, ane gude hospitable gentleman, with according to the instructions he should receive from whom it would be a part of wisdom to live on a gude Edinburgh, and by which accordingly he was directed understanding (for Hielandmen were hasty, ower hasty). to bring Jeanie to Roseneath. As for the reverend person of whom he had spoken, he The father and daughter communicated these mat- was candidate by favour of the Duke of Argyle (for ters to each other, now stopping, now walking slowly David would not for the universe have called him pre-

506 Sir Walter Scott sentee) for the kirk of the parish in which their farm was situated, and he was likely to be highly acceptable unto the Christian souls of the parish, who were hun- CHAPTER NINETEENTH gering for spiritual manna, having been fed but upon sour Hieland sowens by Mr. Duncan MacDonought, the last minister, who began the morning duly, Sunday and No more shalt thou behold thy sister’s face; Thou hast already had her last embrace. Saturday, with a mutchkin of usquebaugh. But I need say the less about the present lad,” said David, again Elegy on Mrs. Anne Killigrew. grimly grimacing, “as I think ye may hae seen him afore; and here he is come to meet us.” She had indeed seen him before, for it was no other THIS SECOND SURPRISE had been accomplished for Jeanie than Reuben Butler himself. Deans by the rod of the same benevolent enchanter, whose power had transplanted her father from the Crags of St. Leonard’s to the banks of the Gare Loch. The Duke of Argyle was not a person to forget the hereditary debt of gratitude, which had been bequeathed to him by his grandfather, in favour of the grandson of old Bible Butler. He had internally resolved to provide for Reuben Butler in this kirk of Knocktarlitie, of which the incumbent had just departed this life. Accordingly, his agent received the necessary instructions for that

507 The Heart of Mid-Lothian purpose, under the qualifying condition always, that the irritability with which David had sometimes regarded learning and character of Mr. Butler should be found him. And, while he was in this good disposition towards proper for the charge. Upon inquiry, these were found Butler, another incident took place which had great in- as highly satisfactory as had been reported in the case fluence on the old man’s mind. So soon as the shock of of David Deans himself. Effie’s second elopement was over, it was Deans’s early By this preferment, the Duke of Argyle more essen- care to collect and refund to the Laird of Dumbiedikes tially benefited his friend and protegee, Jeanie, than he the money which he had lent for Effie’s trial, and for himself was aware of, since he contributed to remove Jeanie’s travelling expenses. The Laird, the pony, the objections in her father’s mind to the match, which he cocked hat, and the tabacco-pipe, had not been seen at had no idea had been in existence. St. Leonard’s Crags for many a day; so that, in order to We have already noticed that Deans had something pay this debt, David was under the necessity of repair- of a prejudice against Butler, which was, perhaps, in ing in person to the mansion of Dumbiedikes. some degree owing to his possessing a sort of conscious- He found it in a state of unexpected bustle. There were ness that the poor usher looked with eyes of affection workmen pulling down some of the old hangings, and upon his eldest daughter. This, in David’s eyes, was a replacing them with others, altering, repairing, scrub- sin of presumption, even although it should not be fol- bing, painting, and white-washing. There was no know- lowed by any overt act, or actual proposal. But the lively ing the old house, which had been so long the mansion interest which Butler had displayed in his distresses, of sloth and silence. The Laird himself seemed in some since Jeanie set forth on her London expedition, and confusion, and his reception, though kind, lacked some- which, therefore, he ascribed to personal respect for him- thing of the reverential cordiality, with which he used self individually, had greatly softened the feelings of to greet David Deans. There was a change also, David

508 Sir Walter Scott did not very well know of what nature, about the exte- “And did she say nae mair about me?” asked the Laird. rior of this landed proprietor—an improvement in the “Nae mair but kind and Christian wishes—what suld shape of his garments, a spruceness in the air with which she hae said?” replied David, fully expecting that the they were put on, that were both novelties. Even the Laird’s long courtship (if his dangling after Jeanie de- old hat looked smarter; the cock had been newly pointed, serves so active a name) was now coming to a point. the lace had been refreshed, and instead of slouching And so indeed it was, but not to that point which he backward or forward on the Laird’s head, as it happened wished or expected. to be thrown on, it was adjusted with a knowing incli- “Aweel, she kens her ain mind best, gudeman. I hae nation over one eye. made a clean house o’ Jenny Balchristie, and her niece. David Deans opened his business, and told down the They were a bad pack—steal’d meat and mault, and cash. Dumbiedikes steadily inclined his ear to the one, loot the carters magg the coals—I’m to be married the and counted the other with great accuracy, interrupt- morn, and kirkit on Sunday.” ing David, while he was talking of the redemption of Whatever David felt, he was too proud and too steady- the captivity of Judah, to ask him whether he did not minded to show any unpleasant surprise in his counte- think one or two of the guineas looked rather light. nance and manner. When he was satisfied on this point, had pocketed his “I wuss ye happy, sir, through Him that gies happi- money, and had signed a receipt, he addressed David ness—marriage is an honourable state.” with some little hesitation,— “Jeanie wad be writing ye “And I am wedding into an honourable house, David— something, gudeman?” the Laird of Lickpelf’s youngest daughter—she sits next “About the siller?” replied David— “Nae doubt, she us in the kirk, and that’s the way I came to think on’t.” did.” There was no more to be said but again to wish the Laird

509 The Heart of Mid-Lothian joy, to taste a cup of his liquor, and to walk back again to When the business respecting the farm had been talked St. Leonard’s, musing on the mutability of human affairs over and arranged, the professional gentleman ac- and human resolutions. The expectation that one day or quainted David Deans, in answer to his inquiries con- other Jeanie would be Lady Dumbiedikes, had, in spite of cerning the state of public worship, that it was the plea- himself, kept a more absolute possession of David’s mind sure of the Duke to put an excellent young clergyman, than he himself was aware of. At least, it had hitherto called Reuben Butler, into the parish, which was to be seemed a union at all times within his daughter’s reach, his future residence. whenever she might choose to give her silent lover any de- “Reuben Butler!” exclaimed David— “Reuben But- gree of encouragement, and now it was vanished for ever. ler, the usher at Liberton?” David returned, therefore, in no very gracious humour for “The very same,” said the Duke’s commissioner; “his Grace so good a man. He was angry with Jeanie for not having has heard an excellent character of him, and has some he- encouraged the Laird—he was angry with the Laird for reditary obligations to him besides—few ministers will be requiring encouragement—and he was angry with him- so comfortable as I am directed to make Mr. Butler.” self for being angry at all on the occasion. “Obligations?—The Duke?—Obligations to Reuben On his return he found the gentleman who managed Butler—Reuben Butler a placed minister of the Kirk the Duke of Argyle’s affairs was desirous of seeing him, of Scotland?” exclaimed David, in interminable aston- with a view to completing the arrangement between ishment, for somehow he had been led by the bad suc- them. Thus, after a brief repose, he was obliged to set cess which Butler had hitherto met with in all his un- off anew for Edinburgh, so that old May Hettly declared, dertakings, to consider him as one of those step-sons of “That a’ this was to end with the master just walking Fortune, whom she treats with unceasing rigour, and himself aff his feet.” ends with disinheriting altogether.

510 Sir Walter Scott There is, perhaps, no time at which we are disposed to Ought Reuben Butler in conscience to accept of this think so highly of a friend, as when we find him stand- preferment in the Kirk of Scotland, subject as David at ing higher than we expected in the esteem of others. present thought that establishment was to the Erastian When assured of the reality of Butler’s change of pros- encroachments of the civil power? This was the leading pects, David expressed his great satisfaction at his suc- question, and he considered it carefully. “The Kirk of cess in life, which, he observed, was entirely owing to Scotland was shorn of its beams, and deprived of its himself (David). “I advised his puir grand-mother, who full artillery and banners of authority; but still it con- was but a silly woman, to breed him up to the ministry; tained zealous and fructifying pastors, attentive con- and I prophesied that, with a blessing on his endeavours, gregations, and, with all her spots and blemishes, the he would become a polished shaft in the temple. He may like of this Kirk was nowhere else to be seen upon earth.” be something ower proud o’ his carnal learning, but a David’s doubts had been too many and too critical to gude lad, and has the root of the matter—as ministers permit him ever unequivocally to unite himself with any gang now, where yell find ane better, ye’ll find ten waur, of the dissenters, who upon various accounts absolutely than Reuben Butler.” seceded from the national church. He had often joined He took leave of the man of business, and walked home- in communion with such of the established clergy as ward, forgetting his weariness in the various speculations approached nearest to the old Presbyterian model and to which this wonderful piece of intelligence gave rise. principles of 1640. And although there were many things Honest David had now, like other great men, to go to to be amended in that system, yet he remembered that work to reconcile his speculative principles with existing he, David Deans, had himself ever been an humble circumstances; and, like other great men, when they set pleader for the good old cause in a legal way, but with- seriously about that task, he was tolerably successful. out rushing into right-hand excesses, divisions and sepa-

511 The Heart of Mid-Lothian rations. But, as an enemy to separation, he might join general call of the congregation, that might be their the right-hand of fellowship with a minister of the Kirk error, and David allowed it was a heavy one. But if of Scotland in its present model. Ergo, Reuben Butler Reuben Butler accepted of the cure as tendered to him might take possession of the parish of Knocktarlitie, by those whom he was called to teach, and who had without forfeiting his friendship or favour—Q. E. D. But, expressed themselves desirous to learn, David, after con- secondly, came the trying point of lay-patronage, which sidering and reconsidering the matter, came, through David Deans had ever maintained to be a coming in by the great virtue of if, to be of opinion that he might the window, and over the wall, a cheating and starving safely so act in that matter. the souls of a whole parish, for the purpose of clothing There remained a third stumbling-block—the oaths the back and filling the belly of the incumbent. to Government exacted from the established clergymen, This presentation, therefore, from the Duke of Argyle, in which they acknowledge an Erastian king and par- whatever was the worth and high character of that liament, and homologate the incorporating Union be- nobleman, was a limb of the brazen image, a portion of tween England and Scotland, through which the latter the evil thing, and with no kind of consistency could kingdom had become part and portion of the former, David bend his mind to favour such a transaction. But wherein Prelacy, the sister of Popery, had made fast her if the parishioners themselves joined in a general call to throne, and elevated the horns of her mitre. These were Reuben Butler to be their pastor, it did not seem quite symptoms of defection which had often made David cry so evident that the existence of this unhappy presenta- out, “My bowels—my bowels!—I am pained at the very tion was a reason for his refusing them the comforts of heart!” And he remembered that a godly Bow-head his doctrine. If the Presbytery admitted him to the kirk, matron had been carried out of the Tolbooth church in in virtue rather of that act of patronage than of the a swoon, beyond the reach of brandy and burnt feath-

512 Sir Walter Scott ers, merely on hearing these fearful words, “It is enacted rental affection gave to these ingenious trains of rea- by the Lords spiritual and temporal,” pronounced from soning. Let David Deans’s situation be considered. He a Scottish pulpit, in the proem to the Porteous Procla- was just deprived of one daughter, and his eldest, to mation. These oaths were, therefore, a deep compliance whom he owed so much, was cut off, by the sudden reso- and dire abomination—a sin and a snare, and a danger lution of Dumbiedikes, from the high hope which David and a defection. But this shibboleth was not always ex- had entertained, that she might one day be mistress of acted. Ministers had respect to their own tender con- that fair lordship. Just while this disappointment was sciences, and those of their brethren; and it was not till bearing heavy on his spirits, Butler comes before his a later period that the reins of discipline were taken up imagination—no longer the half-starved threadbare tight by the General Assemblies and Presbyteries. The usher, but fat and sleek and fair, the beneficed minister peacemaking particle came again to David’s assistance. of Knocktarlitie, beloved by his congregation—exem- If an incumbent was not called upon to make such com- plary in his life—powerful in his doctrine—doing the pliances, and if he got a right entry into the church with- duty of the kirk as never Highland minister did before— out intrusion, and by orderly appointment, why, upon turning sinners as a colley dog turns sheep—a favourite the whole, David Deans came to be of opinion, that the of the Duke of Argyle, and drawing a stipend of eight said incumbent might lawfully enjoy the spirituality and hundred punds Scots, and four chalders of victual. Here temporality of the cure of souls at Knocktarlitie, with was a match, making up in David’s mind, in a tenfold stipend, manse, glebe, and all thereunto appertaining. degree, the disappointment in the case of Dumbiedikes, The best and most upright-minded men are so strongly in so far as the goodman of St. Leonard’s held a power- influenced by existing circumstances, that it would be ful minister in much greater admiration than a mere somewhat cruel to inquire too nearly what weight pa- landed proprietor. It did not occur to him, as an addi-

513 The Heart of Mid-Lothian tional reason in favour of the match, that Jeanie might worth and good sense and simplicity were the principal herself have some choice in the matter; for the idea of ingredients; but love, on this occasion, gave him a cer- consulting her feelings never once entered into the hon- tain degree of address. He had received an intimation est man’s head, any more than the possibility that her of the favour designed him by the Duke of Argyle, with inclination might perhaps differ from his own. what feelings those only can conceive who have experi- The result of his meditations was, that he was called enced a sudden prospect of being raised to independence upon to take the management of the whole affair into and respect from penury and toil. He resolved, however, his own hand, and give, if it should be found possible that the old man should retain all the consequence of without sinful compliance, or backsliding, or defection being, in his own opinion, the first to communicate the of any kind, a worthy pastor to the kirk of important intelligence. At the same time, he also deter- Knocktarlitie. Accordingly, by the intervention of the mined that in the expected conference he would permit honest dealer in butter-milk who dwelt in Liberton, David Deans to expatiate at length upon the proposal, David summoned to his presence Reuben Butler. Even in all its bearings, without irritating him either by in- from this worthy messenger he was unable to conceal terruption or contradiction. This last was the most pru- certain swelling emotions of dignity, insomuch, that, dent plan he could have adopted; because, although there when the carter had communicated his message to the were many doubts which David Deans could himself usher, he added, that “Certainly the Gudeman of St. clear up to his own satisfaction, yet he might have been Leonard’s had some grand news to tell him, for he was by no means disposed to accept the solution of any other as uplifted as a midden-cock upon pattens.” person; and to engage him in an argument would have Butler, it may readily be conceived, immediately been certain to confirm him at once and for ever in the obeyed the summons. He was a plain character, in which opinion which Butler chanced to impugn.

514 Sir Walter Scott He received his friend with an appearance of impor- o’ them but sall be as weel cared for as if they were the tant gravity, which real misfortune had long compelled fatted kine of Pharaoh.—And now, Reuben, lad, seeing him to lay aside, and which belonged to those days of we maun remove our tent to a strange country, ye will awful authority in which he predominated over Widow be casting a dolefu’ look after us, and thinking with Butler, and dictated the mode of cultivating the crofts whom ye are to hold counsel anent your government in of Beersheba. He made known to Reuben, with great thae slippery and backsliding times; and nae doubt re- prolixity, the prospect of his changing his present resi- membering, that the auld man, David Deans, was made dence for the charge of the Duke of Argyle’s stock-farm the instrument to bring you out of the mire of schism in Dumbartonshire, and enumerated the various advan- and heresy, wherein your father’s house delighted to tages of the situation with obvious self-congratulation; wallow; aften also, nae doubt, when ye are pressed wi’ but assured the patient hearer, that nothing had so much ensnaring trials and tentations and heart-plagues, you, moved him to acceptance, as the sense that, by his skill that are like a recruit that is marching for the first time in bestial, he could render the most important services to the touk of drum, will miss the auld, bauld, and ex- to his Grace the Duke of Argyle, to whom, “in the late perienced veteran soldier that has felt the brunt of mony unhappy circumstance” (here a tear dimmed the sparkle a foul day, and heard the bullets whistle as aften as he of pride in the old man’s eye), “he had been sae muckle has hairs left on his auld pow.” obliged.” It is very possible that Butler might internally be of “To put a rude Hielandman into sic a charge,” he con- opinion, that the reflection on his ancestor’s peculiar tinued, “what could be expected but that he suld be sic tenets might have been spared, or that he might be pre- a chiefest herdsman, as wicked Doeg the Edomite? sumptuous enough even to think, that, at his years, and whereas, while this grey head is to the fore, not a clute with his own lights, he might be able to hold his course

515 The Heart of Mid-Lothian without the pilotage of honest David. But he only re- to him, he would probably first consult whether he was plied, by expressing his regret, that anything should likely to be useful to the parish he should be called to; separate him from an ancient, tried, and affectionate and if there appeared a fair prospect of his proving so, friend. his friend must be aware, that in every other point of “But how can it be helped, man?” said David, twist- view, it would be highly advantageous for him.” ing his features into a sort of smile— “How can we help “Right, Reuben, very right, lad,” answered the moni- it?—I trow, ye canna tell me that—Ye maun leave that tor, “your ain conscience is the first thing to be satis- to ither folk—to the Duke of Argyle and me, Reuben. fied—for how sall he teach others that has himself sae It’s a gude thing to hae friends in this warld—how ill learned the Scriptures, as to grip for the lucre of foul muckle better to hae an interest beyond it!” earthly preferment, sic as gear and manse, money and And David, whose piety, though not always quite ra- victual, that which is not his in a spiritual sense—or tional, was as sincere as it was habitual and fervent, wha makes his kirk a stalking-horse, from behind which looked reverentially upward and paused. Mr. Butler in- he may tak aim at his stipend? But I look for better timated the pleasure with which he would receive his things of you—and specially ye maun be minded not to friend’s advice on a subject so important, and David act altogether on your ain judgment, for therethrough resumed. comes sair mistakes, backslidings and defections, on the “What think ye now, Reuben, of a kirk—a regular left and on the right. If there were sic a day of trial put kirk under the present establishment?—Were sic offered to you, Reuben, you, who are a young lad, although it to ye, wad ye be free to accept it, and under whilk provi- may be ye are gifted wi’ the carnal tongues, and those sions?—I am speaking but by way of query.” whilk were spoken at Rome, whilk is now the seat of Butler replied, “That if such a prospect were held out the scarlet abomination, and by the Greeks, to whom

516 Sir Walter Scott the Gospel was as foolishness, yet nae-the-less ye may tian Church with the very Culdees, from whom he passed be entreated by your weel-wisher to take the counsel of to John Knox,—from John Knox to the recusants in those prudent and resolved and weather-withstanding James the Sixth’s time—Bruce, Black, Blair, professors, wha hae kend what it was to lurk on banks Livingstone,—from them to the brief, and at length tri- and in mosses, in bogs and in caverns, and to risk the umphant period of the Presbyterian Church’s splendour, peril of the head rather than renounce the honesty of until it was overrun by the English Independents. Then the heart.” followed the dismal times of prelacy, the indulgences, Butler replied, “That certainly, possessing such a friend seven in number, with all their shades and bearings, until as he hoped and trusted he had in the goodman himself, he arrived at the reign of King James the Second, in who had seen so many changes in the preceding cen- which he himself had been, in his own mind, neither an tury, he should be much to blame if he did not avail obscure actor nor an obscure sufferer. Then was Butler himself of his experience and friendly counsel.” doomed to hear the most detailed and annotated edi- “Eneugh said—eneugh said, Reuben,” said David tion of what he had so often heard before,—David Deans, with internal exultation; “and say that ye were Deans’s confinement, namely, in the iron cage in the in the predicament whereof I hae spoken, of a surety I Canongate Tolbooth, and the cause thereof. would deem it my duty to gang to the root o’ the mat- We should be very unjust to our friend David Deans, ter, and lay bare to you the ulcers and imposthumes, if we should “pretermit”—to use his own expression— and the sores and the leprosies, of this our time, crying a narrative which he held essential to his fame. A aloud and sparing not.” drunken trooper of the Royal Guards, Francis Gordon David Deans was now in his element. He commenced by name, had chased five or six of the skulking Whigs, his examination of the doctrines and belief of the Chris- among whom was our friend David; and after he had

517 The Heart of Mid-Lothian compelled them to stand, and was in the act of brawl- pistol, rather fit for diverting a boy than killing such a ing with them, one of their number fired a pocket-pis- furious, mad, brisk man, which notwithstanding killed tol, and shot him dead. David used to sneer and shake him dead!”* his head when any one asked him whether he had been Upon the extensive foundation which the history of the instrument of removing this wicked persecutor from the kirk afforded, during its short-lived triumph and long the face of the earth. In fact the merit of the deed lay tribulation, David, with length of breath and of narra- between him and his friend, Patrick Walker, the pedlar, tive, which would have astounded any one but a lover whose words he was so fond of quoting. Neither of them of his daughter, proceeded to lay down his own rules for cared directly to claim the merit of silencing Mr. Francis guiding the conscience of his friend, as an aspirant to Gordon of the Life-Guards, there being some wild cous- serve in the ministry. Upon this subject, the good man ins of his about Edinburgh, who might have been even went through such a variety of nice and casuistical prob- yet addicted to revenge, but yet neither of them chose lems, supposed so many extreme cases, made the dis- to disown or yield to the other the merit of this active tinctions so critical and nice betwixt the right hand and defence of their religious rights. David said, that if he the left hand—betwixt compliance and defection—hold- had fired a pistol then, it was what he never did after or ing back and stepping aside—slipping and stumbling— before. And as for Mr. Patrick Walker, he has left it upon snares and errors—that at length, after having limited record, that his great surprise was, that so small a pistol the path of truth to a mathematical line, he was brought could kill so big a man. These are the words of that to the broad admission, that each man’s conscience, af- venerable biographer, whose trade had not taught him ter he had gained a certain view of the difficult naviga- by experience, that an inch was as good as an ell. “He,” tion which he was to encounter, would be the best guide (Francis Gordon) “got a shot in his head out of a pocket- * Note S. Death of Francis Gordon. 518 Sir Walter Scott for his pilotage. He stated the examples and arguments oncile themselves to any favourite measure, when agi- for and against the acceptance of a kirk on the present tating it in their own mind, than when obliged to ex- revolution model, with much more impartiality to But- pose its merits to a third party, when the necessity of ler than he had been able to place them before his own seeming impartial procures for the opposite arguments view. And he concluded, that his young friend ought to a much more fair statement than that which he affords think upon these things, and be guided by the voice of it in tacit meditation. Having finished what he had to his own conscience, whether he could take such an aw- say, David thought himself obliged to be more explicit ful trust as the charge of souls without doing injury to in point of fact, and to explain that this was no hypo- his own internal conviction of what is right or wrong. thetical case, but one on which (by his own influence When David had finished his very long harangue, and that of the Duke of Argyle) Reuben Butler would which was only interrupted by monosyllables, or little soon be called to decide. more, on the part of Butler, the orator himself was It was even with something like apprehension that David greatly astonished to find that the conclusion, at which Deans heard Butler announce, in return to this communi- he very naturally wished to arrive, seemed much less cation, that he would take that night to consider on what decisively attained than when he had argued the case in he had said with such kind intentions, and return him an his own mind. answer the next morning. The feelings of the father mas- In this particular, David’s current of thinking and tered David on this occasion. He pressed Butler to spend speaking only illustrated the very important and gen- the evening with him—He produced, most unusual at his eral proposition, concerning the excellence of the pub- meals, one, nay, two bottles of aged strong ale.—He spoke licity of debate. For, under the influence of any partial of his daughter—of her merits—her housewifery—her feeling, it is certain, that most men can more easily rec- thrift—her affection. He led Butler so decidedly up to a

519 The Heart of Mid-Lothian declaration of his feelings towards Jeanie, that, before nightfall, it was distinctly understood she was to be the bride of Reuben Butler; and if they thought it indelicate CHAPTER TWENTIETH to abridge the period of deliberation which Reuben had stipulated, it seemed to be sufficiently understood betwixt them, that there was a strong probability of his becoming “I come,” he said, “my love, my life, And—nature’s dearest name—my wife: minister of Knocktarlitie, providing the congregation were Thy father’s house and friends resign, as willing to accept of him, as the Duke to grant him the My home, my friends, my sire, are thine.” presentation. The matter of the oaths, they agreed, it was time enough to dispute about, whenever the shibboleth Logan. should be tendered. Many arrangements were adopted that evening, which were afterwards ripened by correspondence with the THE MEETING OF Jeanie and Butler, under circumstances Duke of Argyle’s man of business, who intrusted Deans promising to crown an affection so long delayed, was and Butler with the benevolent wish of his principal, rather affecting, from its simple sincerity than from its that they should all meet with Jeanie, on her return from uncommon vehemence of feeling. David Deans, whose England, at the Duke’s hunting-lodge in Roseneath. practice was sometimes a little different from his theory, This retrospect, so far as the placid loves of Jeanie appalled them at first, by giving them the opinion of Deans and Reuben Butler are concerned, forms a full sundry of the suffering preachers and champions of his explanation of the preceding narrative up to their meet- younger days, that marriage, though honourable by the ing on the island, as already mentioned. laws of Scripture, was yet a state over-rashly coveted

520 Sir Walter Scott by professors, and specially by young ministers, whose Renwick, had less delight in tying the bonds of matri- desire, he said, was at whiles too inordinate for kirks, mony than in any other piece of their ministerial work; stipends, and wives, which had frequently occasioned and although they would neither dissuade the parties, over-ready compliance with the general defections of nor refuse their office, they considered the being called the times. He endeavoured to make them aware also, to it as an evidence of indifference, on the part of those that hasty wedlock had been the bane of many a savoury between whom it was solemnised, to the many grievous professor—that the unbelieving wife had too often re- things of the day. Notwithstanding, however, that mar- versed the text and perverted the believing husband— riage was a snare unto many, David was of opinion (as, that when the famous Donald Cargill, being then hid- indeed, he had showed in his practice) that it was in ing in Lee-Wood, in Lanarkshire, it being killing-time, itself honourable, especially if times were such that did, upon importunity, marry Robert Marshal of Starry honest men could be secure against being shot, hanged, Shaw, he had thus expressed himself: “What hath in- or banished, and had ane competent livelihood to main- duced Robert to marry this woman? her ill will over- tain themselves, and those that might come after them. come his good—he will not keep the way long—his thriv- “And, therefore,” as he concluded something abruptly, ing days are done.” To the sad accomplishment of which addressing Jeanie and Butler, who, with faces as high- prophecy David said he was himself a living witness, coloured as crimson, had been listening to his length- for Robert Marshal, having fallen into foul compliances ened argument for and against the holy state of matri- with the enemy, went home, and heard the curates, de- mony, “I will leave you to your ain cracks.” clined into other steps of defection, and became lightly As their private conversation, however interesting to esteemed. Indeed, he observed, that the great uphold- themselves, might probably be very little so to the reader, ers of the standard, Cargill, Peden, Cameron, and so far as it respected their present feelings and future

521 The Heart of Mid-Lothian prospects, we shall pass it over, and only mention the landing-place, formed by a small brook which enters the information which Jeanie received from Butler concern- sea betwixt Musselburgh and Edinburgh. This place, ing her sister’s elopement, which contained many par- which has been since made into a small harbour, sur- ticulars that she had been unable to extract from her rounded by many villas and lodging-houses, is now father. termed Portobello. At this time it was surrounded by a Jeanie learned, therefore, that, for three days after her waste common, covered with furze, and unfrequented, pardon had arrived, Effie had been the inmate of her save by fishing-boats, and now and then a smuggling father’s house at St. Leonard’s—that the interviews lugger. A vessel of this description had been hovering in betwixt David and his erring child, which had taken the firth at the time of Effie’s elopement, and, as But- place before she was liberated from prison, had been ler ascertained, a boat had come ashore in the evening touching in the extreme; but Butler could not suppress on which the fugitive had disappeared, and had carried his opinion, that, when he was freed from the apprehen- on board a female. As the vessel made sail immediately, sion of losing her in a manner so horrible, her father and landed no part of their cargo, there seemed little had tightened the bands of discipline, so as, in some doubt that they were accomplices of the notorious degree, to gall the feelings, and aggravate the irritabil- Robertson, and that the vessel had only come into the ity of a spirit naturally impatient and petulant, and firth to carry off his paramour. now doubly so from the sense of merited disgrace. This was made clear by a letter which Butler himself On the third night, Effie disappeared from St. soon afterwards received by post, signed E. D., but with- Leonard’s, leaving no intimation whatever of the route out bearing any date of place or time. It was miserably she had taken. Butler, however, set out in pursuit of ill written and spelt; sea-sickness having apparently her, and with much trouble traced her towards a little aided the derangement of Effie’s very irregular orthog-

522 Sir Walter Scott raphy and mode of expression. In this epistle, however, done, and what she had scorned to do, in her behalf; for as in all that unfortunate girl said or did, there was somewhat a thought would it have been to her at that mo- thing to praise as well as to blame. She said in her letter, ment o’ time, if that upright creature had made a fault “That she could not endure that her father and her sis- to save her! She desired her father would give Jeanie a’ ter should go into banishment, or be partakers of her the gear—her ain (i.e. Effie’s) mother’s and a’—She had shame,—that if her burden was a heavy one, it was of made a deed, giving up her right, and it was in Mr. her own binding, and she had the more right to bear it Novit’s hand—Warld’s gear was henceforward the least alone,—that in future they could not be a comfort to of her care, nor was it likely to be muckle her mister— her, or she to them, since every look and word of her She hoped this would make it easy for her sister to father put her in mind of her transgression, and was settle;” and immediately after this expression, she like to drive her mad,—that she had nearly lost her judg- wished Butler himself all good things, in return for his ment during the three days she was at St. Leonard’s— kindness to her. “For herself,” she said, “she kend her her father meant weel by her, and all men, but he did lot would be a waesome ane, but it was of her own fram- not know the dreadful pain he gave her in casting up ing, sae she desired the less pity. But, for her friends’ her sins. If Jeanie had been at hame, it might hae dune satisfaction, she wished them to know that she was gaun better—Jeanie was ane, like the angels in heaven, that nae ill gate—that they who had done her maist wrong rather weep for sinners, than reckon their transgressions. were now willing to do her what justice was in their But she should never see Jeanie ony mair, and that was power; and she would, in some warldly respects, be far the thought that gave her the sairest heart of a’ that better off than she deserved. But she desired her family had come and gane yet. On her bended knees would she to remain satisfied with this assurance, and give them- pray for Jeanie night and day, baith for what she had selves no trouble in making farther inquiries after her.”

523 The Heart of Mid-Lothian To David Deans and to Butler this letter gave very the affair of Porteous was totally forgotten. Jeanie, little comfort; for what was to be expected from this therefore, saw more hopes for her sister than Butler or unfortunate girl’s uniting her fate to that of a character her father had been able to perceive; but she was not at so notorious as Robertson, who they readily guessed was liberty to impart the comfort which she felt in believing alluded to in the last sentence, excepting that she should that she would be secure from the pressure of poverty, become the partner and victim of his future crimes? and in little risk of being seduced into the paths of guilt. Jeanie, who knew George Staunton’s character and real She could not have explained this without making pub- rank, saw her sister’s situation under a ray of better lic what it was essentially necessary for Effie’s chance hope. She augured well of the haste he had shown to of comfort to conceal, the identity, namely, of George reclaim his interest in Effie, and she trusted he had made Staunton and George Robertson. After all, it was dread- her his wife. If so, it seemed improbable that, with his ful to think that Effie had united herself to a man con- expected fortune, and high connections, he should again demned for felony, and liable to trial for murder, what- resume the life of criminal adventure which he had led, ever might be his rank in life, and the degree of his re- especially since, as matters stood, his life depended upon pentance. Besides, it was melancholy to reflect, that, his keeping his own secret, which could only be done by she herself being in possession of the whole dreadful an entire change of his habits, and particularly by avoid- secret, it was most probable he would, out of regard to ing all those who had known the heir of Willingham his own feelings, and fear for his safety, never again per- under the character of the audacious, criminal, and con- mit her to see poor Effie. After perusing and re-perus- demned Robertson. ing her sister’s valedictory letter, she gave ease to her She thought it most likely that the couple would go feelings in a flood of tears, which Butler in vain endeav- abroad for a few years, and not return to England until oured to check by every soothing attention in his power.

524 Sir Walter Scott She was obliged, however, at length to look up and wipe tors of Duncan, who were retainers of the house of Ar- her eyes, for her father, thinking he had allowed the lov- gyle, and held a hereditary jurisdiction under them, of ers time enough for conference, was now advancing to- little extent indeed, but which had great consequence wards them from the Lodge, accompanied by the Cap- in their own eyes, and was usually administered with a tain of Knockdunder, or, as his friends called him for vigour somewhat beyond the law. brevity’s sake, Duncan Knock, a title which some youth- The present representative of that ancient family was ful exploits had rendered peculiarly appropriate. a stout short man about fifty, whose pleasure it was to This Duncan of Knockdunder was a person of first- unite in his own person the dress of the Highlands and rate importance in the island of Roseneath,* and the Lowlands, wearing on his head a black tie-wig, sur- continental parishes of Knocktarlitie, Kilmun, and so mounted by a fierce cocked-hat, deeply guarded with forth; nay, his influence extended as far as Cowal, where, gold lace, while the rest of his dress consisted of the however, it was obscured by that of another factor. plaid and philabeg. Duncan superintended a district The Tower of Knockdunder still occupies, with its re- which was partly Highland, partly Lowland, and there- mains, a cliff overhanging the Holy Loch. Duncan swore fore might be supposed to combine their national habit had been a royal castle; if so, it was one of the small- its, in order to show his impartiality to Trojan or Tyrian. est, the space within only forming a square of sixteen The incongruity, however, had a whimsical and ludicrous feet, and bearing therefore a ridiculous proportion to effect, as it made his head and body look as if belonging the thickness of the walls, which was ten feet at least. to different individuals; or, as some one said who had Such as it was, however, it had long given the title of seen the executions of the insurgent prisoners in 1715, Captain, equivalent to that of Chatellain, to the ances- it seemed as if some Jacobite enchanter, having recalled the sufferers to life, had clapped, in his haste, an * This is, more correctly speaking, a peninsula. 525 The Heart of Mid-Lothian Englishman’s head on a Highlander’s body. To finish the “The Captain, then,” said David, “assures me that the portrait, the bearing of the gracious Duncan was brief, call is unanimous on the part of the parishioners—a bluff, and consequential, and the upward turn of his real harmonious call, Reuben.” short copper-coloured nose indicated that he was some- “I pelieve,” said Duncan, “it was as harmonious as what addicted to wrath and usquebaugh. could pe expected, when the tae half o’ the bodies were When this dignitary had advanced up to Butler and to clavering Sassenach, and the t’other skirting Gaelic, like Jeanie, “I take the freedom, Mr. Deans,” he said in a very sea-maws and clackgeese before a storm. Ane wad hae consequential manner, “to salute your daughter, whilk I pre- needed the gift of tongues to ken preceesely what they sume this young lass to be—I kiss every pretty girl that said—but I pelieve the best end of it was, ‘Long live comes to Roseneath, in virtue of my office.” Having made MacCallummore and Knockdunder!’—And as to its be- this gallant speech, he took out his quid, saluted Jeanie with ing an unanimous call, I wad be glad to ken fat business a hearty smack, and bade her welcome to Argyle’s country. the carles have to call ony thing or ony body but what Then addressing Butler, he said, “Ye maun gang ower and the Duke and mysell likes!” meet the carle ministers yonder the Morn, for they will want “Nevertheless,” said Mr. Butler, “if any of the parish- to do your job, and synd it down with usquebaugh doubt- ioners have any scruples, which sometimes happen in less—they seldom make dry wark in this kintra.” the mind of sincere professors, I should be happy of an “And the Laird”—said David Deans, addressing But- opportunity of trying to remove—” ler in farther explanation— “Never fash your peard about it, man,” interrupted “The Captain, man,” interrupted Duncan; “folk winna Duncan Knock— “Leave it a’ to me.—Scruple! deil ane ken wha ye are speaking aboot, unless ye gie shentlemens o’ them has been bred up to scruple onything that their proper title.” they’re bidden to do. And if sic a thing suld happen as

526 Sir Walter Scott ye speak o’, ye sall see the sincere professor, as ye ca’ behave with the utmost attention to Deans and his fam- him, towed at the stern of my boat for a few furlongs. ily. I’ll try if the water of the Haly Loch winna wash off “And now, sirs,” said Duncan, in a commanding tone, scruples as weel as fleas—Cot tam!” “I am to pray ye a’ to come in to your supper, for yonder The rest of Duncan’s threat was lost in a growling gar- is Mr. Archibald half famished, and a Saxon woman, gling sort of sound, which he made in his throat, and that looks as if her een were fleeing out o’ her head wi’ which menaced recusants with no gentle means of con- fear and wonder, as if she had never seen a shentleman version. David Deans would certainly have given battle in a philabeg pefore.” in defence of the right of the Christian congregation to “And Reuben Butler,” said David, “will doubtless de- be consulted in the choice of their own pastor, which, in sire instantly to retire, that he may prepare his mind for his estimation, was one of the choicest and most inalien- the exercise of to-morrow, that his work may suit the able of their privileges; but he had again engaged in close day, and be an offering of a sweet savour in the nostrils conversation with Jeanie, and, with more interest than of the reverend Presbytery!” he was in use to take in affairs foreign alike to his occu- “Hout tout, man, it’s but little ye ken about them,” pation and to his religious tenets, was inquiring into the interrupted the Captain. “Teil a ane o’ them wad gie particulars of her London journey. This was, perhaps, the savour of the hot venison pasty which I smell” (turn- fortunate for the newformed friendship betwixt him and ing his squab nose up in the air) “a’ the way frae the the Captain of Knockdunder, which rested, in David’s Lodge, for a’ that Mr. Putler, or you either, can say to estimation, upon the proofs he had given of his skill in them.” managing stock; but, in reality, upon the special charge David groaned; but judging he had to do with a Gallio, transmitted to Duncan from the Duke and his agent, to as he said, did not think it worth his while to give battle.

527 The Heart of Mid-Lothian They followed the Captain to the house, and arranged themselves with great ceremony round a well-loaded supper-table. The only other circumstance of the evening CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST worthy to be recorded is, that Butler pronounced the blessing; that Knockdunder found it too long, and David Deans censured it as too short, from which the chari- Now turn the Psalms of David ower, And lilt wi’ holy clangor; table reader may conclude it was exactly the proper Of double verse come gie us four, length. And skirl up the Bangor.

Burns.

THE NEXT WAS the important day, when, according to the forms and ritual of the Scottish Kirk, Reuben But- ler was to be ordained minister of Knocktarlitie, by the Presbytery of ———. And so eager were the whole party, that all, excepting Mrs. Dutton, the destined Cow- slip of Inverary, were stirring at an early hour. Their host, whose appetite was as quick and keen as his temper, was not long in summoning them to a substantial breakfast, where there were at least a dozen of

528 Sir Walter Scott different preparations of milk, plenty of cold meat, “Good morrow to you, madam,” said the master of scores boiled and roasted eggs, a huge cag of butter, half- ceremonies; “I trust your early rising will not skaith ye.” a-firkin herrings boiled and broiled, fresh and salt, and The dame apologised to Captain Knockunder, as she tea and coffee for them that liked it, which, as their land- was pleased to term their entertainer; “but, as we say in lord assured them, with a nod and a wink, pointing, at Cheshire,” she added, “I was like the Mayor of the same time, to a little cutter which seemed dodging Altringham, who lies in bed while his breeches are mend- under the lee of the island, cost them little beside the ing, for the girl did not bring up the right bundle to my fetching ashore. room, till she had brought up all the others by mistake “Is the contraband trade permitted here so openly?” one after t’other—Well, I suppose we are all for church said Butler. “I should think it very unfavourable to the to-day, as I understand—Pray may I be so bold as to people’s morals.” ask, if it is the fashion for your North country gentle- “The Duke, Mr. Putler, has gien nae orders concern- men to go to church in your petticoats, Captain ing the putting of it down,” said the magistrate, and Knockunder?” seemed to think that he had said all that was necessary “Captain of Knockdunder, madam, if you please, for to justify his connivance. Butler was a man of prudence, I knock under to no man; and in respect of my garb, I and aware that real good can only be obtained by re- shall go to church as I am, at your service, madam; for monstrance when remonstrance is well-timed; so for the if I were to lie in bed like your Major What-d’ye-callum, present he said nothing more on the subject. till my preeches were mended, I might be there all my When breakfast was half over, in flounced Mrs. Dolly, life, seeing I never had a pair of them on my person but as fine as a blue sacque and cherry-coloured ribands twice in my life, which I am pound to remember, it peing could make her. when the Duke brought his Duchess here, when her

529 The Heart of Mid-Lothian Grace pehoved to be pleasured; so I e’en porrowed the what she loved dearly; and as for the water, it was so minister’s trews for the twa days his Grace was pleased still that it would look quite like a pleasuring on the to stay—but I will put myself under sic confinement Thames. again for no man on earth, or woman either, but her The whole party being embarked, therefore, in a large Grace being always excepted, as in duty pound.” boat, which the captain called his coach and six, and The mistress of the milking-pail stared but, making attended by a smaller one termed his gig, the gallant no answer to this round declaration, immediately pro- Duncan steered straight upon the little tower of the old- ceeded to show, that the alarm of the preceding evening fashioned church of Knocktarlitie, and the exertions of had in no degree injured her appetite. six stout rowers sped them rapidly on their voyage. As When the meal was finished, the Captain proposed to they neared the land, the hills appeared to recede from them to take boat, in order that Mrs. Jeanie might see them, and a little valley, formed by the descent of a small her new place of residence, and that he himself might river from the mountains, evolved itself as it were upon inquire whether the necessary preparations had been their approach. The style of the country on each side made there, and at the Manse, for receiving the future was simply pastoral, and resembled, in appearance and inmates of these mansions. character, the description of a forgotten Scottish poet, The morning was delightful, and the huge mountain- which runs nearly thus:— shadows slept upon the mirrored wave of the firth, almost as little disturbed as if it had been an inland lake. The water gently down a level slid, Even Mrs. Dutton’s fears no longer annoyed her. She With little din, but couthy what it made; had been informed by Archibald, that there was to be On ilka side the trees grew thick and lang, some sort of junketting after the sermon, and that was And wi’ the wild birds’ notes were a’ in sang;

530 Sir Walter Scott On either side, a full bow-shot and mair, himself with; and, had it not been for this circumstance, The green was even, gowany, and fair; he has been heard to say, “that the Captain of With easy slope on every hand the braes Knockdunder would have swore him out of the country To the hills’ feet with scatter’d bushes raise; in twenty-four hours, sae awsome it was to ony think- With goats and sheep aboon, and kye below, ing soul to hear his imprecations, upon the slightest The bonny banks all in a swarm did go.* temptation that crossed his humour.” Besides these, there were a wilder set of parishioners, They landed in this Highland Arcadia, at the mouth mountaineers from the upper glen and adjacent hill, who of the small stream which watered the delightful and spoke Gaelic, went about armed, and wore the High- peaceable valley. Inhabitants of several descriptions land dress. But the strict commands of the Duke had came to pay their respects to the Captain of established such good order in this part of his territo- Knockdunder, a homage which he was very peremptory ries, that the Gael and Saxons lived upon the best pos- in exacting, and to see the new settlers. Some of these sible terms of good neighbourhood. They first visited were men after David Deans’s own heart, elders of the the Manse, as the parsonage is termed in Scotland. It kirk-session, zealous professors, from the Lennox, was old, but in good repair, and stood snugly embosomed Lanarkshire, and Ayrshire, to whom the preceding Duke in a grove of sycamore, with a well-stocked garden in of Argyle had given rooms in this corner of his estate, front, bounded by the small river, which was partly vis- because they had suffered for joining his father, the un- ible from the windows, partly concealed by the bushes, fortunate Earl, during his ill-fated attempt in 1686. trees, and bounding hedge. Within, the house looked less These were cakes of the right leaven for David regaling comfortable than it might have been, for it had been neglected by the late incumbent; but workmen had been * Ross’s Fortunate Shepherdess. Edit. 1778, p. 23. 531 The Heart of Mid-Lothian labouring, under the directions of the Captain of to forgive them, out of respect to their new minister. Knockdunder, and at the expense of the Duke of Ar- “But an I catch them neglecking my duty again, Mr. gyle, to put it into some order. The old “plenishing” had Putler, the teil pe in me if the kirk shall be an excuse; been removed, and neat, but plain household furniture for what has the like o’ them rapparees to do at the kirk had been sent down by the Duke in a brig of his own ony day put Sundays, or then either, if the Duke and I called the Caroline, and was now ready to be placed in has the necessitous uses for them?” order in the apartments. It may be guessed with what feelings of quiet satis- The gracious Duncan, finding matters were at a stand faction and delight Butler looked forward to spending among the workmen, summoned before him the delin- his days, honoured and useful as he trusted to be, in this quents, and impressed all who heard him with a sense sequestered valley, and how often an intelligent glance of his authority, by the penalties with which he threat- was exchanged betwixt him and Jeanie, whose good- ened them for their delay. Mulcting them in half their humoured face looked positively handsome, from the charge, he assured them, would be the least of it; for, if expression of modesty, and, at the same time, of satis- they were to neglect his pleasure and the Duke’s, “he faction, which she wore when visiting the apartments would be tamn’d if he paid them the t’other half either, of which she was soon to call herself mistress. She was and they might seek law for it where they could get it.” left at liberty to give more open indulgence to her feel- The work-people humbled themselves before the of- ings of delight and admiration, when, leaving the Manse, fended dignitary, and spake him soft and fair; and at the company proceeded to examine the destined habi- length, upon Mr. Butler recalling to his mind that it was tation of David Deans. the ordination-day, and that the workmen were prob- Jeanie found with pleasure that it was not above a ably thinking of going to church, Knockdunder agreed musket-shot from the Manse; for it had been a bar to

532 Sir Walter Scott her happiness to think she might be obliged to reside at a seaward view of the shattered and thunder-splitten a distance from her father, and she was aware that there peaks of Arran. were strong objections to his actually living in the same But to Jeanie, whose taste for the picturesque, if she house with Butler. But this brief distance was the very had any by nature, had never been awakened or culti- thing which she could have wished. vated, the sight of the faithful old May Hettly, as she The farmhouse was on the plan of an improved cot- opened the door to receive them in her clean toy, tage, and contrived with great regard to convenience; Sunday’s russet-gown, and blue apron, nicely smoothed an excellent little garden, an orchard, and a set of of- down before her, was worth the whole varied landscape. fices complete, according to the best ideas of the time, The raptures of the faithful old creature at seeing Jeanie combined to render it a most desirable habitation for were equal to her own, as she hastened to assure her, the practical farmer, and far superior to the hovel at “that baith the gudeman and the beasts had been as Woodend, and the small house at Saint Leonard’s Crags. weel seen after as she possibly could contrive.” Separat- The situation was considerably higher than that of the ing her from the rest of the company, May then hurried Manse, and fronted to the west. The windows com- her young mistress to the offices, that she might receive manded an enchanting view of the little vale over which the compliments she expected for her care of the cows. the mansion seemed to preside, the windings of the Jeanie rejoiced, in the simplicity of her heart, to see her stream, and the firth, with its associated lakes and ro- charge once more; and the mute favourites of our hero- mantic islands. The hills of Dumbartonshire, once pos- ine, Gowans, and the others, acknowledged her presence sessed by the fierce clan of MacFarlanes, formed a cres- by lowing, turning round their broad and decent brows cent behind the valley, and far to the right were seen the when they heard her well-known “Pruh, my leddy— dusky and more gigantic mountains of Argyleshire, with pruh, my woman,” and, by various indications, known

533 The Heart of Mid-Lothian only to those who have studied the habits of the milky thinking he petitions mair for her than for yoursell, mothers, showing sensible pleasure as she approached hinny; for what can he plead for you but just to wish to caress them in their turn. you the blessing ye deserve? And when I sleepit ayont “The very brute beasts are glad to see ye again,” said the hallan, when we came first here, he was often ear- May; “but nae wonder, Jeanie, for ye were aye kind to nest a’ night, and I could hear him come ower and ower beast and body. And I maun learn to ca’ ye mistress now, again wi’, ‘Effie—puir blinded misguided thing!’ it was Jeanie, since ye hae been up to Lunnon, and seen the aye ‘Effie! Effie!’—If that puir wandering lamb comena Duke, and the King, and a’ the braw folk. But wha kens,” into the sheepfauld in the Shepherd’s ain time, it will be added the old dame slily, “what I’ll hae to ca’ ye forby an unco wonder, for I wot she has been a child of prayers. mistress, for I am thinking it wunna lang be Deans.” Oh, if the puir prodigal wad return, sae blithely as the “Ca’ me your ain Jeanie, May, and then ye can never goodman wad kill the fatted calf!—though Brockie’s gang wrang.” calf will no be fit for killing this three weeks yet.” In the cow-house which they examined, there was one And then, with the discursive talent of persons of her animal which Jeanie looked at till the tears gushed from description, she got once more afloat in her account of her eyes. May, who had watched her with a sympathising domestic affairs, and left this delicate and affecting topic. expression, immediately observed, in an under-tone, Having looked at every thing in the offices and the “The gudeman aye sorts that beast himself, and is kinder dairy, and expressed her satisfaction with the manner to it than ony beast in the byre; and I noticed he was in which matters had been managed in her absence, that way e’en when he was angriest, and had maist cause Jeanie rejoined the rest of the party, who were survey- to be angry.—Eh, sirs! a parent’s heart’s a queer thing!— ing the interior of the house, all excepting David Deans Mony a warsle he has had for that puir lassie—I am and Butler, who had gone down to the church to meet

534 Sir Walter Scott the kirk-session and the clergymen of the Presbytery, of the particular donors were attached, as if to make and arrange matters for the duty of the day. Jeanie sensible not only of the general, but of the indi- In the interior of the cottage all was clean, neat, and vidual interest she had excited in the noble family. To suitable to the exterior. It had been originally built and name the various articles by their appropriate names, furnished by the Duke, as a retreat for a favourite do- would be to attempt things unattempted yet in prose or mestic of the higher class, who did not long enjoy it, rhyme; besides that the old-fashioned terms of and had been dead only a few months, so that every manteaus, sacques, kissing-strings, and so forth, would thing was in excellent taste and good order. But in convey but little information even to the milliners of Jeanie’s bedroom was a neat trunk, which had greatly the present day. I shall deposit, however, an accurate excited Mrs. Dutton’s curiosity, for she was sure that inventory of the contents of the trunk with my kind the direction, “For Mrs. Jean Deans, at Auchingower, friend, Miss Martha Buskbody, who has promised, parish of Knocktarlitie,” was the writing of Mrs. should the public curiosity seem interested in the sub- Semple, the Duchess’s own woman. May Hettly project, to supply me with a professional glossary and com- duced the key in a sealed parcel, which bore the same mentary. Suffice it to say, that the gift was such as be- address, and attached to the key was a label, intimating came the donors, and was suited to the situation of the that the trunk and its contents were “a token of remem- receiver; that every thing was handsome and appropri- brance to Jeanie Deans, from her friends the Duchess ate, and nothing forgotten which belonged to the ward- of Argyle and the young ladies.” The trunk, hastily robe of a young person in Jeanie’s situation in life, the opened, as the reader will not doubt, was found to be destined bride of a respectable clergyman. full of wearing apparel of the best quality, suited to Article after article was displayed, commented upon, Jeanie’s rank in life; and to most of the articles the names and admired, to the wonder of May, who declared, “she

535 The Heart of Mid-Lothian didna think the queen had mair or better claise,” and “Fat ta deil, Mr. Archibald,” answered the Captain of somewhat to the envy of the northern Cowslip. This Knockdunder, “wad ye hae them ring the bell before I unamiable, but not very unnatural, disposition of mind, am ready to gang to kirk?—I wad gar the bedral eat the broke forth in sundry unfounded criticisms to the dis- bell-rope, if he took ony sic freedom. But if ye want to paragement of the articles, as they were severally ex- hear the bell, I will just show mysell on the knowe-head, hibited. But it assumed a more direct character, when, and it will begin jowing forthwith.” at the bottom of all, was found a dress of white silk, Accordingly, so soon as they sallied out, and that the very plainly made, but still of white silk, and French gold-laced hat of the Captain was seen rising like Hesper silk to boot, with a paper pinned to it, bearing that it above the dewy verge of the rising ground, the clash was a present from the Duke of Argyle to his travelling (for it was rather a clash than a clang) of the bell was companion, to be worn on the day when she should heard from the old moss-grown tower, and the clapper change her name. continued to thump its cracked sides all the while they Mrs. Dutton could forbear no longer, but whispered advanced towards the kirk, Duncan exhorting them to into Mr. Archibald’s ear, that it was a clever thing to be take their own time, “for teil ony sport wad be till he a Scotchwoman: “She supposed all her sisters, and she came.”* had half-a-dozen, might have been hanged, without any Accordingly, the bell only changed to the final and im- one sending her a present of a pocket handkerchief.” patient chime when they crossed the stile; and “rang “Or without your making any exertion to save them, in,” that is, concluded its mistuned summons, when they Mrs. Dolly,” answered Archibald drily.— “But I am sur- had entered the Duke’s seat, in the little kirk, where the prised we do not hear the bell yet,” said he, looking at whole party arranged themselves, with Duncan at their his watch. * Note T. Tolling to service in Scotland. 536 Sir Walter Scott head, excepting David Deans, who already occupied a Duncan, after rummaging the leathern purse which seat among the elders. hung in front of his petticoat, produced a short tobacco- The business of the day, with a particular detail of pipe made of iron, and observed, almost aloud, “I hae which it is unnecessary to trouble the reader, was gone forgotten my spleuchan—Lachlan, gang down to the through according to the established form, and the ser- clachan, and bring me up a pennyworth of twist.” Six mon pronounced upon the occasion had the good for- arms, the nearest within reach, presented, with an obe- tune to please even the critical David Deans, though it dient start, as many tobacco-pouches to the man of of- was only an hour and a quarter long, which David fice. He made choice of one with an nod of acknowledg- termed a short allowance of spiritual provender. ment, filled his pipe, lighted it with the assistance of his The preacher, who was a divine that held many of pistol-flint, and smoked with infinite composure during David’s opinions, privately apologised for his brevity by the whole time of the sermon. When the discourse was saying, “That he observed the Captain was gaunting finished, he knocked the ashes out of his pipe, replaced grievously, and that if he had detained him longer, there it in his sporran, returned the tobacco-pouch or was no knowing how long he might be in paying the spleuchan to its owner, and joined in the prayer with next term’s victual stipend.” decency and attention. David groaned to find that such carnal motives could At the end of the service, when Butler had been ad- have influence upon the mind of a powerful preacher. mitted minister of the kirk of Knocktarlitie, with all its He had, indeed, been scandalised by another circum- spiritual immunities and privileges, David, who had stance during the service. frowned, groaned, and murmured at Knockdunder’s ir- So soon as the congregation were seated after prayers, reverent demeanour, communicated his plain thoughts and the clergyman had read his text, the gracious of the matter to Isaac Meiklehose, one of the elders,

537 The Heart of Mid-Lothian with whom a reverential aspect and huge grizzle wig Reuben Butler isna the man I take him to be, if he disna had especially disposed him to seek fraternisation. “It learn the Captain to fuff his pipe some other gate than didna become a wild Indian,” David said, “much less a in God’s house, or the quarter be ower.” Christian, and a gentleman, to sit in the kirk puffing “Fair and softly gangs far,” said Meiklehose; “and if a tobacco-reek, as if he were in a change-house.” fule may gie a wise man a counsel, I wad hae him think Meiklehose shook his head, and allowed it was “far twice or he mells with Knockdunder—He auld hae a frae beseeming—But what lang-shankit spune that will ye say? The Captain’s wad sup kail wi’ the deil. a queer hand, and to speak But they are a’ away to to him about that or their dinner to the change- onything else that crosses house, and if we dinna the maggot, wad be to set mend our pace, we’ll come the kiln a-low. He keeps a short at meal-time.” high hand ower the coun- David accompanied his try, and we couldna deal wi’ friend without answer; but the Hielandmen without began to feel from experi- his protection, sin’ a’ the ence, that the glen of keys o’ the kintray hings at Knocktarlitie, like the rest his belt; and he’s no an ill body in the main, and maistry, of the world, was haunted by its own special subjects ye ken, maws the meadows doun.” of regret and discontent. His mind was, so much occu- “That may be very true, neighbour,” said David; “but pied by considering the best means of converting

538 Sir Walter Scott Duncan of Knock to a sense of reverend decency during public worship, that he altogether forgot to inquire whether Butler was called upon to subscribe the oaths CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND to Government. Some have insinuated, that his neglect on this head was, in some degree, intentional; but I think this expla- Now butt and ben the change-house fills Wi’ yill-caup commentators, nation inconsistent with the simplicity of my friend Here’s crying out for bakes and gills, David’s character. Neither have I ever been able, by the And there the pint-stoup clatters. most minute inquiries, to know whether the formula, at Wi’ thick and thrang, and loud and lang,— Wi’ logic and wi’ scripture, which he so much scrupled, had been exacted from But- They raise a din that in the end ler, ay or no. The books of the kirk-session might have Is like to breed a rupture, thrown some light on this matter; but unfortunately they O’ wrath that day. were destroyed in the year 1746, by one Donacha Dhu Burns. na Dunaigh, at the instance, it was said, or at least by the connivance, of the gracious Duncan of Knock, who had a desire to obliterate the recorded foibles of a cer- A PLENTIFUL ENTERTAINMENT, at the Duke of Argyle’s tain Kate Finlayson. cost, regaled the reverend gentlemen who had assisted at the ordination of Reuben Butler, and almost all the respectable part of the parish. The feast was, indeed, such as the country itself furnished; for plenty of all the requisites for “a rough and round dinner” were al- 539 The Heart of Mid-Lothian ways at Duncan of Knock’s command. There was the no dissatisfaction when three bagpipers struck up, “The beef and mutton on the braes, the fresh and salt-water Campbells are coming.” The health of the reverend min- fish in the lochs, the brooks, and firth; game of every ister of Knocktarlitie was received with similar honours; kind, from the deer to the leveret, were to be had for the and there was a roar of laughter, when one of his breth- killing, in the Duke’s forests, moors, heaths, and mosses; ren slily subjoined the addition of, “A good wife to our and for liquor, home-brewed ale flowed as freely as wa- brother, to keep the Manse in order.” On this occasion ter; brandy and usquebaugh both were had in those David Deans was delivered of his first-born joke; and happy times without duty; even white wine and claret apparently the parturition was accompanied with many were got for nothing, since the Duke’s extensive rights throes, for sorely did he twist about his physiognomy, of admiralty gave him a title to all the wine in cask and much did he stumble in his speech, before he could which is drifted ashore on the western coast and isles of express his idea, “That the lad being now wedded to his Scotland, when shipping have suffered by severe weather. spiritual bride, it was hard to threaten him with ane In short, as Duncan boasted, the entertainment did not temporal spouse in the same day.” He then laughed a cost MacCallummore a plack out of his sporran, and hoarse and brief laugh, and was suddenly grave and si- was nevertheless not only liberal, but overflowing. lent, as if abashed at his own vivacious effort. The Duke’s health was solemnised in a bona fide After another toast or two, Jeanie, Mrs. Dolly, and bumper, and David Deans himself added perhaps the such of the female natives as had honoured the feast first huzza that his lungs had ever uttered, to swell the with their presence, retired to David’s new dwelling at shout with which the pledge was received. Nay, so ex- Auchingower, and left the gentlemen to their potations. alted in heart was he upon this memorable occasion, The feast proceeded with great glee. The conversation, and so much disposed to be indulgent, that, he expressed where Duncan had it under his direction, was not in-

540 Sir Walter Scott deed always strictly canonical, but David Deans escaped Archibald when they might hope to see the Duke, tam any risk of being scandalised, by engaging with one of carum caput, as he would venture to term him, at the his neighbours in a recapitulation of the sufferings of Lodge of Roseneath. Duncan of Knock, whose ideas were Ayrshire and Lanarkshire, during what was called the somewhat conglomerated, and who, it may be believed, invasion of the Highland Host; the prudent Mr. was no great scholar, catching up some imperfect sound Meiklehose cautioning them from time to time to lower of the words, conceived the speaker was drawing a paral- their voices, “for that Duncan Knock’s father had been lel between the Duke and Sir Donald Gorme of Sleat; at that onslaught, and brought back muckle gude and being of opinion that such comparison was odious, plenishing, and that Duncan was no unlikely to hae been snorted thrice, and prepared himself to be in a passion. there himself, for what he kend.” To the explanation of the venerable divine the Cap- Meanwhile, as the mirth grew fast and furious, the tain answered, “I heard the word Gorme myself, sir, with graver members of the party began to escape as well as my ain ears. D’ye think I do not know Gaelic from they could. David Deans accomplished his retreat, and Latin?” Butler anxiously watched an opportunity to follow him. “Apparently not, sir;”—so the clergyman, offended in Knockdunder, however, desirous, he said, of knowing his turn, and taking a pinch of snuff, answered with what stuff was in the new minister, had no intention to great coolness. part with him so easily, but kept him pinned to his side, The copper nose of the gracious Duncan now became watching him sedulously, and with obliging violence fill- heated like the Bull of Phalaris, and while Mr. Archibald ing his glass to the brim, as often as he could seize an mediated betwixt the offended parties, and the atten- opportunity of doing so. At length, as the evening was tion of the company was engaged by their dispute, But- wearing late, a venerable brother chanced to ask Mr. ler took an opportunity to effect his retreat.

541 The Heart of Mid-Lothian He found the females at Auchingower very anxious prudence, immediately acquiesced in this proposal; but for the breaking up of the convivial party; for it was a Mrs. Dolly positively objected to the small boat. If the part of the arrangement, that although David Deans big boat could be gotten, she agreed to set out, other- was to remain at Auchingower, and Butler was that night wise she would sleep on the floor, rather than stir a step. to take possession of the Manse, yet Jeanie, for whom Reasoning with Dolly was out of the question, and complete accommodations were not yet provided in her Archibald did not think the difficulty so pressing as to father’s house, was to return for a day or two to the require compulsion. He observed, it was not using the Lodge at Roseneath, and the boats had been held in Captain very politely to deprive him of his coach and readiness accordingly. They waited, therefore, for six; “but as it was in the ladies’ service,” he gallantly Knockdunder’s return, but twilight came, and they still said, “he would use so much freedom—besides the gig waited in vain. At length Mr. Archibald, who was a man would serve the Captain’s purpose better, as it could of decorum, had taken care not to exceed in his convivi- come off at any hour of the tide; the large boat should, ality, made his appearance, and advised the females therefore, be at Mrs. Dolly’s service.” strongly to return to the island under his escort; observ- They walked to the beach accordingly, accompanied ing, that, from the humour in which he had left the Cap- by Butler. It was some time before the boatmen could tain, it was a great chance whether he budged out of be assembled, and ere they were well embarked, and the public-house that night, and it was absolutely cer- ready to depart, the pale moon was come over the hill, tain that he would not be very fit company for ladies. and flinging a trembling reflection on the broad and glit- The gig was at their disposal, he said, and there was still tering waves. But so soft and pleasant was the night, pleasant twilight for a party on the water. that Butler, in bidding farewell to Jeanie, had no appre- Jeanie, who had considerable confidence in Archibald’s hension for her safety; and what is yet more extraordi-

542 Sir Walter Scott nary, Mrs. Dolly felt no alarm for her own. The air was able distance along the shore. He then prepared to land soft, and came over the cooling wave with something of himself, that he might, in the meanwhile, accompany summer fragrance. The beautiful scene of headlands, Jeanie to the Lodge. But as there was no mistaking the and capes, and bays, around them, with the broad blue woodland lane, which led from thence to the shore, and chain of mountains, were dimly visible in the moon- as the moonlight showed her one of the white chimneys light; while every dash of the oars made the waters rising out of the wood which embosomed the building, glance and sparkle with the brilliant phenomenon called Jeanie declined this favour with thanks, and requested the sea fire. him to proceed with Mrs. Dolly, who, being “in a coun- This last circumstance filled Jeanie with wonder, and try where the ways were so strange to her, had mair need served to amuse the mind of her companion, until they of countenance.” approached the little bay, which seemed to stretch its This, indeed, was a fortunate circumstance, and might dark and wooded arms into the sea as if to welcome even be said to save poor Cowslip’s life, if it was true, as them. she herself used solemnly to aver, that she must posi- The usual landing-place was at a quarter of a mile’s tively have expired for fear, if she had been left alone in distance from the Lodge, and although the tide did not the boat with six wild Highlanders in kilts. admit of the large boat coming quite close to the jetty The night was so exquisitely beautiful, that Jeanie, of loose stones which served as a pier, Jeanie, who was instead of immediately directing her course towards the both bold and active, easily sprung ashore; but Mrs., Lodge, stood looking after the boat as it again put off Dolly positively refusing to commit herself to the same from the side, and rowed into the little bay, the dark risk, the complaisant Mr. Archibald ordered the boat figures of her companions growing less and less distinct round to a more regular landing-place, at a consider- as they diminished in the distance, and the jorram, or

543 The Heart of Mid-Lothian melancholy boat-song of the rowers, coming on the ear nursling of so many years—now an exile, and, what was with softened and sweeter sound, until the boat rounded worse, dependent on the will of a man, of whose habits the headland, and was lost to her observation. she had every reason to entertain the worst opinion, and Still Jeanie remained in the same posture, looking out who, even in his strongest paroxysms of remorse, had upon the sea. It would, she was aware, be some time ere appeared too much a stranger to the feelings of real peni- her companions could reach the Lodge, as the distance tence. by the more convenient landing-place was considerably While her thoughts were occupied with these melan- greater than from the point where she stood, and she choly reflections, a shadowy figure seemed to detach it- was not sorry to have an opportunity to spend the in- self from the copsewood on her right hand. Jeanie terval by herself. started, and the stories of apparitions and wraiths, seen The wonderful change which a few weeks had wrought by solitary travellers in wild situations, at such times, in her situation, from shame and grief, and almost de- and in such an hour, suddenly came full upon her imagi- spair, to honour, joy, and a fair prospect of future hap- nation. The figure glided on, and as it came betwixt her piness, passed before her eyes with a sensation which and the moon, she was aware that it had the appear- brought the tears into them. Yet they flowed at the same ance of a woman. A soft voice twice repeated, “Jeanie— time from another source. As human happiness is never Jeanie!”—Was it indeed—could it be the voice of her perfect, and as well-constructed minds are never more sister?—Was she still among the living, or had the grave sensible of the distresses of those whom they love, than given uly its tenant?—Ere she could state these ques- when their own situation forms a contrast with them, tions to her own mind, Effie, alive, and in the body, had Jeanie’s affectionate regrets turned to the fate of her clasped her in her arms and was straining her to her poor sister—the child of so many hopes—the fondled bosom, and devouring her with kisses. “I have wandered

544 Sir Walter Scott here,” she said, “like a ghaist, to see you, and nae won- “There is nae danger—there shall be nae danger,” said der you take me for ane—I thought but to see you gang Jeanie eagerly. “O Effie, dinna be wilfu’—be guided for by, or to hear the sound of your voice; but to speak to ance—we will be sae happy a’ thegither!” yoursell again, Jeanie, was mair than I deserved, and “I have a’ the happiness I deserve on this side of the mair than I durst pray for.” grave, now that I hae seen you,” answered Effie; “and “O Effie! how came ye here alone, and at this hour, whether there were danger to mysell or no, naebody shall and on the wild seabeach?—Are you sure it’s your ain ever say that I come with my cheat-the-gallows face to living sell?” There was something of Effie’s former shame my sister among her grand friends.” humour in her practically answering the question by a “I hae nae grand friends,” said Jeanie; “nae friends gentle pinch, more beseeming the fingers of a fairy than but what are friends of yours—Reuben Butler and my of a ghost. And again the sisters embraced, and laughed, father.—O unhappy lassie, dinna be dour, and turn your and wept by turns. back on your happiness again! We wunna see another “But ye maun gang up wi’ me to the Lodge, Effie,” acquaintance—Come hame to us, your ain dearest said Jeanie, “and tell me a’ your story—I hae gude folk friends—it’s better sheltering under an auld hedge than there that will make ye welcome for my sake.” under a new-planted wood.” “Na, na, Jeanie,” replied her sister sorrowfully,— “ye “It’s in vain speaking, Jeanie,—I maun drink as I hae hae forgotten what I am—a banished outlawed crea- brewed—I am married, and I maun follow my husband ture, scarce escaped the gallows by your being the for better for worse.” bauldest and the best sister that ever lived—I’ll gae near “Married, Effie!” exclaimed Jeanie— “Misfortunate nane o’ your grand friends, even if there was nae danger creature! and to that awfu’—” to me.” “Hush, hush,” said Effie, clapping one hand on her

545 The Heart of Mid-Lothian mouth, and pointing to the thicket with the other, “he Jeanie, in great doubt and anxiety; for the haughty, care- is yonder.” She said this in a tone which showed that less tone in which he spoke seemed to justify her worst her husband had found means to inspire her with awe, apprehensions. as well as affection. At this moment a man issued from “I really am legally married, and by my own name,” the wood. replied Staunton, more gravely. It was young Staunton. Even by the imperfect light “And your father—and your friends?” of the moon, Jeanie could observe that he was hand- “And my father and my friends must just reconcile somely dressed, and had the air of a person of rank. themselves to that which is done and cannot be undone,” “Effie,” he said, “our time is well-nigh spent—the skiff replied Staunton. “However, it is my intention, in order will be aground in the creek, and I dare not stay longer.— to break off dangerous connections, and to let my friends I hope your sister will allow me to salute her?” But Jeanie come to their temper, to conceal my marriage for the shrunk back from him with a feeling of internal abhor- present, and stay abroad for some years. So that you rence. “Well,” he said, “it does not much signify; if you will not hear of us for some time, if ever you hear of us keep up the feeling of ill-will, at least you do not act again at all. It would be dangerous, you must be aware, upon it, and I thank you for your respect to my secret, to keep up the correspondence; for all would guess that when a word (which in your place I would have spoken the husband of Effie was the—what shall I call my- at once) would have cost me my life. People say, you self?—the slayer of Porteous.” should keep from the wife of your bosom the secret that Hard-hearted light man! thought Jeanie—to what a concerns your neck—my wife and her sister both know character she has intrusted her happiness!—She has mine, and I shall not sleep a wink the less sound.” sown the wind, and maun reap the whirlwind. “But are you really married to my sister, sir?” asked “Dinna think ill o’ him,” said Effie, breaking away

546 Sir Walter Scott from her husband, and leading Jeanie a step or two out Although it was impossible to determine whether this of hearing— “dinna think very ill o’ him—he’s gude to interview, while it was passing, gave more pain or plea- me, Jeanie—as gude as I deserve—And he is determined sure to Jeanie Deans, yet the ultimate impression which to gie up his bad courses—Sae, after a’, dinna greet for remained on her mind was decidedly favourable. Effie Effie; she is better off than she has wrought for.—But was married—made, according to the common phrase, you—oh, you!—how can you be happy eneugh! never an honest woman—that was one main point; it seemed till ye get to heaven, where a’body is as gude as also as if her husband were about to abandon the path yoursell.—Jeanie, if I live and thrive, ye shall hear of of gross vice in which he had run so long and so desper- me—if not, just forget that sic a creature ever lived to ately—that was another. For his final and effectual con- vex ye—fare ye weel—fare—fare ye weel!” version he did not want understanding, and God knew She tore herself from her sister’s arms—rejoined her his own hour. husband—they plunged into the copsewood, and she saw Such were the thoughts with which Jeanie endeav- them no more. The whole scene had the effect of a vi- oured to console her anxiety respecting her sister’s fusion, and she could almost have believed it such, but ture fortune. On her arrival at the lodge, she found that very soon after they quitted her, she heard the sound Archibald in some anxiety at her stay, and about to walk of oars, and a skiff was seen on the firth, pulling swiftly out in quest of her. A headache served as an apology for towards the small smuggling sloop which lay in the off- retiring to rest, in order to conceal her visible agitation ing. It was on board of such a vessel that Effie had em- of mind from her companions. barked at Portobello, and Jeanie had no doubt that the By this secession also she escaped a scene of a differ- same conveyance was destined, as Staunton had hinted, ent sort. For, as if there were danger in all gigs, whether to transport them to a foreign country. by sea or land, that of Knockdunder had been run down

547 The Heart of Mid-Lothian by another boat, an accident owing chiefly to the drunk- coxswain had been on shore, making particular inquir- enness of the Captain, his crew, and passengers. ies concerning the time when his boat was to cross over, Knockdunder, and two or three guests, whom he was and to return, and so forth. bringing along with him to finish the conviviality of “Put the neist time they meet me on the firth,” said the evening at the Lodge, got a sound ducking; but, be- Duncan, with great majesty, “I will teach the moon- ing rescued by the crew of the boat which endangered light rapscallions and vagabonds to keep their ain side them, there was no ultimate loss, excepting that of the of the road, and pe tamn’d to them!” Captain’s laced hat, which, greatly to the satisfaction of the Highland part of the district, as well as to the improvement of the conformity of his own personal appearance, he replaced by a smart Highland bonnet next day. Many were the vehement threats of vengeance which, on the succeeding morning, the gracious Duncan threw out against the boat which had upset him; but as neither she, nor the small smuggling vessel to which she belonged, was any longer to be seen in the firth, he was compelled to sit down with the affront. This was the more hard, he said, as he was assured the mischief was done on purpose, these scoundrels having lurked about after they had landed every drop of brandy, and every bag of tea they had on board; and he understood the

548 Sir Walter Scott of Knockdunder, who said, if he “had guessed it was to be sic a tamn’d Quakers’ meeting, he wad hae seen them CHAPTER TWENTY-THIRD peyont the cairn before he wad hae darkened their doors.” And so much rancour remained on the spirits of the Lord! who would live turmoiled in a court, gracious Duncan upon this occasion, that various And may enjoy such quiet walks as these? “picqueerings,” as David called them, took place upon the same and similar topics and it was only in conse- Shakespeare. quence of an accidental visit of the Duke to his Lodge at Roseneath, that they were put a stop to. But upon that occasion his Grace showed such particular respect WITHIN A REASONABLE time after Butler was safely and to Mr. and Mrs. Butler, and such favour even to old comfortably settled in his living, and Jeanie had taken David, that Knockdunder held it prudent to change his up her abode at Auchingower with her father,—the pre- course towards the latter. He, in future, used to express cise extent of which interval we request each reader to himself among friends, concerning the minister and his settle according to his own sense of what is decent and wife, as “very worthy decent folk, just a little over strict proper upon the occasion,—and after due proclamation in their notions; put it was pest for thae plack cattle to of banns, and all other formalities, the long wooing of err on the safe side.” And respecting David, he allowed this worthy pair was ended by their union in the holy that “he was an excellent judge of nowte and sheep, bands of matrimony. On this occasion, David Deans and a sensible eneugh carle, an it werena for his tamn’d stoutly withstood the iniquities of pipes, fiddles, and Cameronian nonsense, whilk it is not worth while of a promiscuous dancing, to the great wrath of the Captain

549 The Heart of Mid-Lothian shentleman to knock out of an auld silly head, either by If he talked to Jeanie of what she did not under- force of reason or otherwise.” So that, by avoiding top- stand—and (for the man was mortal, and had been a ics of dispute, the personages of our tale lived in great schoolmaster) he sometimes did harangue more schol- good habits with the gracious Duncan, only that he still arly and wisely than was necessary—she listened in grieved David’s soul, and set a perilous example to the placid silence; and whenever the point referred to com- congregation, by sometimes bringing his pipe to the mon life, and was such as came under the grasp of a church during a cold winter day, and almost always sleep- strong natural understanding, her views were more forcing during sermon in the summer time. ible, and her observations more acute, than his own. In Mrs. Butler, whom we must no longer, if we can help it, acquired politeness of manners, when it happened that term by the familiar name of Jeanie, brought into the she mingled a little in society, Mrs. Butler was, of course, married state the same firm mind and affectionate dispo- judged deficient. But then she had that obvious wish to sition—the same natural and homely good sense, and oblige, and that real and natural good-breeding depend- spirit of useful exertion—in a word, all the domestic good ing on, good sense and good humour, which, joined to a qualities of which she had given proof during her maiden considerable degree of archness and liveliness of man- life. She did not indeed rival Butler in learning; but then ner, rendered her behaviour acceptable to all with whom no woman more devoutly venerated the extent of her she was called upon to associate. Notwithstanding her husband’s erudition. She did not pretend to understand strict attention to all domestic affairs, she always ap- his expositions of divinity; but no minister of the peared the clean well-dressed mistress of the house, never Presbytery had his humble dinner so well arranged, his the sordid household drudge. When complimented on clothes and linen in equal good order, his fireside so neatly this occasion by Duncan Knock, who swore “that he swept, his parlour so clean, and his books so well dusted. thought the fairies must help her, since her house was

550 Sir Walter Scott always clean, and nobody ever saw anybody sweeping much to the satisfaction of the old hero of the Covenant, it,” she modestly replied, “That much might be dune and the girl, by her mother’s special desire, was chris- by timing ane’s turns.” tened Euphemia, rather contrary to the wish both of Duncan replied, “He heartily wished she could teach her father and husband, who nevertheless loved Mrs. that art to the huzzies at the Lodge, for he could never Butler too well, and were too much indebted to her for discover that the house was washed at a’, except now their hours of happiness, to withstand any request which and then by breaking his shins over the pail—Cot tamn she made with earnestness, and as a gratification to her- the jauds!” self. But from some feeling, I know not of what kind, Of lesser matters there is not occasion to speak much. the child was never distinguished by the name of Effie, It may easily be believed that the Duke’s cheese was but by the abbreviation of Femie, which in Scotland is carefully made, and so graciously accepted, that the equally commonly applied to persons called Euphemia. offering became annual. Remembrances and acknowl- In this state of quiet and unostentatious enjoyment, edgments of past favours were sent to Mrs. Bickerton there were, besides the ordinary rubs and ruffles which and Mrs. Glass, and an amicable intercourse maintained disturb even the most uniform life, two things which from time to time with these two respectable and be- particularly chequered Mrs. Butler’s happiness. “With- nevolent persons. out these,” she said to our informer, “her life would have It is especially necessary to mention that, in the course been but too happy; and perhaps,” she added, “she had of five years, Mrs. Butler had three children, two boys need of some crosses in this world to remind her that and a girl, all stout healthy babes of grace, fair-haired, there was a better to come behind it.” blue-eyed, and strong-limbed. The boys were named The first of these related to certain polemical skir- David and Reuben, an order of nomenclature which was mishes betwixt her father and her husband, which, not-

551 The Heart of Mid-Lothian withstanding the mutual respect and affection they en- little farther than it would otherwise have gone. “My tertained for each other, and their great love for her— brethren,” he said, “will suppose I am flattering and notwithstanding, also, their general agreement in strict- conciliating the old man for the sake of his succession, ness, and even severity, of Presbyterian principle—of- if I defer and give way to him on every occasion; and, ten threatened unpleasant weather between them. David besides, there are many on which I neither can nor will Deans, as our readers must be aware, was sufficiently conscientiously yield to his notions. I cannot be perse- opinionative and intractable, and having prevailed on cuting old women for witches, or ferreting out matter himself to become a member of a kirk-session under of scandal among the young ones, which might other- the Established Church, he felt doubly obliged to evince wise have remained concealed.” that, in so doing, he had not compromised any whit of From this difference of opinion it happened that, in his former professions, either in practice or principle. many cases of nicety, such as in owning certain defec- Now Mr. Butler, doing all credit to his father-in-law’s tions, and failing to testify against certain backslidings motives, was frequently of opinion that it were better of the time, in not always severely tracing forth little to drop out of memory points of division and separa- matters of scandal and fama clamosa, which David called tion, and to act in the manner most likely to attract and a loosening of the reins of discipline, and in failing to unite all parties who were serious in religion. Moreover, demand clear testimonies in other points of controversy he was not pleased, as a man and a scholar, to be always which had, as it were, drifted to leeward with the change dictated to by his unlettered father-in-law; and as a cler- of times, Butler incurred the censure of his father-in- gyman, he did not think it fit to seem for ever under the law; and sometimes the disputes betwixt them became thumb of an elder of his own kirk-session. A proud but eager and almost unfriendly. In all such cases Mrs But- honest thought carried his opposition now and then a ler was a mediating spirit, who endeavoured, by the al-

552 Sir Walter Scott kaline smoothness of her own disposition, to neutralise to expostulate with his Maker with such impatience of the acidity of theological controversy. To the complaints displeasure, and complaining so bitterly, that at length of both she lent an unprejudiced and attentive ear, and it was said unto him, that he was heard for this time, sought always rather to excuse than absolutely to de- but that he was requested to use no such boldness in fend the other party. time coming; so that when he returned he found the child She reminded her father that Butler had not “his ex- sitting up in the bed hale and fair, with all its wounds perience of the auld and wrastling times, when folk were closed, and supping its parritch, whilk babe he had left gifted wi’ a far look into eternity, to make up for the at the time of death. But though these things might be oppressions whilk they suffered here below in time. She true in these needful times, she contended that those freely allowed that many devout ministers and profes- ministers who had not seen such vouchsafed and espe- sors in times past had enjoyed downright revelation, like cial mercies, were to seek their rule in the records of the blessed Peden, and Lundie, and Cameron, and ancient times; and therefore Reuben was carefu’ both Renwick, and John Caird the tinkler, wha entered into to search the Scriptures and the books written by wise the secrets, and Elizabeth Melvil, Lady Culross, wha and good men of old; and sometimes in this way it wad prayed in her bed, surrounded by a great many Chris- happen that twa precious saints might pu’ sundry wise, tians in a large room, in whilk it was placed on purpose, like twa cows riving at the same hayband.” and that for three hours’ time, with wonderful assistance; To this David used to reply, with a sigh, “Ah, hinny, and Lady Robertland, whilk got six sure outgates of thou kenn’st little o’t; but that saam John Scrimgeour, grace, and mony other in times past; and of a specially, that blew open the gates of heaven as an it had been wi’ Mr. John Scrimgeour, minister of Kinghorn, who, hav- a sax-pund cannonball, used devoutly to wish that most ing a beloved child sick to death of the crewels, was free part of books were burnt, except the Bible. Reuben’s a

553 The Heart of Mid-Lothian gude lad and a kind—I have aye allowed that; but as to ciliatory process. Reuben had the utmost respect for the his not allowing inquiry anent the scandal of Marjory old man’s motives, and affection for his person, as well Kittlesides and Rory MacRand, under pretence that as gratitude for his early friendship. So that, upon any they have southered sin wi’ marriage, it’s clear agane such occasion of accidental irritation, it was only nec- the Christian discipline o’ the kirk. And then there’s Aily essary to remind him with delicacy of his father-in-law’s MacClure of Deepheugh, that practises her abomina- age, of his scanty education, strong prejudices, and fam- tions, spacing folks’ fortunes wi’ egg-shells, and mut- ily distresses. The least of these considerations always ton-banes, and dreams and divinations, whilk is a scan- inclined Butler to measures of conciliation, in so far as dal to ony Christian land to suffer sic a wretch to live; he could accede to them without compromising prin- and I’ll uphaud that, in a’ judicatures, civil or ecclesias- ciple; and thus our simple and unpretending heroine had tical.” the merit of those peacemakers, to whom it is pro- “I daresay ye are very right, father,” was the general nounced as a benediction, that they shall inherit the style of Jeanie’s answer; “but ye maun come down to earth. the Manse to your dinner the day. The bits o’ bairns, The second crook in Mrs. Butler’s lot, to use the lan- puir things, are wearying to see their luckie dad; and guage of her father, was the distressing circumstance, Reuben never sleeps weel, nor I neither, when you and that she had never heard of her sister’s safety, or of the he hae had ony bit outcast.” circumstances in which she found herself, though be- “Nae outcast, Jeanie; God forbid I suld cast out wi’ twixt four and five years had elapsed since they had thee, or aught that is dear to thee!” And he put on his parted on the beach of the island of Roseneath. Fre- Sundays coat, and came to the Manse accordingly. quent intercourse was not to be expected—not to be With her husband, Mrs. Butler had a more direct con- desired, perhaps, in their relative situations; but Effie

554 Sir Walter Scott had promised, that, if she lived and prospered, her sis- The playing at backgammon and draughts had been ter should hear from her. She must then be no more, or a frequent amusement of Mr. Whackbairn, Butler’s prin- sunk into some abyss of misery, since she had never re- cipal, when at Liberton school. The minister, therefore, deemed her pledge. Her silence seemed strange and por- still piqued himself on his skill at both games, and oc- tentous, and wrung from Jeanie, who could never forget casionally practised them, as strictly canonical, although the early years of their intimacy, the most painful an- David Deans, whose notions of every kind were more ticipation concerning her fate. At length, however, the rigorous, used to shake his head, and groan grievously, veil was drawn aside. when he espied the tables lying in the parlour, or the One day, as the Captain of Knockdunder had called children playing with the dice boxes or backgammon in at the Manse, on his return from some business in the men. Indeed, Mrs. Butler was sometimes chidden for Highland part of the parish, and had been accommo- removing these implements of pastime into some closet dated, according to his special request, with a mixture or corner out of sight. “Let them be where they are, of milk, brandy, honey, and water, which he said Mrs. Jeanie,” would Butler say upon such occasions; “I am Butler compounded “potter than ever a woman in Scot- not conscious of following this, or any other trifling re- land,”—for, in all innocent matters, she studied the taste laxation, to the interruption of my more serious stud- of every one around her,—he said to Butler, “Py the py, ies, and still more serious duties. I will not, therefore, minister, I have a letter here either for your canny pody have it supposed that I am indulging by stealth, and of a wife or you, which I got when I was last at Glasco; against my conscience, in an amusement which, using it the postage comes to fourpence, which you may either so little as I do, I may well practise openly, and without pay me forthwith, or give me tooble or quits in a hit at any check of mind—Nil conscire sibi, Jeanie, that is my packcammon.” motto; which signifies, my love, the honest and open

555 The Heart of Mid-Lothian confidence which a man ought to entertain when he is acting openly, and without any sense of doing wrong.” Such being Butler’s humour, he accepted the Captain’s CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTH defiance to a twopenny hit at backgammon, and handed the letter to his wife, observing the post-mark was York, but, if it came from her friend Mrs. Bickerton, she had Happy thou art! then happy be, Nor envy me my lot; considerably improved her handwriting, which was un- Thy happy state I envy thee, common at her years. And peaceful cot. Leaving the gentlemen to their game, Mrs. Butler went to order something for supper, for Captain Duncan had Lady Charlotte Campbell. proposed kindly to stay the night with them, and then carelessly broke open her letter. It was not from Mrs. Bickerton; and, after glancing over the first few lines, THE LETTER, which Mrs. Butler, when retired into her she soon found it necessary to retire to her own bed- own apartment, perused with anxious wonder, was cer- room, to read the document at leisure. tainly from Effie, although it had no other signature than the letter E.; and although the orthography, style, and penmanship, were very far superior not only to anything which Effie could produce, who, though a lively girl, had been a remarkably careless scholar, but even to her more considerate sister’s own powers of composition and expression. The manuscript was a fair Italian

556 Sir Walter Scott hand, though something stiff and constrained—the him terrible to himself and others. Yet do not let me spelling and the diction that of a person who had been frighten you, Jeanie; he continues to be kind, and I am accustomed to read good composition, and mix in good far better off than I deserve. You will wonder at my society. better scholarship; but when I was abroad, I had the The tenor of the letter was as follows:— best teachers, and I worked hard, because my progress pleased him. He is kind, Jeanie, only he has much to “My Dearest Sister,—At many risks I venture to write distress him, especially when he looks backward. When to you, to inform you that I am still alive, and, as to I look backward myself, I have always a ray of comfort: worldly situation, that I rank higher than I could ex- it is in the generous conduct of a sister, who forsook me pect or merit. If wealth, and distinction, and an not when I was forsaken by every one. You have had honourable rank, could make a woman happy, I have your reward. You live happy in the esteem and love of them all; but you, Jeanie, whom the world might think all who know you, and I drag on the life of a miserable placed far beneath me in all these respects, are far hap- impostor, indebted for the marks of regard I receive to pier than I am. I have had means of hearing of your a tissue of deceit and lies, which the slightest accident welfare, my dearest Jeanie, from time to time—I think may unravel. He has produced me to his friends, since I should have broken my heart otherwise. I have learned the estate opened to him, as a daughter of a Scotchman with great pleasure of your increasing family. We have of rank, banished on account of the Viscount of not been worthy of such a blessing; two infants have Dundee’s wars—that is, our Fr’s old friend Clavers, you been successively removed, and we are now childless— know—and he says I was educated in a Scotch convent; God’s will be done! But, if we had a child, it would per- indeed, I lived in such a place long enough to enable me haps divert him from the gloomy thoughts which make to support the character. But when a countryman ap-

557 The Heart of Mid-Lothian proaches me, and begins to talk, as they all do, of the have conceived, beside whom he was sitting, and to various families engaged in Dundee’s affair, and to make whom the story was told!—I suffered with courage, like inquiries into my connections, and when I see his eye an Indian at the stake, while they are rending his fibres bent on mine with such an expression of agony, my ter- and boring his eyes, and while he smiles applause at each ror brings me to the very risk of detection. Good-nature well-imagined contrivance of his torturers. It was too and politeness have hitherto saved me, as they prevented much for me at last, Jeanie—I fainted; and my agony people from pressing on me with distressing questions. was imputed partly to the heat of the place, and partly But how long—O how long, will this be the case!—And to my extreme sensibility; and, hypocrite all over, I en- if I bring this disgrace on him, he will hate me—he will couraged both opinions—anything but discovery! Luck- kill me, for as much as he loves me; he is as jealous of his ily, he was not there. But the incident has more alarms. family honour now, as ever he was careless about it. I I am obliged to meet your great man often; and he sel- have been in England four months, and have often dom sees me without talking of E. D. and J. D., and R. thought of writing to you; and yet, such are the dan- B. and D. D., as persons in whom my amiable sensibility gers that might arise from an intercepted letter, that I is interested. My amiable sensibility!!!—And then the have hitherto forborne. But now I am obliged to run cruel tone of light indifference with which persons in the risk. Last week I saw your great friend, the D. of A. the fashionable world speak together on the most af- He came to my box, and sate by me; and something in fecting subjects! To hear my guilt, my folly, my agony, the play put him in mind of you—Gracious Heaven! he the foibles and weaknesses of my friends—even your told over your whole London journey to all who were in heroic exertions, Jeanie, spoken of in the drolling style the box, but particularly to the wretched creature who which is the present tone in fashionable life—Scarce all was the occasion of it all. If he had known—if he could that I formerly endured is equal to this state of irrita-

558 Sir Walter Scott tion—then it was blows and stabs—now it is pricking Reverend George Whiterose, in the Minster-Close, York. to death with needles and pins.—He—I mean the D.— He thinks I correspond with some of my noble Jacobite goes down next month to spend the shooting-season in relations who are in Scotland. How high-church and Scotland—he says, he makes a point of always dining jacobitical zeal would burn in his checks, if he knew he one day at the Manse—be on your guard, and do not was the agent, not of Euphemia Setoun, of the betray yourself, should he mention me—Yourself, alas! honourable house of Winton, but of E. D., daughter of you have nothing to betray—nothing to fear; you, the a Cameronian cowfeeder!—Jeanie, I can laugh yet some- pure, the virtuous, the heroine of unstained faith, un- times—but God protect you from such mirth.—My fa- blemished purity, what can you have to fear from the ther—I mean your father, would say it was like the idle world or its proudest minions? It is E. whose life is once crackling of thorns; but the thorns keep their poignancy, more in your hands—it is E. whom you are to save from they remain unconsumed. Farewell, my dearest Jeanie— being plucked of her borrowed plumes, discovered, Do not show this even to Mr. Butler, much less to any branded, and trodden down, first by him, perhaps, who one else. I have every respect for him, but his principles has raised her to this dizzy pinnacle!—The enclosure are over strict, and my case will not endure severe han- will reach you twice a-year—do not refuse it—it is out dling.—I rest your affectionate sister, E.” of my own allowance, and may be twice as much when you want it. With you it may do good—with me it never In this long letter there was much to surprise as well can. as to distress Mrs. Butler. That Effie—her sister Effie, “Write to me soon, Jeanie, or I shall remain in the should be mingling freely in society, and apparently on agonising apprehension that this has fallen into wrong not unequal terms, with the Duke of Argyle, sounded hands—Address simply to L. S., under cover, to the like something so extraordinary, that she even doubted

559 The Heart of Mid-Lothian if she read truly. Not was it less marvellous, that, in the see that she suld be sae feared for her ain bonny bargain space of four years, her education should have made such o’ a gudeman, and that I shouldna reverence Mr. Butler progress. Jeanie’s humility readily allowed that Effie just as much; and sae I’ll e’en tell him, when that tip- had always, when she chose it, been smarter at her book pling body the Captain has ta’en boat in the morning.— than she herself was, but then she was very idle, and, But I wonder at my ain state of mind,” she added, turn- upon the whole, had made much less proficiency. Love, ing back, after she had made a step or two to the door or fear, or necessity, however, had proved an able school- to join the gentlemen; “surely I am no sic a fule as to be mistress, and completely supplied all her deficiencies. angry that Effie’s a braw lady, while I am only a What Jeanie least liked in the tone of the letter, was a minister’s wife?—and yet I am as petted as a bairn, when smothered degree of egotism. “We should have heard I should bless God, that has redeemed her from shame, little about her,” said Jeanie to herself, “but that she and poverty, and guilt, as ower likely she might hae been was feared the Duke might come to learn wha she was, plunged into.” and a’ about her puir friends here; but Effie, puir thing, Sitting down upon a stool at the foot of the bed, she aye looks her ain way, and folk that do that think mair folded her arms upon her bosom, saying within herself, o’ themselves than of their neighbours.—I am no clear “From this place will I not rise till I am in a better frame about keeping her siller,” she added, taking up a £50 of mind;” and so placed, by dint of tearing the veil from note which had fallen out of the paper to the floor. “We the motives of her little temporary spleen against her hae eneugh, and it looks unco like theftboot, or sister, she compelled herself to be ashamed of them, and hushmoney, as they ca’ it; she might hae been sure that to view as blessings the advantages of her sister’s lot, I wad say naething wad harm her, for a’ the gowd in while its embarrassments were the necessary conse- Lunnon. And I maun tell the minister about it. I dinna quences of errors long since committed. And thus she

560 Sir Walter Scott fairly vanquished the feeling of pique which she natu- days, if he can pe so opliging; for fan I speak to him rally enough entertained, at seeing Effie, so long the apout prute pestil, he answers me out o’ the Pible, whilk object of her care and her pity, soar suddenly so high is not using a shentleman weel, unless it be a person of above her in life, as to reckon amongst the chief objects your cloth, Mr. Putler.” of her apprehension the risk of their relationship being No one understood better than Jeanie the merit of the discovered. soft answer, which turneth away wrath; and she only When this unwonted burst of amour propre was thor- smiled, and hoped that his Grace would find everything oughly subdued, she walked down to the little parlour that was under her father’s care to his entire satisfaction. where the gentlemen were finishing their game, and But the Captain, who had lost the whole postage of heard from the Captain a confirmation of the news in- the letter at backgammon, was in the pouting mood not timated in her letter, that the Duke of Argyle was shortly unusual to losers, and which, says the proverb, must be expected at Roseneath. allowed to them. “He’ll find plenty of moor-fowls and plack-cock on “And, Master Putler, though you know I never meddle the moors of Auchingower, and he’ll pe nae doubt for with the things of your kirk-sessions, yet I must pe al- taking a late dinner, and a ped at the Manse, as he has lowed to say that I will not be pleased to allow Ailie done pefore now.” MacClure of Deepheugh to be poonished as a witch, in “He has a gude right, Captain,” said Jeanie. respect she only spaes fortunes, and does not lame, or “Teil ane potter to ony ped in the kintra,” answered plind, or pedevil any persons, or coup cadger’s carts, or the Captain. “And ye had potter tell your father, puir ony sort of mischief; put only tells people good fortunes, body, to get his beasts a’ in order, and put his tamn’d as anent our poats killing so many seals and doug-fishes, Cameronian nonsense out o’ his head for twa or three whilk is very pleasant to hear.”

561 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “The woman,” said Butler, “is, I believe, no witch, coach and six, Mrs. Butler anew deliberated upon com- but a cheat: and it is only on that head that she is sum- municating to her husband her sister’s letter. But she moned to the kirk-session, to cause her to desist in fu- was deterred by the recollection, that, in doing so, she ture from practising her impostures upon ignorant per- would unveil to him the whole of a dreadful secret, of sons.” which, perhaps, his public character might render him “I do not know,” replied the gracious Duncan, “what an unfit depositary. Butler already had reason to be- her practices or postures are, but I pelieve that if the lieve that Effie had eloped with that same Robertson poys take hould on her to duck her in the Clachan purn, who had been a leader in the Porteous mob, and who it will be a very sorry practice—and I pelieve, more- lay under sentence of death for the robbery at Kirkcaldy. over, that if I come in thirdsman among you at the kirk- But he did not know his identity with George Staunton, sessions, you will be all in a tamn’d pad posture indeed.” a man of birth and fortune, who had now apparently Without noticing this threat, Mr. Butler replied, “That reassumed his natural rank in society. Jeanie had re- he had not attended to the risk of ill-usage which the spected Staunton’s own confession as sacred, and upon poor woman might undergo at the hands of the rabble, reflection she considered the letter of her sisteras equally and that he would give her the necessary admonition in so, and resolved to mention the contents to no one. private, instead of bringing her before the assembled On reperusing the letter, she could not help observing session.” the staggering and unsatisfactory condition of those who “This,” Duncan said, “was speaking like a reasonable have risen to distinction by undue paths, and the out- shentleman;” and so the evening passed peaceably off. works and bulwarks of fiction and falsehood, by which Next morning, after the Captain had swallowed his they are under the necessity of surrounding and defend- morning draught of Athole brose, and departed in his ing their precarious advantages. But she was not called

562 Sir Walter Scott upon, she thought, to unveil her sister’s original his- mentioning things unworthy the notice of a lady of tory—it would restore no right to any one, for she was rank, and then recollected that everything which con- usurping none—it would only destroy her happiness, cerned her should be interesting to Effie. Her letter, and degrade her in the public estimation. Had she been under the cover of Mr. Whiterose, she committed to the wise, Jeanie thought she would have chosen seclusion post-office at Glasgow, by the intervention of a parish- and privacy, in place of public life and gaiety; but the ioner who had business at that city. power of choice might not be hers. The money, she The next week brought the Duke to Roseneath, and thought, could not be returned without her seeming shortly afterwards he intimated his intention of sport- haughty and unkind. She resolved, therefore, upon re- ing in their neighbourhood, and taking his bed at the considering this point, to employ it as occasion should Manse; an honour which he had once or twice done to serve, either in educating her children better than her its inmates on former occasions. own means could compass, or for their future portion. Effie proved to be perfectly right in her auticipations. Her sister had enough, was strongly bound to assist The Duke had hardly set himself down at Mrs. Butler’s Jeanie by any means in her power, and the arrangement right hand, and taken upon himself the task of carving was so natural and proper, that it ought not to be de- the excellent “barn-door chucky,” which had been se- clined out of fastidious or romantic delicacy. Jeanie ac- lected as the high dishes upon this honourable occasion, cordingly wrote to her sister, acknowledging her letter, before he began to speak of Lady Staunton of and requesting to hear from her as often as she could. In Willingham, in Lincolnshire, and the great noise which entering into her own little details of news, chiefly re- her wit and beauty made in London. For much of this specting domestic affairs, she experienced a singular Jeanie was, in some measure, prepared—but Effie’s wit! vacillation of ideas; for sometimes she apologised for that would never have entered into her imagination,

563 The Heart of Mid-Lothian being ignorant how exactly raillery in the higher rank there is betwixt them one of those inexplicable likenesses resembles flippancy among their inferiors. which we see in countenances, that do not otherwise “She has been the ruling belle—the blazing star—the resemble each other.” universal toast of the winter,” said the Duke; “and is “The perilous part of the compliment has flown off,” really the most beautiful creature that was seen at court thought Mr. Butler. upon the birth-day.” His wife, feeling the awkwardness of silence, forced The birthday! and at court!—Jeanie was annihilated, herself to say, “That, perhaps, the lady might be her remembering well her own presentation, all its extraor- countrywoman, and the language might have made some dinary circumstances, and particularly the cause of it. resemblance.” “I mention this lady particularly to you, Mrs. But- “You are quite right,” replied the Duke. “She is a ler,” said the Duke, “because she has something in the Scotch-woman, and speaks with a Scotch accent, and sound of her voice, and cast of her countenance, that now and then a provincial word drops out so prettily, reminded me of you—not when you look so pale that it is quite Doric, Mr. Butler.” though—you have over-fatigued yourself—you must “I should have thought,” said the clergyman, “that pledge me in a glass of wine.” would have sounded vulgar in the great city.” She did so, and Butler observed, “It was dangerous “Not at all,” replied the Duke; “you must suppose it flattery in his Grace to tell a poor minister’s wife that is not the broad coarse Scotch that is spoken in the she was like a court-beauty.” Cowgate of Edinburgh, or in the Gorbals. This lady has “Oho, Mr. Butler,” said the Duke, “I find you are grow- been very little in Scotland, in fact she was educated in ing jealous; but it’s rather too late in the day, for you a convent abroad, and speaks that pure court-Scotch, know how long I have admired your wife. But seriously, which was common in my younger days; but it is so gen-

564 Sir Walter Scott erally disused now, that it sounds like a different dialect, entirely distinct from our modern patois.” while his wife could hardly persuade herself that all this Notwithstanding her anxiety, Jeanie could not help was spoken of Effie Deans, and by so competent a judge admiring within herself, how the most correct judges of as the Duke of Argyle; and had she been acquainted life and manners can be imposed on by their own pre- with Catullus, would have thought the fortunes of her conceptions, while the Duke proceeded thus: “She is of sister had reversed the whole passage. the unfortunate house of Winton, I believe; but, being She was, however, determined to obtain some indem- bred abroad, she had missed the opportunity of learn- nification for the anxious feelings of the moment, by ing her own pedigree, and was obliged to me for inform- gaining all the intelligence she could; and therefore ven- ing her, that she must certainly come of the Setons of tured to make some inquiry about the husband of the Windygoul. I wish you could have seen how prettily she lady his Grace admired so much. blushed at her own ignorance. Amidst her noble and el- “He is very rich,” replied the Duke; “of an ancient fam- egant manners, there is now and then a little touch of ily, and has good manners: but he is far from being such a bashfulness and conventual rusticity, if I may call it so, general favourite as his wife. Some people say he can be that makes her quite enchanting. You see at once the very pleasant—I never saw him so; but should rather rose that had bloomed untouched amid the chaste pre- judge him reserved, and gloomy, and capricious. He was cincts of the cloister, Mr. Butler.” very wild in his youth, they say, and has bad health; yet True to the hint, Mr. Butler failed not to start with he is a good-looking man enough—a great friend of your his Lord High Commissioner of the Kirk, Mr. Butler.” “Then he is the friend of a very worthy and honourable “Ut flos in septis secretus nascitur hortis,” etc., nobleman,” said Butler.

565 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “Does he admire his lady as much as other people do?” said Jeanie, in a low voice. Manu “Who—Sir George? They say he is very fond of her,” Non belle uteris in joco atque vino.” said the Duke; “but I observe she trembles a little when he fixes his eye on her, and that is no good sign—But it The discourse being thus turned on parish business, is strange how I am haunted by this resemblance of yours nothing farther occurred that can interest the reader. to Lady Staunton, in look and tone of voice. One would almost swear you were sisters.” Jeanie’s distress became uncontrollable, and beyond concealment. The Duke of Argyle was much disturbed, good-naturedly ascribing it to his having unwittingly recalled, to her remembrance her family misfortunes. He was too well-bred to attempt to apologise; but hastened to change the subject, and arrange certain points of dispute which had occurred betwixt Duncan of Knock and the minister, acknowledging that his worthy substitute was sometimes a little too obstinate, as well as too energetic, in his executive measures. Mr. Butler admitted his general merits; but said, “He would presume to apply to the worthy gentleman the words of the poet to Marrucinus Asinius,

566 Sir Walter Scott tated his friends against him during his absence; and he declared, he would bequeath Willingham and all its lands CHAPTER TWENTY-FIFTH to an hospital, ere that fetch-and-carry tell-tale should inherit an acre of it. “Had he but a child,” said the unfortunate wife, “or Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown, had that luckless infant survived, it would be some mo- And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, Thence to be wrench’d by an unlineal hand, tive for living and for exertion. But Heaven has denied No son of mine succeeding. us a blessing which we have not deserved.” Such complaints, in varied form, but turning fre- Macbeth. quently on the same topic, filled the letters which passed from the spacious but melancholy halls of Willingham, to the quiet and happy parsonage at Knocktarlitie. Years AFTER THIS PERIOD, but under the most strict precau- meanwhile rolled on amid these fruitless repinings. John, tions against discovery, the sisters corresponded occa- Duke of Argyle and Greenwich, died in the year 1743, sionally, exchanging letters about twice every year. Those universally lamented, but by none more than by the of Lady Staunton spoke of her husband’s health and Butlers, to whom his benevolence had been so distin- spirits as being deplorably uncertain; her own seemed guished. He was succeeded by his brother Duke also to be sinking, and one of the topics on which she Archibald, with whom they had not the same intimacy; most frequently dwelt was their want of family. Sir but who continued the protection which his brother had George Staunton, always violent, had taken some aver- extended towards them. This, indeed, became more nec- sion at the next heir, whom he suspected of having irri- essary than ever; for, after the breaking out and sup-

567 The Heart of Mid-Lothian pression of the rebellion in 1745, the peace of the coun- put down his namesake Donacha any morning he had a try, adjacent to the Highlands, was considerably dis- mind; for there were in the parish a set of stout young turbed. Marauders, or men that had been driven to that men, who had joined Argyle’s banner in the war under desperate mode of life, quartered themselves in the fast- his old friend, and behaved very well on several occasions. nesses nearest to the Lowlands, which were their scene And as for their leader, as no one doubted his courage, it of plunder; and there is scarce a glen in the romantic was generally supposed that Donacha had found out the and now peaceable Highlands of Perth, Stirling, and mode of conciliating his favour, a thing not very uncom- Dumbartonshire, where one or more did not take up their mon in that age and country. This was the more readily residence. believed, as David Deans’s cattle (being the property of The prime pest of the parish of Knocktarlitie was a the Duke) were left untouched, when the minister’s cows certain Donacha dhu na Dunaigh, or Black Duncan the were carried off by the thieves. Another attempt was Mischievous, whom we have already casually mentioned. made to renew the same act of rapine, and the cattle were This fellow had been originally a tinkler, or caird, many in the act of being driven off, when Butler, laying his proof whom stroll about these districts; but when all police fession aside in a case of such necessity, put himself at was disorganised by the civil war, he threw up his pro- the head of some of his neighbours, and rescued the fession, and from half thief became whole robber; and creagh, an exploit at which Deans attended in person, being generally at the head of three or four active young notwithstanding his extreme old age, mounted on a High- fellows, and he himself artful, bold, and well acquainted land pony, and girded with an old broadsword, likening with the passes, he plied his new profession with emolu- himself (for he failed not to arrogate the whole merit of ment to himself, and infinite plague to the country. the expedition) to David, the son of Jesse, when he re- All were convinced that Duncan of Knock could have covered the spoil of Ziklag from the Amalekites. This

568 Sir Walter Scott spirited behaviour had so far a good effect, that Donacha He expired in the arms of his beloved daughter, thank- dhu na Dunaigh kept his distance for some time to come; ful for all the blessings which Providence had vouch- and, though his distant exploits were frequently spoken safed to him while in this valley of strife and toil—and of, he did not exercise any depredations in that part of thankful also for the trials he had been visited with; the country. He continued to flourish, and to be heard of having found them, he said, needful to mortify that spiri- occasionally, until the year 1751, when, if the fear of the tual pride and confidence in his own gifts, which was second David had kept him in check, fate released him the side on which the wily Enemy did most sorely beset from that restraint, for the venerable patriarch of St. him. He prayed in the most affecting manner for Jeanie, Leonard’s was that year gathered to his fathers. her husband, and her family, and that her affectionate David Deans died full of years and of honour. He is duty to the puir auld man might purchase her length of believed, for the exact time of his birth is not known, to days here, and happiness hereafter; then, in a pathetic have lived upwards of ninety years; for he used to speak petition, too well understood by those who knew his fam- of events as falling under his own knowledge, which ily circumstances, he besought the Shepherd of souls, happened about the time of the battle of Bothwell while gathering his flock, not to forget the little one that Bridge. It was said that he even bore arms there; for had strayed from the fold, and even then might be in once, when a drunken Jacobite laird wished for a the hands of the ravening wolf.—He prayed for the na- Bothwell Brigg whig, that “he might stow the lugs out tional Jerusalem, that peace might be in her land, and of his head,” David informed him with a peculiar aus- prosperity in her palaces—for the welfare of the terity of countenance, that, if he liked to try such a honourable House of Argyle, and for the conversion of prank, there was one at his elbow; and it required the Duncan of Knockdunder. After this he was silent, be- interference of Butler to preserve the peace. ing exhausted, nor did he again utter anything distinctly.

569 The Heart of Mid-Lothian He was heard, indeed, to mutter something about na- the South Sea scheme. The little estate of Craigsture is tional defections, right-hand extremes, and left-hand in the market—it lies within two miles of the Manse, failings off; but, as May Hettly observed, his head was and Knock says his Grace has no thought to buy it. But carried at the time; and it is probable that these expres- they ask £2500, and they may, for it is worth the money; sions occurred to him merely out of general habit, and and were I to borrow the balance, the creditor might that he died in the full spirit of charity with all men. call it up suddenly, or in case of my death my family About an hour afterwards he slept in the Lord. might be distressed.” Notwithstanding her father’s advanced age, his death “And so if we had mair siller, we might buy that bonny was a severe shock to Mrs. Butler. Much of her time had pasture-ground, where the grass comes so early?” asked been dedicated to attending to his health and his wishes, Jeanie. and she felt as if part of her business in the world was “Certainly, my dear; and Knockdunder, who is a good ended, when the good old man was no more. His wealth, judge, is strongly advising me to it. To be sure it is his which came nearly to fifteen hundred pounds, in dis- nephew that is selling it.” posable capital, served to raise the fortunes of the fam- “Aweel, Reuben,” said Jeanie, “ye maun just look up ily at the Manse. How to dispose of this sum for the a text in Scripture, as ye did when ye wanted siller be- best advantage of his family, was matter of anxious con- fore—just look up a text in the Bible.” sideration to Butler. “If we put it on heritable bond, we “Ah, Jeanie,” said Butler, laughing and pressing her shall maybe lose the interest; for there’s that bond over hand at the same time, “the best people in these times Lounsbeck’s land, your father could neither get princi- can only work miracles once.” pal nor interest for it—If we bring it into the funds, we “We will see,” said Jeanie composedly; and going to shall maybe lose the principal and all, as many did in the closet in which she kept her honey, her sugar, her

570 Sir Walter Scott pots of jelly, her vials of the more ordinary medicines, but it wad be better laid out on yon bonny grass-holms, and which served her, in short, as a sort of store-room, than lying useless here in this auld pigg.” she jangled vials and gallipots, till, from out the darkest “How on earth came ye by that siller, Jeanie?—Why, nook, well flanked by a triple row of bottles and jars, here is more than a thousand pounds,” said Butler, lift- which she was under the necessity of displacing, she ing up and counting the notes. brought a cracked brown cann, with a piece of leather “If it were ten thousand, it’s a’ honestly come by,” tied over the top. Its contents seemed to be written pa- said Jeanie; “and troth I kenna how muckle there is o’t, pers, thrust in disorder into this uncommon secre’taire. but it’s a’ there that ever I got.—And as for how I came But from among these Jeanie brought an old clasped by it, Reuben—it’s weel come by, and honestly, as I said Bible, which had been David Deans’s companion in his before—And it’s mair folk’s secret than mine, or ye wad earlier wanderings, and which he had given to his daugh- hae kend about it lang syne; and as for onything else, I ter when the failure of his eyes had compelled him to am not free to answer mair questions about it, and ye use one of a larger print. This she gave to Butler, who maun just ask me nane.” had been looking at her motions with some surprise, and “Answer me but one,” said Butler. “Is it all freely and desired him to see what that book could do for him. He indisputably your own property, to dispose of it as you opened the clasps, and to his astonishment a parcel of think fit?—Is it possible no one has a claim in so large a £50 bank-notes dropped out from betwixt the leaves, sum except you?” where they had been separately lodged, and fluttered “It was mine, free to dispose of it as I like,” answered upon the floor. “I didna think to hae tauld you o’ my Jeanie; “and I have disposed of it already, for now it is wealth, Reuben,” said his wife, smiling at his surprise, yours, Reuben—You are Bible Butler now, as well as “till on my deathbed, or maybe on some family pinch; your forbear, that my puir father had sic an ill will at.

571 The Heart of Mid-Lothian Only, if ye like, I wad wish Femie to get a gude share o’t “Surely,” said Mr. Butler, when he had again counted when we are gane.” over the money, as if to assure himself that the notes “Certainly, it shall be as you choose—But who on earth were real, “there was never man in the world had a wife ever pitched on such a hiding-place for temporal treasures?” like mine—a blessing seems to follow her.” “That is just ane o’ my auld-fashioned gates, as you “Never,” said Jeanie, “since the enchanted princess in ca’ them, Reuben. I thought if Donacha Dhu was to the bairn’s fairy tale, that kamed gold nobles out o’ the make an outbreak upon us, the Bible was the last thing tae side of her haffit locks, and Dutch dollars out o’ the in the house he wad meddle wi’—but an ony mair siller tother. But gang away now, minister, and put by the should drap in, as it is not unlikely, I shall e’en pay it siller, and dinna keep the notes wampishing in your hand ower to you, and ye may lay it out your ain way.” that gate, or I shall wish them in the brown pigg again, “And I positively must not ask you how you have come for fear we get a black cast about them—we’re ower near by all this money?” said the clergyman. the hills in these times to be thought to hae siller in the “Indeed, Reuben, you must not; for if you were ask- house. And, besides, ye maun gree wi’ Knockdunder, ing me very sair I wad maybe tell you, and then I am that has the selling o’ the lands; and dinna you be simple sure I would do wrong.” and let him ken o’ this windfa’, but keep him to the “But tell me,” said Butler, “is it anything that dis- very lowest penny, as if ye had to borrow siller to make tresses your own mind?” the price up.” “There is baith weal and woe come aye wi’ world’s In the last admonition, Jeanie showed distinctly, that, gear, Reuben; but ye maun ask me naething mair—This although she did not understand how to secure the siller binds me to naething, and can never be speered money which came into her hands otherwise than by back again.” saving and hoarding it, yet she had some part of her

572 Sir Walter Scott father David’s shrewdness, even upon worldly subjects. And Reuben Butler was a prudent man, and went and did even as his wife had advised him. The news quickly CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXTH went abroad into the parish that the minister had bought Craigsture; and some wished him joy, and some “were sorry it had gane out of the auld name.” However, his But who is this? what thing of sea or land— Female of sex it seems— clerical brethren, understanding that he was under the That so bedeck’d, ornate, and gay, necessity of going to Edinburgh about the ensuing Comes this way sailing? Whitsunday, to get together David Deans’s cash to make up the purchase-money of his new acquisition, took the Milton. opportunity to name him their delegate to the General Assembly, or Convocation of the Scottish Church, which takes place usually in the latter end of the month of NOT LONG AFTER the incident of the Bible and the bank- May. notes, Fortune showed that she could surprise Mrs But- ler as well as her husband. The Minister, in order to accomplish the various pieces of business which his unwonted visit to Edinburgh rendered necessary, had been under the necessity of setting out from home in the latter end of the month of February, concluding justly that he would find the space betwixt his departure and the term of Whitsunday (24th May) short enough for the

573 The Heart of Mid-Lothian purpose of bringing forward those various debtors of old crumpled paper, declared “It was nane o’ papa’s books, David Deans, out of whose purses a considerable part of and May Hettly had taken it off the muckle cheese which the price of his new purchase was to be made good. came from Inverara;” for, as was very natural to sup- Jeanie was thus in the unwonted situation of inhabit- pose, a friendly intercourse, with interchange of mu- ing a lonely house, and she felt yet more solitary from tual civilities, was kept up from time to time between the death of the good old man who used to divide her Mrs. Dolly Dutton, now Mrs. MacCorkindale, and her cares with her husband. Her children were her principal former friends. resource, and to them she paid constant attention. Jeanie took the subject of contention out of the child’s It happened a day or two after Butler’s departure that, hand, to satisfy herself of the propriety of her studies; while she was engaged in some domestic duties, she heard but how much was she struck when she read upon the a dispute among the young folk, which, being main- title of the broadside-sheet, “The Last Speech, Confes- tained with obstinacy, appeared to call for her interfer- sion, and Dying Words of Margaret MacCraw, or ence. All came to their natural umpire with their com- Murdockson, executed on Harabee Hill, near Carlisle, plaints. Femie, not yet ten years old, charged Davie and the day of 1737.” It was, indeed, one of those papers Reubie with an attempt to take away her book by force; which Archibald had bought at Longtown, when he and David and Reuben replied, the elder, “That it was monopolised the pedlar’s stock, which Dolly had thrust not a book for Femie to read,” and Reuben, “That it into her trunk out of sheer economy. One or two copies, was about a bad woman.” it seems, had remained in her repositories at Inverary, “Where did you get the book, ye little hempie?” said till she chanced to need them in packing a cheese, which, Mrs. Butler. “How dare ye touch papa’s books when he as a very superior production, was sent, in the way of is away?” But the little lady, holding fast a sheet of civil challenge, to the dairy at Knocktarlitie.

574 Sir Walter Scott The title of this paper, so strangely fallen into the very she suffered, there was a brief sketch of Margaret’s life. hands from which, in well-meant respect to her feelings, It was stated that she was a Scotchwoman by birth, it had been so long detained, was of itself sufficiently and married a soldier in the Cameronian regiment—that startling; but the narrative itself was so interesting, that she long followed the camp, and had doubtless acquired Jeanie, shaking herself loose from the children, ran up- in fields of battle, and similar scenes, that ferocity and stairs to her own apartment, and bolted the door, to love of plunder for which she had been afterwards dis- peruse it without interruption. tinguished—that her husband, having obtained his dis- The narrative, which appeared to have been drawn up, charge, became servant to a beneficed clergyman of high or at least corrected, by the clergyman who attended situation and character in Lincolnshire, and that she this unhappy woman, stated the crime for which she acquired the confidence and esteem of that honourable suffered to have been “her active part in that atrocious family. She had lost this many years after her husband’s robbery and murder, committed near two years since death, it was stated, in consequence of conniving at the near Haltwhistle, for which the notorious Frank Levitt irregularities of her daughter with the heir of the fam- was committed for trial at Lancaster assizes. It was sup- ily, added to the suspicious circumstances attending the posed the evidence of the accomplice Thomas Tuck, birth of a child, which was strongly suspected to have commonly called Tyburn Tom, upon which the woman met with foul play, in order to preserve, if possible, the had been convicted, would weigh equally heavy against girl’s reputation. After this she had led a wandering life him; although many were inclined to think it was Tuck both in England and Scotland, under colour sometimes himself who had struck the fatal blow, according to the of telling fortunes, sometimes of driving a trade in dying statement of Meg Murdockson.” smuggled wares, but, in fact, receiving stolen goods, and After a circumstantial account of the crime for which occasionally actively joining in the exploits by which

575 The Heart of Mid-Lothian they were obtained. Many of her crimes she had boasted had in exposing the unfortunate girl to suffer for a crime of after conviction, and there was one circumstance for she had not committed, she asked, if they thought she which she seemed to feel a mixture of joy and occasional was going to put her own daughter into trouble to save compunction. When she was residing in the suburbs of another? She did not know what the Scotch law would Edinburgh during the preceding summer, a girl, who had have done to her for carrying the child away. This an- been seduced by one of her confederates, was intrusted swer was by no means satisfactory to the clergyman, to her charge, and in her house delivered of a male in- and he discovered, by close examination, that she had a fant. Her daughter, whose mind was in a state of de- deep and revengeful hatred against the young person rangement ever since she had lost her own child, accord- whom she had thus injured. But the paper intimated, ing to the criminal’s account, carried off the poor girl’s that, whatever besides she had communicated upon this infant, taking it for her own, of the reality of whose subject was confided by her in private to the worthy death she at times could not be persuaded. and reverend Archdeacon who had bestowed such par- Margaret Murdockson stated that she, for some time, ticular pains in affording her spiritual assistance. The believed her daughter had actually destroyed the infant broadside went on to intimate, that, after her execu- in her mad fits, and that she gave the father to under- tion, of which the particulars were given, her daughter, stand so, but afterwards learned that a female stroller the insane person mentioned more than once, and who had got it from her. She showed some compunction at was generally known by the name of Madge Wildfire, having separated mother and child, especially as the had been very ill-used by the populace, under the belief mother had nearly suffered death, being condemned, on that she was a sorceress, and an accomplice in her the Scotch law, for the supposed murder of her infant. mother’s crimes, and had been with difficulty rescued When it was asked what possible interest she could have by the prompt interference of the police.

576 Sir Walter Scott Such (for we omit moral reflections, and all that may from home, and the matter too delicate to be the sub- seem unnecessary to the explanation of our story) was ject of correspondence by an indifferent penwoman, Mrs. the tenor of the broadside. To Mrs. Butler it contained Butler recollected that he was not possessed of the in- intelligence of the highest importance, since it seemed formation necessary to form a judgment upon the occa- to afford the most unequivocal proof of her sister’s in- sion; and that, adhering to the rule which she had con- nocence respecting the crime for which she had so nearly sidered as most advisable, she had best transmit the in- suffered. It is true, neither she nor her husband, nor even formation immediately to her sister, and leave her to her father, had ever believed her capable of touching adjust with her husband the mode in which they should her infant with an unkind hand when in possession of avail themselves of it. Accordingly, she despatched a her reason; but there was a darkness on the subject, and special messenger to Glasgow with a packet, enclosing what might have happened in a moment of insanity was the Confession of Margaret Murdockson, addressed, as dreadful to think upon. Besides, whatever was their own usual, under cover, to Mr. Whiterose of York. She ex- conviction, they had no means of establishing Effie’s pected, with anxiety, an answer, but none arrived in the innocence to the world, which, according to the tenor usual course of post, and she was left to imagine how of this fugitive publication, was now at length com- many various causes might account for Lady Staunton’s pletely manifested by the dying confession of the per- silence. She began to be half sorry that she had parted son chiefly interested in concealing it. with the printed paper, both for fear of its having fallen After thanking God for a discovery so dear to her feel- into bad hands, and from the desire of regaining the ings, Mrs. Butler began to consider what use she should document which might be essential to establish her make of it. To have shown it to her husband would have sister’s innocence. She was even doubting whether she been her first impulse; but, besides that he was absent had not better commit the whole matter to her husband’s

577 The Heart of Mid-Lothian consideration, when other incidents occurred to divert As Mrs. Butler approached the landing-place, she ob- her purpose. served the Captain hand the ladies ashore with marks Jeanie (she is a favourite, and we beg her pardon for still of great attention, and the parties advanced towards using the familiar title) had walked down to the sea-side her, the Captain a few steps before the two ladies, of with her children one morning after breakfast, when the whom the taller and elder leaned on the shoulder of the boys, whose sight was more discriminating than hers, ex- other, who seemed to be an attendant or servant. claimed, that “the Captain’s coach and six was coming right As they met, Duncan, in his best, most important, for the shore, with ladies in it.” Jeanie instinctively bent her and deepest tone of Highland civility, “pegged leave to eyes on the approaching boat, and became soon sensible that introduce to Mrs. Putler, Lady—eh—eh—I hae forgot- there were two females in the stern, seated beside the gra- ten your leddyship’s name!” cious Duncan, who acted as pilot. It was a point of polite- “Never mind my name, sir,” said the lady; “I trust ness to walk towards the landing-place, in order to receive Mrs. Butler will be at no loss. The Duke’s letter”—And, them, especially as she saw that the Captain of Knockdunder as she observed Mrs. Butler look confused, she said again was upon honour and ceremony. His piper was in the bow to Duncan somethin sharply, “Did you not send the let- of the boat, sending forth music, of which one half sounded ter last night, sir?” the better that the other was drowned by the waves and the “In troth and I didna, and I crave your leddyship’s breeze. Moreover, he himself had his brigadier wig newly pardon; but you see, matam, I thought it would do as frizzed, his bonnet (he had abjured the cocked-hat) deco- weel to-tay, pecause Mrs. Putler is never taen out rated with Saint George’s red cross, his uniform mounted as o’sorts—never—and the coach was out fishing—and the a captain of militia, the Duke’s flag with the boar’s head gig was gane to Greenock for a cag of prandy—and— displayed—all intimated parade and gala. Put here’s his Grace’s letter.”

578 Sir Walter Scott “Give it me, sir,” said the lady, taking it out of his “To pe sure, matam,” said Knockdunder, “ye canna hand; “since you have not found it convenient to do me doubt Mrs. Putler will do that.—Mrs. Putler, this is the favour to send it before me, I will deliver it myself.” Lady—Lady—these tamned Southern names rin out o’ Mrs. Butler looked with great attention, and a certain my head like a stane trowling down hill—put I believe dubious feeling of deep interest, on the lady, who thus she is a Scottish woman porn—the mair our credit— expressed herself with authority over the man of au- and I presume her leddyship is of the house of—” thority, and to whose mandates he seemed to submit, “The Duke of Argyle knows my family very well, sir,” resigning the letter with a “Just as your leddyship is said the lady, in a tone which seemed designed to silence pleased to order it.” Duncan, or, at any rate, which had that effect completely. The lady was rather above the middle size, beautifully There was something about the whole of this stranger’s made, though something embonpoint, with a hand and arm address, and tone, and manner, which acted upon exquisitely formed. Her manner was easy, dignified, and Jeanie’s feelings like the illusions of a dream, that tease commanding, and seemed to evince high birth and the us with a puzzling approach to reality. Something there habits of elevated society. She wore a travelling dress—a was of her sister in the gait and manner of the stranger, grey beaver hat, and a veil of Flanders lace. Two footmen, as well as in the sound of her voice, and something also, in rich liveries, who got out of the barge, and lifted out a when, lifting her veil, she showed features, to which, trunk and portmanteau, appeared to belong to her suite. changed as they were in expression and complexion, she “As you did not receive the letter, madam, which should could not but attach many remembrances. have served for my introduction—for I presume you are The stranger was turned of thirty certainly; but so Mrs. Butler—I will not present it to you till you are so well were her personal charms assisted by the power of good as to admit me into your house without it.” dress, and arrangement of ornament, that she might

579 The Heart of Mid-Lothian well have passed for one-and-twenty. And her behaviour “Come here, Femie,” said Mrs. Butler, “and hold your was so steady and so composed, that, as often as Mrs. head up.” Butler perceived anew some point of resemblance to her “What is your daughter’s name, madam?” said the unfortunate sister, so often the sustained self-command lady. and absolute composure of the stranger destroyed the “Euphemia, madam,” answered Mrs. Butler. ideas which began to arise in her imagination. She led “I thought the ordinary Scottish contraction of the the way silently towards the Manse, lost in a confusion name had been Effie;” replied the stranger, in a tone of reflections, and trusting the letter with which she which went to Jeanie’s heart; for in that single word was to be there intrusted, would afford her satisfactory there was more of her sister—more of lang syne ideas— explanation of what was a most puzzling and embar- than in all the reminiscences which her own heart had rassing scene. anticipated, or the features and manner of the stranger The lady maintained in the meanwhile the manners had suggested. of a stranger of rank. She admired the various points When they reached the Manse, the lady gave Mrs. But- of view like one who has studied nature, and the best ler the letter which she had taken out of the hands of representations of art. At length she took notice of the Knockdunder; and as she gave it she pressed her hand, children. adding aloud, “Perhaps, madam, you will have the good- “These are two fine young mountaineers—Yours, ness to get me a little milk!” madam, I presume?” “And me a drap of the grey-peard, if you please, Mrs. Jeanie replied in the affirmative. The stranger sighed, Putler,” added Duncan. and sighed once more as they were presented to her by Mrs. Butler withdrew; but, deputing to May Hettly name. and to David the supply of the strangers’ wants, she

580 Sir Walter Scott hastened into her own room to read the letter. The enve- searches, to which (though it appeared to her very lope was addressed in the Duke of Argyle’s hand, and vainly) he seemed to attach some hopes of success. requested Mrs. Butler’s attentions and civility to a lady There was a postscript, desiring that Jeanie would of rank, a particular friend of his late brother, Lady trust to Lady S. the management of their intercourse, Staunton of Willingham, who, being recommended to and be content with assenting to what she should pro- drink goats’ whey by the physicians, was to honour the pose. After reading and again reading the letter, Mrs. Lodge at Roseneath with her residence, while her hus- Butler hurried down stairs, divided betwixt the fear of band made a short tour in Scotland. But within the same betraying her secret, and the desire to throw herself upon cover, which had been given to Lady Staunton unsealed, her sister’s neck. Effie received her with a glance at once was a letter from that lady, intended to prepare her sis- affectionate and cautionary, and immediately proceeded ter for meeting her, and which, but for the Captain’s to speak. negligence, she ought to have received on the preceding “I have been telling Mr. ———, Captain , this gentle- evening. It stated that the news in Jeanie’s last letter man, Mrs. Butler, that if you could accommodate me had been so interesting to her husband, that he was de- with an apartment in your house, and a place for Ellis termined to inquire farther into the confession made at to sleep, and for the two men, it would suit me better Carlisle, and the fate of that poor innocent, and that, as than the Lodge, which his Grace has so kindly placed at he had been in some degree successful, she had, by the my disposal. I am advised I should reside as near where most earnest entreaties, extorted rather than obtained the goats feed as possible.” his permission, under promise of observing the most “I have peen assuring my leddy, Mrs. Putler,” said strict incognito, to spend a week or two with her sister, Duncan, “that though it could not discommode you to or in her neighbourhood, while he was prosecuting re- receive any of his Grace’s visitors or mine, yet she had

581 The Heart of Mid-Lothian mooch petter stay at the Lodge; and for the gaits, the ing in his secret soul, “Cot tamn her English impu- creatures can be fetched there, in respect it is mair fit- dence!—she takes possession of the minister’s house as ting they suld wait upon her Leddyship, than she upon an it were her ain—and speaks to shentlemens as if they the like o’ them.” were pounden servants, and per tamned to her!—And “By no means derange the goats for me,” said Lady there’s the deer that was shot too—but we will send it Staunton; “I am certain the milk must be much better ower to the Manse, whilk will pe put civil, seeing I hae here.” And this she said with languid negligence, as one prought worthy Mrs. Putler sic a fliskmahoy.”—And whose slightest intimation of humour is to bear down with these kind intentions, he went to the shore to give all argument. his orders accordingly. Mrs. Butler hastened to intimate, that her house, such In the meantime, the meeting of the sisters was as as it was, was heartily at the disposal of Lady Staunton; affectionate as it was extraordinary, and each evinced but the Captain continued to remonstrate. her feelings in the way proper to her character. Jeanie “The Duke,” he said, “had written” was so much overcome by wonder, and even by awe, that “I will settle all that with his Grace” her feelings were deep, stunning, and almost overpow- “And there were the things had been sent down frae ering. Effie, on the other hand, wept, laughed, sobbed, Glasco” screamed, and clapped her hands for joy, all in the space “Anything necessary might be sent over to the Par- of five minutes, giving way at once, and without reserve, sonage—She would beg the favour of Mrs. Butler to to a natural excessive vivacity of temper, which no one, show her an apartment, and of the Captain to have her however, knew better how to restrain under the rules of trunks, etc., sent over from Roseneath.” artificial breeding. So she courtesied off poor Duncan, who departed, say- After an hour had passed like a moment in their ex-

582 Sir Walter Scott pressions of mutual affection, Lady Staunton observed “Doubtless, matam,” said the Captain, “it wad ill the Captain walking with impatient steps below the win- pecome Mrs. Putler, wha is a very decent pody, to make dow. “That tiresome Highland fool has returned upon any such sharge to a lady who comes from my house, or our hands,” she said. “I will pray him to grace us with his Grace’s, which is the same thing.—And speaking of his absence.” garrisons, in the year forty-five, I was poot with a garri- “Hout no! hout no!” said Mrs. Butler, in a tone of son of twenty of my lads in the house of Inver-Garry, entreaty; “ye maunna affront the Captain.” whilk had near been unhappily, for—” “Affront?” said Lady Staunton; “nobody is ever af- “I beg your pardon, sir—But I wish I could think of fronted at what I do or say, my dear. However, I will some way of indemnifying this good lady.” endure him, since you think it proper.” “O, no need of intemnifying at all—no trouble for her, The Captain was accordingly graciously requested by nothing at all—So, peing in the house of Inver-Garry, Lady Staunton to remain during dinner. During this visit and the people about it being uncanny, I doubted the his studious and punctilious complaisance towards the warst, and—” lady of rank was happily contrasted by the cavalier air “Do you happen to know, sir,” said Lady Staunton, of civil familiarity in which he indulged towards the “if any of these two lads, these young Butlers, I mean, minister’s wife. show any turn for the army?” “I have not been able to persuade Mrs. Butler,” said “Could not say, indeed, my leddy,” replied Lady Staunton to the Captain, during the interval when Knockdunder— “So, I knowing the people to pe Jeanie had left the parlour, “to let me talk of making unchancy, and not to lippen to, and hearing a pibroch any recompense for storming her house, and garrison- in the wood, I pegan to pid my lads look to their flints, ing it in the way I have done.” and then—”

583 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “For,” said Lady Staunton, with the most ruthless dis- laid aside, did not appear so extremely different, as the regard to the narrative which she mangled by these in- whole manner, expression, look, and bearing. In outside terruptions, “if that should be the case, it should cost Sir show, Lady Staunton seemed completely a creature too George but the asking a pair of colours for one of them soft and fair for sorrow to have touched; so much accus- at the War-Office, since we have always supported Gov- tomed to have all her whims complied with by those ernment, and never had occasion to trouble ministers.” around her, that she seemed to expect she should even “And if you please, my leddy,” said Duncan, who be- be saved the trouble of forming them; and so totally gan to find some savour in this proposal, “as I hae a unacquainted with contradiction, that she did not even braw weel-grown lad of a nevoy, ca’d Duncan use the tone of self-will, since to breathe a wish was to MacGilligan, that is as pig as paith the Putler pairns have it fulfilled. She made no ceremony of ridding her- putten thegither, Sir George could ask a pair for him at self of Duncan as soon as the evening approached; but the same time, and it wad pe put ae asking for a’.” complimented him out of the house under pretext of Lady Staunton only answered this hint with a well- fatigue, with the utmost nonchalance. bred stare, which gave no sort of encouragement. When they were alone, her sister could not help ex- Jeanie, who now returned, was lost in amazement at pressing her wonder at the self-possession with which the wonderful difference betwixt the helpless and de- Lady Staunton sustained her part. spairing girl, whom she had seen stretched on a flock- “I daresay you are surprised at it,” said Lady Staunton bed in a dungeon, expecting a violent and disgraceful composedly; “for you, my dear Jeanie, have been truth death, and last as a forlorn exile upon the midnight itself from your cradle upwards; but you must remem- beach, with the elegant, well-bred, beautiful woman ber that I am a liar of fifteen years’ standing, and there- before her. The features, now that her sister’s veil was fore must by this time be used to my character.”

584 Sir Walter Scott In fact, during the feverish tumult of feelings excited to exceed even that which she herself had described in during the two or three first days, Mrs. Butler thought her letters, and which too well convinced Mrs. Butler her sister’s manner was completely contradictory of the how little her sister’s lot, which in appearance was so desponding tone which pervaded her correspondence. brilliant, was in reality to be envied. She was moved to tears, indeed, by the sight of her There was one source, however, from which Lady father’s grave, marked by a modest stone recording his Staunton derived a pure degree of pleasure. Gifted in piety and integrity; but lighter impressions and asso- every particular with a higher degree of imagination ciations had also power over her. She amused herself than that of her sister, she was an admirer of the beau- with visiting the dairy, in which she had so long been ties of nature, a taste which compensates many evils to assistant, and was so near discovering herself to May those who happen to enjoy it. Here her character of a Hettly, by betraying her acquaintance with the cel- fine lady stopped short, where she ought to have ebrated receipt for Dunlop cheese, that she compared herself to Bedreddin Hassan, whom the vizier, his fa- Scream’d at ilk cleugh, and screech’d at ilka how, ther-in-law, discovered by his superlative skill in com- As loud as she had seen the worrie-cow. posing cream-tarts with pepper in them. But when the novelty of such avocations ceased to amuse her, she On the contrary, with the two boys for her guides, she showed to her sister but too plainly, that the gaudy undertook long and fatiguing walks among the colouring with which she veiled her unhappiness afforded neighbouring mountains, to visit glens, lakes, waterfalls, as little real comfort, as the gay uniform of the soldier or whatever scenes of natural wonder or beauty lay con- when it is drawn over his mortal wound. There were cealed among their recesses. It is Wordsworth, I think, moods and moments, in which her despondence seemed who, talking of an old man under difficulties, remarks,

585 The Heart of Mid-Lothian with a singular attention to nature, Upon one of these excursions, while Reuben was otherwise employed, David alone acted as Lady Staunton’s Whether it was care that spurr’d him, guide, and promised to show her a cascade in the hills, God only knows; but to the very last, grander and higher than any they had yet visited. It He had the lightest foot in Ennerdale. was a walk of five long miles, and over rough ground, varied, however, and cheered, by mountain views, and In the same manner, languid, listless, and unhappy, peeps now of the firth and its islands, now of distant within doors, at times even indicating something which lakes, now of rocks and precipices. The scene itself, too, approached near to contempt of the homely accommo- when they reached it, amply rewarded the labour of dations of her sister’s house, although she instantly en- the walk. A single shoot carried a considerable stream deavoured, by a thousand kindnesses, to atone for such over the face of a black rock, which contrasted strongly ebullitions of spleen, Lady Staunton appeared to feel in colour with the white foam of the cascade, and, at interest and energy while in the open air, and traversing the depth of about twenty feet, another rock intercepted the mountain landscapes in society with the two boys, the view of the bottom of the fall. The water, wheeling whose ears she delighted with stories of what she had out far beneath, swept round the crag, which thus seen in other countries, and what she had to show them bounded their view, and tumbled down the rocky glen at Willingham Manor. And they, on the other hand, ex- in a torrent of foam. Those who love nature always de- erted themselves in doing the honours of sire to penetrate into its utmost recesses, and Lady Dumbartonshire to the lady who seemed so kind, Staunton asked David whether there was not some mode insomuch that there was scarce a glen in the of gaining a view of the abyss at the foot of the fall. He neighbouring hills to which they did not introduce her. said that he knew a station on a shelf on the farther

586 Sir Walter Scott side of the intercepting rock, from which the whole to David she was falling, and would in fact have dropped waterfall was visible, but that the road to it was steep from the crag had he not caught hold of her. The boy and slippery and dangerous. Bent, however, on gratify- was bold and stout of his age—still he was but fourteen ing her curiosity, she desired him to lead the way; and years old, and as his assistance gave no confidence to accordingly he did so over crag and stone, anxiously Lady Staunton, she felt her situation become really per- pointing out to her the resting-places where she ought ilous. The chance was, that, in the appalling novelty of to step, for their mode of advancing soon ceased to be the circumstances, he might have caught the infection walking, and became scrambling. of her panic, in which case it is likely that both must In this manner, clinging like sea-birds to the face of have perished. She now screamed with terror, though the rock, they were enabled at length to turn round it, without hope of calling any one to her assistance. To and came full in front of the fall, which here had a most her amazement, the scream was answered by a whistle tremendous aspect, boiling, roaring, and thundering with from above, of a tone so clear and shrill, that it was unceasing din, into a black cauldron, a hundred feet at heard even amid the noise of the waterfall. least below them, which resembled the crater of a vol- In this moment of terror and perplexity, a human face, cano. The noise, the dashing of the waters, which gave black, and having grizzled hair hanging down over the an unsteady appearance to all around them, the trem- forehead and cheeks, and mixing with mustaches and a bling even of the huge crag on which they stood, the beard of the same colour, and as much matted and precariousness of their footing, for there was scarce room tangled, looked down on them from a broken part of for them to stand on the shelf of rock which they had the rock above. thus attained, had so powerful an effect on the senses “It is the Enemy!” said the boy, who had very nearly and imagination of Lady Staunton, that she called out become incapable of supporting Lady Staunton.

587 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “No, no,” she exclaimed, inaccessible to supernatural lowered a ladder of twisted osiers, about eight feet in terrors, and restored to the presence of mind of which length, and made signs to David to hold it fast while the she had been deprived by the danger of her situation, lady ascended. Despair gives courage, and finding her- “it is a man—For God’s sake, my friend, help us!” self in this fearful predicament, Lady Staunton did not The face glared at them, but made no answer; in a hesitate to risk the ascent by the precarious means which second or two afterwards, another, that of a young lad, this accommodation afforded; and, carefully assisted by appeared beside the first, equally swart and begrimed, the person who had thus providentially come to her aid, but having tangled black hair, descending in elf-locks, she reached the summit in safety. She did not, however, which gave an air of wildness and ferocity to the whole even look around her until she saw her nephew lightly expression of the countenance. Lady Staunton repeated and actively follow her examples although there was now her entreaties, clinging to the rock with more energy, as no one to hold the ladder fast. When she saw him safe she found that, from the superstitious terror of her guide, she looked round, and could not help shuddering at the he became incapable of supporting her. Her words were place and company in which she found herself. They were probably drowned in the roar of the falling stream, for, on a sort of platform of rock, surrounded on every side though she observed the lips of the young being whom by precipices, or overhanging cliffs, and which it would she supplicated move as he spoke in reply, not a word have been scarce possible for any research to have dis- reached her ear. covered, as it did not seem to be commanded by any A moment afterwards it appeared he had not mistaken accessible position. It was partly covered by a huge frag- the nature of her supplication, which, indeed, was easy ment of stone, which, having fallen from the cliffs above, to be understood from her situation and gestures. The had been intercepted by others in its descent, and younger apparition disappeared, and immediately after jammed so as to serve for a sloping roof to the farther

588 Sir Walter Scott part of the broad shelf or platform on which they stood. and looked up with a lazy and listless apathy, which A quantity of withered moss and leaves, strewed be- belied the general expression of his dark and rugged fea- neath this rude and wretched shelter, showed the lairs,— tures. He seemed a very tall man, but was scarce better they could not be termed the beds,—of those who dwelt clad than the younger. He had on a loose Lowland great- in this eyrie, for it deserved no other name. Of these, coat, and ragged tartan trews or pantaloons. All around two were before Lady Staunton. One, the same who had looked singularly wild and unpropitious. Beneath the afforded such timely assistance, stood upright before brow of the incumbent rock was a charcoal fire, on which them, a tall, lathy, young savage; his dress a tattered there was a still working, with bellows, pincers, ham- plaid and philabeg, no shoes, no stockings, no hat or mers, a movable anvil, and other smith’s tools; three bonnet, the place of the last being supplied by his hair, guns, with two or three sacks and barrels, were disposed twisted and matted like the glibbe of the ancient wild against the wall of rock, under shelter of the Irish, and, like theirs, forming a natural thick-set stout superincumbent crag; a dirk and two swords, and a enough to bear off the cut of a sword. Yet the eyes of Lochaber axe, lay scattered around the fire, of which the lad were keen and sparkling; his gesture free and the red glare cast a ruddy tinge on the precipitous foam noble, like that of all savages. He took little notice of and mist of the cascade. The lad, when he had satisfied David Butler, but gazed with wonder on Lady Staunton, his curiosity with staring at Lady Staunton, fetched an as a being different probably in dress, and superior in earthen jar and a horn-cup, into which he poured some beauty, to anything he had ever beheld. The old man, spirits, apparently hot from the still, and offered them whose face they had first seen, remained recumbent in successively to the lady and to the boy. Both declined, the same posture as when he had first looked down on and the young savage quaffed off the draught, which them, only his face was turned towards them as he lay could not amount to less than three ordinary glasses.

589 The Heart of Mid-Lothian He then fetched another ladder from the corner of the row was the chasm out of which they ascended, that, cavern, if it could be termed so, adjusted it against the unless when they were on the very verge, the eye passed transverse rock, which served as a roof, and made signs to the other side without perceiving the existence of a for the lady to ascend it, while he held it fast below. She rent so fearful, and nothing was seen of the cataract, did so, and found herself on the top of a broad rock, though its deep hoarse voice was still heard. near the brink of the chasm into which the brook pre- Lady Staunton, freed from the danger of rock and cipitates itself. She could see the crest of the torrent river, had now a new subject of anxiety. Her two guides flung loose down the rock, like the mane of a wild horse, confronted each other with angry countenances; for but without having any view of the lower platform from David, though younger by two years at least, and much which she had ascended. shorter, was a stout, well-set, and very bold boy. David was not suffered to mount so easily; the lad, from “You are the black-coat’s son of Knocktarlitie,” said sport or love of mischief, shook the ladder a good deal as the young caird; “if you come here again, I’ll pitch you he ascended, and seemed to enjoy the terror of young down the linn like a foot-ball.” Butler, so that, when they had both come up, they looked “Ay, lad, ye are very short to be sae lang,” retorted on each other with no friendly eyes. Neither, however, young Butler undauntedly, and measuring his spoke. The young caird, or tinker, or gipsy, with a good opponent’s height with an undismayed eye; “I am think- deal of attention, assisted Lady Staunton up a very per- ing you are a gillie of Black Donacha; if you come down ilous ascent which she had still to encounter, and they the glen, we’ll shoot you like a wild buck.” were followed by David Butler, until all three stood clear “You may tell your father,” said the lad, “that the leaf of the ravine on the side of a mountain, whose sides were on the timber is the last he shall see—we will hae amends covered with heather and sheets of loose shingle. So nar- for the mischief he has done to us.”

590 Sir Walter Scott “I hope he will live to see mony simmers, and do ye fortunately, at this moment a sportsman, a gamekeeper muckle mair,” answered David. of the Duke, who was engaged in stalking deer, appeared More might have passed, but Lady Staunton stepped on the face of the hill. The bandits stopped on seeing between them with her purse in her hand, and taking him, and Lady Staunton hastened to put herself under out a guinea, of which it contained several, visible his protection. He readily gave them his escort home, through the net-work, as well as some silver in the op- and it required his athletic form and loaded rifle to re- posite end, offered it to the caird. store to the lady her usual confidence and courage. “The white siller, lady—the white siller,” said the Donald listened with much gravity to the account of young savage, to whom the value of gold was probably their adventure; and answered with great composure to unknown. Lady Staunton poured what silver she had David’s repeated inquiries, whether he could have sus- into his hand, and the juvenile savage snatched it greed- pected that the cairds had been lurking there,— “Inteed, ily, and made a sort of half inclination of acknowledg- Master Tavie, I might hae had some guess that they were ment and adieu. there, or thereabout, though maybe I had nane. But I “Let us make haste now, Lady Staunton,” said David, am aften on the hill; and they are like wasps—they stang “for there will be little peace with them since they hae only them that fashes them; sae, for my part, I make a seen your purse.” point not to see them, unless I were ordered out on the They hurried on as fast as they could; but they had preceese errand by MacCallummore or Knockdunder, not descended the hill a hundred yards or two before whilk is a clean different case.” they heard a halloo behind them, and looking back, saw They reached the Manse late; and Lady Staunton, who both the old man and the young one pursuing them with had suffered much both from fright and fatigue, never great speed, the former with a gun on his shoulder. Very again permitted her love of the picturesque to carry her

591 The Heart of Mid-Lothian so far among the mountains without a stronger escort than David, though she acknowledged he had won the stand of colours by the intrepidity he had displayed, so CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENTH soon as assured he had to do with an earthly antago- nist. “I couldna maybe hae made muckle o’ a bargain wi’ yon lang callant,” said David, when thus What see you there, That hath so cowarded and chased your blood complimented on his valour; “but when ye deal wi’ thae Out of appearance? folk, it’s tyne heart tyne a’.” Henry the Fifth.

WE ARE UNDER the necessity of returning to Edinburgh, where the General Assembly was now sitting. It is well known, that some Scottish nobleman is usually deputed as High Commissioner, to represent the person of the King in this convocation; that he has allowances for the purpose of maintaining a certain outward show and solemnity, and supporting the hospitality of the representative of Majesty. Whoever are distinguished by rank, or office, in or near the capital, usually attend the morning levees of the Lord Commissioner, and walk with him

592 Sir Walter Scott in procession to the place where the Assembly meets. money abroad, returned to enjoy it in their native coun- The nobleman who held this office chanced to be par- try, and lived and died undisturbed by the law.* ticularly connected with Sir George Staunton, and it was The forbearance of the magistrate was, in these in- in his train that he ventured to tread the High Street of stances, wise, certainly, and just; for what good impres- Edinburgh for the first time since the fatal night of sion could be made on the public mind by punishment, Porteous’s execution. Walking at the right hand of the when the memory of the offence was obliterated, and representative of Sovereignty, covered with lace and all that was remembered was the recent inoffensive, or embroidery, and with all the paraphernalia of wealth perhaps exemplary conduct of the offender? and rank, the handsome though wasted figure of the Sir George Staunton might, therefore, tread the scene English stranger attracted all eyes. Who could have of his former audacious exploits, free from the appre- recognised in a form so aristocratic the plebeian con- hension of the law, or even of discovery or suspicion. vict, that, disguised in the rags of Madge Wildfire, had But with what feelings his heart that day throbbed, must led the formidable rioters to their destined revenge? be left to those of the reader to imagine. It was an ob- There was no possibility that this could happen, even if ject of no common interest which had brought him to any of his ancient acquaintances, a race of men whose encounter so many painful remembrances. lives are so brief, had happened to survive the span com- In consequence of Jeanie’s letter to Lady Staunton, monly allotted to evil-doers. Besides, the whole affair transmitting the confession, he had visited the town of had long fallen asleep, with the angry passions in which Carlisle, and had found Archdeacon Fleming still alive, it originated. Nothing is more certain than that persons by whom that confession had been received. This rever- known to have had a share in that formidable riot, and end gentleman, whose character stood deservedly very to have fled from Scotland on that account, had made * See Arnot’s Criminal Trials, 4to ed. p. 235. 593 The Heart of Mid-Lothian high, he so far admitted into his confidence, as to own Margaret Murdockson’s letter, in which were exactly de- himself the father of the unfortunate infant which had scribed the person and haunts of the woman, Annaple been spirited away by Madge Wildfire, representing the Bailzou, to whom she had parted with the infant. It ap- intrigue as a matter of juvenile extravagance on his own peared that Meg Murdockson had been induced to make part, for which he was now anxious to atone, by tracing, this confession, less from any feelings of contrition, than if possible, what had become of the child. After some from the desire of obtaining, through George Staunton recollection of the circumstances, the clergyman was able or his father’s means, protection and support for her to call to memory, that the unhappy woman had written daughter Madge. Her letter to George Staunton said, a letter to George Staunton, Esq., younger, Rectory, “That while the writer lived, her daughter would have Willingham, by Grantham; that he had forwarded it to needed nought from any body, and that she would never the address accordingly, and that it had been returned, have meddled in these affairs, except to pay back the ill with a note from the Reverend Mr. Staunton, Rector of that George had done to her and hers. But she was to die, Willingham, saying, he knew no such person as him to and her daughter would be destitute, and without reason whom the letter was addressed. As this had happened to guide her. She had lived in the world long enough to just at the time when George had, for the last time, ab- know that people did nothing for nothing;—so she had sconded from his father’s house to carry off Effie, he was told George Staunton all he could wish to know about his at no loss to account for the cause of the resentment, wean, in hopes he would not see the demented young crea- under the influence of which his father had disowned him. ture he had ruined perish for want. As for her motives for This was another instance in which his ungovernable tem- not telling them sooner, she had a long account to reckon per had occasioned his misfortune; had he remained at for in the next world, and she would reckon for that too.” Willingham but a few days longer, he would have received The clergyman said that Meg had died in the same

594 Sir Walter Scott desperate state of mind, occasionally expressing some Staunton’s application, the clergyman looked out, and regret about the child which was lost, but oftener sor- produced Margaret Murdockson’s returned letter, and row that the mother had not been hanged—her mind at the other memoranda which he had kept concerning the once a chaos of guilt, rage, and apprehension for her affair. daughter’s future safety; that instinctive feeling of pa- Whatever might be Sir George Staunton’s feelings in rental anxiety which she had in common with the she- ripping up this miserable history, and listening to the wolf and lioness, being the last shade of kindly affec- tragical fate of the unhappy girl whom he had ruined, tion that occupied a breast equally savage. he had so much of his ancient wilfulness of disposition The melancholy catastrophe of Madge Wildfire was left, as to shut his eyes on everything, save the prospect occasioned by her taking the confusion of her mother’s which seemed to open itself of recovering his son. It execution, as affording an opportunity of leaving the was true, it would be difficult to produce him, without workhouse to which the clergyman had sent her, and telling much more of the history of his birth, and the presenting herself to the mob in their fury, to perish in misfortunes of his parents, than it was prudent to make the way we have already seen. When Dr. Fleming found known. But let him once be found, and, being found, let the convict’s letter was returned from Lincolnshire, he him but prove worthy of his father’s protection, and wrote to a friend in Edinburgh, to inquire into the fate many ways might be fallen upon to avoid such risk. Sir of the unfortunate girl whose child had been stolen, and George Staunton was at liberty to adopt him as his heir, was informed by his correspondent, that she had been if he pleased, without communicating the secret of his pardoned, and that, with all her family, she had retired birth; or an Act of Parliament might be obtained, de- to some distant part of Scotland, or left the kingdom claring him legitimate, and allowing him the name and entirely. And here the matter rested, until, at Sir George arms of his father. He was indeed already a legitimate

595 The Heart of Mid-Lothian child according to the law of Scotland, by the subse- incide with the sitting of the General Assembly of the quent marriage of his parents. Wilful in everything, Sir Kirk, his acquaintance with the nobleman who held the George’s sole desire now was to see this son, even should office of Lord High Commissioner forced him more into his recovery bring with it a new series of misfortunes, public than suited either his views or inclinations. as dreadful as those which followed on his being lost. At the public table of this nobleman, Sir George But where was the youth who might eventually be Staunton was placed next to a clergyman of respect- called to the honours and estates of this ancient fam- able appearance, and well-bred, though plain ily? On what heath was he wandering, and shrouded by demeanour, whose name he discovered to be Butler. It what mean disguise? Did he gain his precarious bread had been no part of Sir George’s plan to take his brother- by some petty trade, by menial toil, by violence, or by in-law into his confidence, and he had rejoiced exceed- theft? These were questions on which Sir George’s anx- ingly in the assurances he received from his wife, that ious investigations could obtain no light. Many remem- Mrs. Butler, the very soul of integrity and honour, had bered that Annaple Bailzou wandered through the coun- never suffered the account he had given of himself at try as a beggar and fortune-teller, or spae-wife—some Willingham Rectory to transpire, even to her husband. remembered that she had been seen with an infant in But he was not sorry to have an opportunity to con- 1737 or 1738,—but for more than ten years she had not verse with so near a connection without being known to travelled that district; and that she had been heard to him, and to form a judgment of his character and un- say she was going to a distant part of Scotland, of which derstanding. He saw much, and heard more, to raise country she was a native. To Scotland, therefore, came Butler very high in his opinion. He found he was gener- Sir George Staunton, having parted with his lady at ally respected by those of his own profession, as well as Glasgow; and his arrival at Edinburg happening to co- by the laity who had seats in the Assembly. He had made

596 Sir Walter Scott several public appearances in the Assembly, distin- him, in passing, to call at a friend’s house where he re- guished by good sense, candour, and ability; and he was sided, and make his apology for not coming to partake followed and admired as a sound, and, at the same time, her tea. They proceeded up the High Street, entered the an eloquent preacher. Krames, and passed the begging-box, placed to remind This was all very satisfactory to Sir George Staunton’s those at liberty of the distresses of the poor prisoners. pride, which had revolted at the idea of his wife’s sister Sir George paused there one instant, and next day a £20 being obscurely married. He now began, on the contrary, note was found in that receptacle for public charity. to think the connection so much better than he expected, When he came up to Butler again, he found him with that, if it should be necessary to acknowledge it, in con- his eyes fixed on the entrance of the Tolbooth, and ap- sequence of the recovery of his son, it would sound well parently in deep thought. enough that Lady Staunton had a sister, who, in the “That seems a very strong door,” said Sir George, by decayed state of the family, had married a Scottish cler- way of saying something. gyman, high in the opinion of his countrymen, and a “It is so, sir,” said Butler, turning off and beginning leader in the church. to walk forward, “but it was my misfortune at one time It was with these feelings, that, when the Lord High to see it prove greatly too weak.” Commissioner’s company broke up, Sir George Staunton, At this moment, looking at his companion, he asked under pretence of prolonging some inquiries concern- him whether he felt himself ill? and Sir George Staunton ing the constitution of the Church of Scotland, re- admitted, that he had been so foolish as to eat ice, which quested Butler to go home to his lodgings in the sometimes disagreed with him. With kind officiousness, Lawnmarket, and drink a cup of coffee. Butler agreed that would not be gainsaid, and ere he could find out to wait upon him, providing Sir George would permit where he was going, Butler hurried Sir George into the

597 The Heart of Mid-Lothian friend’s house, near to the prison, in which he himself said Mrs. Saddletree, as she returned with her bottle in had lived since he came to town, being, indeed, no other her hand— “She is no sae auld, but she got a sair back- than that of our old friend Bartoline Saddletree, in which cast wi’ the slaughter o’ her husband—Ye had some Lady Staunton had served a short noviciate as a shop- trouble about that job, Mr. Butler.—I think, sir,” to Sir maid. This recollection rushed on her husband’s mind, George, “ye had better drink out the haill glass, for to and the blush of shame which it excited overpowered my een ye look waur than when ye came in.” the sensation of fear which had produced his former And, indeed, he grew as pale as a corpse, on recollect- paleness. Good Mrs. Saddletree, however, bustled about ing who it was that his arm had so lately supported— to receive the rich English baronet as the friend of Mr. the widow whom he had so large a share in making such. Butler, and requested an elderly female in a black gown “It is a prescribed job that case of Porteous now,” said to sit still, in a way which seemed to imply a wish, that old Saddletree, who was confined to his chair by the she would clear the way for her betters. In the mean- gout— “clean prescribed and out of date.” while, understanding the state of the case, she ran to “I am not clear of that, neighbour,” said Plumdamas, “for get some cordial waters, sovereign, of course, in all cases I have heard them say twenty years should rin, and this is of faintishness whatsoever. During her absence, her visi- but the fifty-ane—Porteous’s mob was in thretty-seven.” tor, the female in black, made some progress out of the “Ye’ll no teach me law, I think, neighbour—me that room, and might have left it altogether without par- has four gaun pleas, and might hae had fourteen, an it ticular observation, had she not stumbled at the thresh- hadna been the gudewife? I tell ye, if the foremost of old, so near Sir George Staunton, that he, in point of the Porteous mob were standing there where that gentle- civility, raised her and assisted her to the door. man stands, the King’s Advocate wadna meddle wi’ “Mrs. Porteous is turned very doited now, puir body,” him—it fa’s under the negative prescription.”

598 Sir Walter Scott “Haud your din, carles,” said Mrs. Saddletree, “and let But he lived and died without resuming his original the gentleman sit down and get a dish of comfortable tea.” vocation, otherwise than in his narratives over a bottle. But Sir George had had quite enough of their conversation; Under these circumstances, he had been recommended and Butler, at his request, made an apology to Mrs. Saddletree, to Sir George Staunton by a man of the law in and accompanied him to his lodgings. Here they found an- Edinburgh, as a person likely to answer any questions other guest waiting Sir George Staunton’s return. This was he might have to ask about Annaple Bailzou, who, ac- no other than our reader’s old acquaintance, Ratcliffe. cording to the colour which Sir George Staunton gave This man had exercised the office of turnkey with so to his cause of inquiry, was supposed to have stolen a much vigilance, acuteness, and fidelity, that he gradually child in the west of England, belonging to a family in rose to be governor, or captain of the Tolbooth. And it is which he was interested. The gentleman had not men- yet to be remembered in tradition, that young men, who tioned his name, but only his official title; so that Sir rather sought amusing than select society in their merry- George Staunton, when told that the captain of the meetings, used sometimes to request Ratcliffe’s company, Tolbooth was waiting for him in his parlour, had no idea in order that he might regale them with legends of his ex- of meeting his former acquaintance, Jem Ratcliffe. traordinary feats in the way of robbery and escape.* This, therefore, was another new and most unpleasant surprise, for he had no difficulty in recollecting this * There seems an anachronism in the history of this person. man’s remarkable features. The change, however, from Ratcliffe, among other escapes from justice, was released by the Porteous mob when under sentence of death; and he was George Robertson to Sir George Staunton, baffled even again under the same predicament, when the Highlanders the penetration of Ratcliffe, and he bowed very low to made a similar jail-delivery in 1745. He was too sincere a the baronet and his guest, hoping Mr. Butler would ex- whig to embrace liberation at the hands of the Jacobites, and in reward was made one of the keepers of the Tolbooth. cuse his recollecting that he was an old acquaintance. So at least runs constant tradition. 599 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “And once rendered my wife a piece of great service,” “By no manner of means, sir,” said Ratcliffe, bowing said Mr. Butler, “for which she sent you a token of grate- very low; “I am come to receive your honour’s com- ful acknowledgment, which I hope came safe and was mands, and no to trouble your honour wi’ my poor ob- welcome.” servations.” “Deil a doubt on’t,” said Ratcliffe, with a knowing “Well, sir,” said Sir George, “I am told you understand nod; “but ye are muckle changed for the better since I police matters—So do I.—To convince you of which, saw ye, Maister Butler.” here are ten guineas of retaining fee—I make them fifty “So much so, that I wonder you knew me.” when you can find me certain notice of a person, living “Aha, then!—Deil a face I see I ever forget,” said or dead, whom you will find described in that paper. I Ratcliffe while Sir George Staunton, tied to the stake, shall leave town presently—you may send your written and incapable of escaping, internally cursed the accu- answer to me to the care of Mr. ——” (naming his highly racy of his memory. “And yet, sometimes,” continued respectable agent), “or of his Grace the Lord High Com- Ratcliffe, “the sharpest hand will be ta’en in. There is a missioner.” Rateliffe bowed and withdrew. face in this very room, if I might presume to be sae “I have angered the proud peat now,” he said to him- bauld, that, if I didna ken the honourable person it self, “by finding out a likeness; but if George Robertson’s belangs to, I might think it had some cut of an auld father had lived within a mile of his mother, d—n me if acquaintance.” I should not know what to think, for as high as he car- “I should not be much flattered,” answered the Bar- ries his head.” onet, sternly, and roused by the risk in which he saw When he was left alone with Butler, Sir George himself placed, “if it is to me you mean to apply that Staunton ordered tea and coffee, which were brought compliment.” by his valet, and then, after considering with himself

600 Sir Walter Scott for a minute, asked his guest whether he had lately heard “May I inquire if you think of returning home soon?” from his wife and family. Butler, with some surprise at “In the course of two days,” Mr. Butler answered, “his the question, replied, “that he had received no letter for duty in the Assembly would be ended; and the other some time; his wife was a poor penwoman.” matters he had in town being all finished, he was desir- “Then,” said Sir George Staunton, “I am the first to ous of returning to Dumbartonshire as soon as he could; inform you there has been an invasion of your quiet but he was under the necessity of transporting a con- premises since you left home. My wife, whom the Duke siderable sum in bills and money with him, and thereof Argyle had the goodness to permit to use Roseneath fore wished to travel in company with one or two of his Lodge, while she was spending some weeks in your coun- brethren of the clergy.” try, has sallied across and taken up her quarters in the “My escort will be more safe,” said Sir George Manse, as she says, to be nearer the goats, whose milk Staunton, “and I think of setting off to-morrow or next she is using; but, I believe, in reality, because she prefers day. If you will give me the pleasure of your company, I Mrs. Butler’s company to that of the respectable gentle- will undertake to deliver you and your charge safe at man who acts as seneschal on the Duke’s domains.” the Manse, provided you will admit me along with you.” Mr. Butler said, “He had often heard the late Duke Mr. Butler gratefully accepted of this proposal; the and the present speak with high respect of Lady appointment was made accordingly, and, by despatches Staunton, and was happy if his house could accommo- with one of Sir George’s servants, who was sent forward date any friend of theirs—it would be but a very slight for the purpose, the inhabitants of the manse of acknowledgment of the many favours he owed them.” Knocktarlitie were made acquainted with the intended “That does not make Lady Staunton and myself the journey; and the news rung through the whole vicinity, less obliged to your hospitality, sir,” said Sir George. “that the minister was coming back wi’ a braw English

601 The Heart of Mid-Lothian gentleman and a’ the siller that was to pay for the es- ing important, that he should send an express with it tate of Craigsture.” instantly to Knocktarlitie. These instructions were This sudden resolution of going to Knocktarlitie had backed with a deposit of money, and a request that no been adopted by Sir George Staunton in consequence expense might be spared; so that Sir George Staunton of the incidents of the evening. In spite of his present had little reason to apprehend negligence on the part of consequence, he felt he had presumed too far in ventur- the persons intrusted with the commission. ing so near the scene of his former audacious acts of The journey, which the brothers made in company, violence, and he knew too well, from past experience, was attended with more pleasure, even to Sir George the acuteness of a man like Ratcliffe, again to encoun- Staunton, than he had ventured to expect. His heart ter him. The next two days he kept his lodgings, under lightened in spite of himself when they lost sight of pretence of indisposition, and took leave by writing of Edinburgh; and the easy, sensible conversation of But- his noble friend the High Commissioner, alleging the ler was well calculated to withdraw his thoughts from opportunity of Mr. Butler’s company as a reason for painful reflections. He even began to think whether there leaving Edinburgh sooner than he had proposed. He had could be much difficulty in removing his wife’s connec- a long conference with his agent on the subject of tions to the rectory of Willingham; it was only on his Annaple Bailzou; and the professional gentleman, who part procuring some still better preferment for the was the agent also of the Argyle family, had directions present incumbent, and on Butler’s, that he should take to collect all the information which Ratcliffe or others orders according to the English Church, to which he might be able to obtain concerning the fate of that could not conceive a possibility of his making objec- woman and the unfortunate child, and so soon as any- tion, and then he had them residing under his wing. No thing transpired which had the least appearance of be- doubt there was pain in seeing Mrs. Butler, acquainted,

602 Sir Walter Scott as he knew her to be, with the full truth of his evil his- “Simply that I could not accept of it,” said Mr. But- tory; but then her silence, though he had no reason to ler. “I have no mind to enter into the various debates complain of her indiscretion hitherto, was still more between the churches; but I was brought up in mine absolutely ensured. It would keep his lady, also, both in own, have received her ordination, am satisfied of the good temper and in more subjection; for she was some- truth of her doctrines, and will die under the banner I times troublesome to him by insisting on remaining in have enlisted to.” town when he desired to retire to the country, alleging “What may be the value of your preferment?” said the total want of society at Willingham. “Madam, your Sir George Staunton, “unless I am asking an indiscreet sister is there,” would, he thought, be a sufficient an- question.” swer to this ready argument. “Probably one hundred a-year, one year with another, He sounded Butler on this subject, asking what he besides my glebe and pasture-ground.” would think of an English living of twelve hundred “And you scruple to exchange that for twelve hundred pounds yearly, with the burden of affording his com- a-year, without alleging any damning difference of doc- pany now and then to a neighbour, whose health was trine betwixt the two churches of England and Scot- not strong or his spirits equal. “He might meet,” he said, land?” “occasionally, a very learned and accomplished gentle- “On that, sir, I have reserved my judgment; there may man, who was in orders as a Catholic priest, but he hoped be much good, and there are certainly saving means in that would be no insurmountable objection to a man of both; but every man must act according to his own lights. his liberality of sentiment. What,” he said, “would Mr. I hope I have done, and am in the course of doing, my Butler think of as an answer, if the offer should be made Master’s work in this Highland parish; and it would ill to him?” become me, for the sake of lucre, to leave my sheep in

603 The Heart of Mid-Lothian the wilderness. But, even in the temporal view which They travelled on to Dumbarton, where they had re- you have taken of the matter, Sir George, this hundred solved to leave the equipage and to hire a boat to take pounds a-year of stipend hath fed and clothed us, and them to the shores near the manse, as the Gare-Loch left us nothing to wish for; my father-in-law’s succes- lay betwixt them and that point, besides the impossi- sion, and other circumstances, have added a small es- bility of travelling in that district with wheel-carriages. tate of about twice as much more, and how we are to Sir George’s valet, a man of trust, accompanied them, dispose of it I do not know—So I leave it to you, sir, to as also a footman; the grooms were left with the car- think if I were wise, not having the wish or opportunity riage. Just as this arrangement was completed, which of spending three hundred a-year, to covet the posses- was about four o’clock in the afternoon, an express ar- sion of four times that sum.” rived from Sir George’s agent in Edinburgh, with a “This is philosophy,” said Sir George; “I have heard packet, which he opened and read with great attention, of it, but I never saw it before.” appearing much interested and agitated by the contents. “It is common sense,” replied Butler, “which accords The packet had been despatched very soon after their with philosophy and religion more frequently than ped- leaving Edinburgh, but the messenger had missed the ants or zealots are apt to admit.” travellers by passing through Mid-Calder in the night, Sir George turned the subject, and did not again resume and overshot his errand by getting to Roseneath before it. Although they travelled in Sir George’s chariot, he them. He was now on his return, after having waited seemed so much fatigued with the motion, that it was nec- more than four-and-twenty hours. Sir George Staunton essary for him to remain for a day at a small town called instantly wrote back an answer, and rewarding the mes- Mid-Calder, which was their first stage from Edinburgh. senger liberally, desired him not to sleep till he placed it Glasgow occupied another day, so slow were their motions. in his agent’s hands.

604 Sir Walter Scott At length they embarked in the boat, which had waited action, while any occasional burst of virtuous feeling for them some time. During their voyage, which was was only a transient impulse not to be reckoned upon, slow, for they were obliged to row the whole way, and and excited probably by some singular and unusual con- often against the tide, Sir George Staunton’s inquiries catenation of circumstances. In discussing these inquir- ran chiefly on the subject of the Highland banditti who ies, which Sir George pursued with an apparent eager- had infested that country since the year 1745. Butler ness that rather surprised Butler, the latter chanced to informed him that many of them were not native High- mention the name of Donacha dhu na Dunaigh, with landers, but gipsies, tinkers, and other men of desper- which the reader is already acquainted. Sir George ate fortunes, who had taken advantage of the confu- caught the sound up eagerly, and as if it conveyed par- sion introduced by the civil war, the general discontent ticular interest to his ear. He made the most minute in- of the mountaineers, and the unsettled state of police, quiries concerning the man whom he mentioned, the to practise their plundering trade with more audacity. number of his gang, and even the appearance of those Sir George next inquired into their lives, their habits, who belonged to it. Upon these points Butler could give whether the violences which they committed were not little answer. The man had a name among the lower class, sometimes atoned for by acts of generosity, and whether but his exploits were considerably exaggerated; he had they did not possess the virtues as well as the vices of always one or two fellows with him, but never aspired savage tribes? to the command of above three or four. In short, he knew Butler answered, that certainly they did sometimes little about him, and the small acquaintance he had had show sparks of generosity, of which even the worst class by no means inclined him to desire more. of malefactors are seldom utterly divested; but that their “Nevertheless, I should like to see him some of these evil propensities were certain and regular principles of days.”

605 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “That would be a dangerous meeting, Sir George, un- George; “it seems as if it suspended its peal till it less you mean we are to see him receive his deserts from solemnised some important event in the world below.” the law, and then it were a melancholy one.” “Alas!” replied Butler, “what are we that the laws of “Use every man according to his deserts, Mr. Butler, nature should correspond in their march with our and who shall escape whipping? But I am talking riddles ephemeral deeds or sufferings! The clouds will burst to you. I will explain them more fully to you when I when surcharged with the electric fluid, whether a goat have spoken over the subject with Lady Staunton.— is falling at that instant from the cliffs of Arran, or a Pull away, my lads,” he added, addressing himself to hero expiring on the field of battle he has won.” the rowers; “the clouds threaten us with a storm.” “The mind delights to deem it otherwise,” said Sir In fact, the dead and heavy closeness of the air, the George Staunton; “and to dwell on the fate of human- huge piles of clouds which assembled in the western ity as on that which is the prime central movement of horizon, and glowed like a furnace under the influence the mighty machine. We love not to think that we shall of the setting sun—that awful stillness in which nature mix with the ages that have gone before us, as these seems to expect the thunder-burst, as a condemned sol- broad black raindrops mingle with the waste of waters, dier waits for the platoon fire which is to stretch him on making a trifling and momentary eddy, and are then the earth, all betokened a speedy storm. Large broad lost for ever.” drops fell from time to time, and induced the gentlemen “For ever!—we are not—we cannot be lost for ever,” to assume the boat-cloaks; but the rain again ceased, said Butler, looking upward; “death is to us change, not and the oppressive heat, so unusual in Scotland in the consummation; and the commencement of a new exist- end of May, inclined them to throw them aside. “There ence, corresponding in character to the deeds which we is something solemn in this delay of the storm,” said Sir have done in the body.”

606 Sir Walter Scott While they agitated these grave subjects, to which the so- “Try,” said Sir George, “and I will give you half-a- lemnity of the approaching storm naturally led them, their guinea.” voyage threatened to be more tedious than they expected, The old fellow took the helm, and observed, “That, if for gusts of wind, which rose and fell with sudden impetuos- they could get in, there was a steep path up from the ity, swept the bosom of the firth, and impeded the efforts of beach, and half-an-hour’s walk from thence to the the rowers. They had now only to double a small headland, Manse.” in order to get to the proper landing-place in the mouth of “Are you sure you know the way?” said Butler to the the little river; but in the state of the weather, and the boat old man. being heavy, this was like to be a work of time, and in the “I maybe kend it a wee better fifteen years syne, when meanwhile they must necessarily be exposed to the storm. Dandie Wilson was in the firth wi’ his clean-ganging “Could we not land on this side of the headland,” asked lugger. I mind Dandie had a wild young Englisher wi’ Sir George, “and so gain some shelter?” him, that they ca’d—” Butler knew of no landing-place, at least none afford- “If you chatter so much,” said Sir George Staunton, ing a convenient or even practicable passage up the rocks “you will have the boat on the Grindstone—bring that which surrounded the shore. white rock in a line with the steeple.” “Think again,” said Sir George Staunton; “the storm “By G—,” said the veteran, staring, “I think your will soon be violent.” honour kens the bay as weel as me.—Your honour’s nose “Hout, ay,” said one of the boatmen, “there’s the has been on the Grindstone ere now, I’m thinking.” Caird’s Cove; but we dinna tell the minister about it, As they spoke thus, they approached the little cove, and I am no sure if I can steer the boat to it, the bay is which, concealed behind crags, and defended on every sae fa’ o’ shoals and sunk rocks.” point by shallows and sunken rocks, could scarce be dis-

607 The Heart of Mid-Lothian covered or approached, except by those intimate with Scripture, teaches us, Sir George, that mischief shall the navigation. An old shattered boat was already drawn hunt the violent man, and that the bloodthirsty man up on the beach within the cove, close beneath the trees, shall not live half his days—But take my arm to help and with precautions for concealment. you ashore.” Upon observing this vessel, Butler remarked to his Sir George needed assistance, for he was contrasting companion, “It is impossible for you to conceive, Sir in his altered thought the different feelings of mind and George, the difficulty I have had with my poor people, frame with which he had formerly frequented the same in teaching them the guilt and the danger of this con- place. As they landed, a low growl of thunder was heard traband trade—yet they have perpetually before their at a distance. eyes all its dangerous consequences. I do not know any- “That is ominous, Mr. Butler,” said Sir George. thing that more effectually depraves and ruins their “Intonuit laevum—it is ominous of good, then,” an- moral and religious principles.” swered Butler, smiling. Sir George forced himself to say something in a low The boatmen were ordered to make the best of their voice about the spirit of adventure natural to youth, way round the headland to the ordinary landing-place; and that unquestionably many would become wiser as the two gentlemen, followed by their servant, sought they grew older. their way by a blind and tangled path, through a close “Too seldom, sir,” replied Butler. “If they have been copsewood, to the Manse of Knocktarlitie, where their deeply engaged, and especially if they, have mingled in arrival was anxiously expected. the scenes of violence and blood to which their occupa- The sisters in vain had expected their husbands’ re- tion naturally leads, I have observed, that, sooner or turn on the preceding day, which was that appointed by later, they come to an evil end. Experience, as well as Sir George’s letter. The delay of the travellers at Calder

608 Sir Walter Scott had occasioned this breach of appointment. The inhab- Butler, after an absence of unusual length, made her ex- itants of the Manse began even to doubt whether they tremely desirous that the travellers should arrive as soon would arrive on the present day. Lady Staunton felt this as possible. And—why should I disguise the truth?—ever hope of delay as a brief reprieve, for she dreaded the and anon a thought stole across her mind that her gala pangs which her husband’s pride must undergo at meet- dinner had now been postponed for two days; and how ing with a sister-in-law, to whom the whole of his un- few of the dishes, after every art of her simple cuisine happy and dishonourable history was too well known. had been exerted to dress them, could with any credit or She knew, whatever force or constraint he might put propriety appear again upon the third; and what was she upon his feelings in public, that she herself must be to do with the rest?—Upon this last subject she was saved doomed to see them display themselves in full vehemence the trouble of farther deliberation, by the sudden appear- in secret,—consume his health, destroy his temper, and ance of the Captain at the head of half-a-dozen stout render him at once an object of dread and compassion. fellows, dressed and armed in the Highland fashion. Again and again she cautioned Jeanie to display no to- “Goot-morrow morning to ye, Leddy Staunton, and I kens of recognition, but to receive him as a perfect hope I hae the pleasure to see you weel—And goot-mor- stranger,—and again and again Jeanie renewed her row to you, goot Mrs. Putler—I do peg you will order promise to comply with her wishes. some victuals and ale and prandy for the lads, for we Jeanie herself could not fail to bestow an anxious hae peen out on firth and moor since afore daylight, and thought on the awkwardness of the approaching meet- a’ to no purpose neither—Cot tam!” ing; but her conscience was ungalled—and then she was So saying, he sate down, pushed back his brigadier wig, cumbered with many household cares of an unusual na- and wiped his head with an air of easy importance; to- ture, which, joined to the anxious wish once more to see tally regardless of the look of well-bred astonishment

609 The Heart of Mid-Lothian by which Lady Staunton endeavoured to make him com- “Frightening me!” said her ladyship; “why, I never prehend that he was assuming too great a liberty. wrote to Sir George about my alarm at the waterfall.” “It is some comfort, when one has had a sair tussel,” “Then he must have heard it otherwise; for what else continued the Captain, addressing Lady Staunton, with can give him sic an earnest tesire to see this rapscallion, an air of gallantry, “that it is in a fair leddy’s service, or that I maun ripe the haill mosses and muirs in the coun- in the service of a gentleman whilk has a fair leddy, whilk try for him, as if I were to get something for finding is the same thing, since serving the husband is serving him, when the pest o’t might pe a pall through my the wife, as Mrs. Putler does very weel know.” prains?” “Really, sir,” said Lady Staunton, “as you seem to in- “Can it be really true, that it is on Sir George’s ac- tend this compliment for me, I am at a loss to know count that you have been attempting to apprehend this what interest Sir George or I can have in your move- fellow?” ments this morning.” “Py Cot, it is for no other cause that I know than his “O, Cot tam!—this is too cruel, my leddy—as if it was honour’s pleasure; for the creature might hae gone on in not py special express from his Grace’s honourable agent a decent quiet way for me, sae lang as he respectit the and commissioner at Edinburgh, with a warrant con- Duke’s pounds—put reason goot he suld be taen, and form, that I was to seek for and apprehend Donacha hangit to poet, if it may pleasure ony honourable dhu na Dunaigh, and pring him pefore myself and Sir shentleman that is the Duke’s friend—Sae I got the ex- George Staunton, that he may have his deserts, that is press over night, and I caused warn half a score of pretty to say, the gallows, whilk he has doubtless deserved, py lads, and was up in the morning pefore the sun, and I peing the means of frightening your leddyship, as weel garr’d the lads take their kilts and short coats.” as for something of less importance.” “I wonder you did that, Captain,” said Mrs. Butler,

610 Sir Walter Scott “when you know the act of Parliament against wearing “Py Cot,” said Duncan, “then I will stay here no longer the Highland dress.” than to trink this very horn of prandy and water, for “Hout, tout, ne’er fash your thumb, Mrs. Putler. The it’s very possible they will pe in the wood. Donacha’s a law is put twa-three years auld yet, and is ower young clever fellow, and maype thinks it pest to sit next the to hae come our length; and pesides, how is the lads to chimley when the lum reeks. He thought naebody would climb the praes wi’ thae tamn’d breekens on them? It look for him sae near hand! I peg your leddyship will makes me sick to see them. Put ony how, I thought I excuse my aprupt departure, as I will return forthwith, kend Donacha’s haunt gey and weel, and I was at the and I will either pring you Donacha in life, or else his place where he had rested yestreen; for I saw the leaves head, whilk I dare to say will be as satisfactory. And I the limmers had lain on, and the ashes of them; by the hope to pass a pleasant evening with your leddyship; same token, there was a pit greeshoch purning yet. I am and I hope to have mine revenges on Mr. Putler at back- thinking they got some word oat o’ the island what was gammon, for the four pennies whilk he won, for he will intended—I sought every glen and clench, as if I had pe surely at home soon, or else he will have a wet jour- been deer-stalking, but teil a want of his coat-tail could ney, seeing it is apout to pe a scud.” I see—Cot tam!” Thus saying, with many scrapes and bows, and apolo- “He’ll be away down the Firth to Cowal,” said David; gies for leaving them, which were very readily received, and Reuben, who had been out early that morning a- and reiterated assurances of his speedy return (of the nutting, observed, “That he had seen a boat making for sincerity whereof Mrs. Butler entertained no doubt, so the Caird’s Cove;” a place well known to the boys, though long as her best greybeard of brandy was upon duty), their less adventurous father was ignorant of its exist- Duncan left the Manse, collected his followers, and be- ence. gan to scour the close and entangled wood which lay

611 The Heart of Mid-Lothian between the little glen and the Caird’s Cove. David, who was a favourite with the Captain, on account of his spirit and courage, took the opportunity of escaping, to at- CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTH tend the investigations of that great man.

I did send for thee, That Talbot’s name might be in thee revived, When sapless age and weak, unable limbs, Should bring thy father to his drooping chair. But—O malignant and ill-boding stars!—

First part of Henry the Sixth.

DUNCAN AND HIS PARTY had not proceeded very far in the direction of the Caird’s Cove before they heard a shot, which was quickly followed by one or two others. “Some tamn’d villains among the roe-deer,” said Duncan; “look sharp out, lads.” The clash of swords was next heard, and Duncan and his myrmidons, hastening to the spot, found Butler and Sir George Staunton’s servant in the hands of four ruffians. Sir George himself lay stretched on the ground, 612 Sir Walter Scott with his drawn sword in his hand. Duncan, who was as hope she will do me the credit to pelieve that I can afenge brave as a lion, instantly fired his pistol at the leader of a shentleman’s plood fery speedily and well.” the band, unsheathed his sword, cried out to his men, Such was the observation of a man too much accus- Claymore! and run his weapon through the body of the tomed to the ancient state of manners in the Highlands, fellow whom he had previously wounded, who was no to look upon the issue of such a skirmish as anything other thau Donacha dhu na Dunaigh himself. The other worthy of wonder or emotion. banditti were speedily overpowered, excepting one young We will not attempt to describe the very contrary ef- lad, who made wonderful resistance for his years, and fect which the unexpected disaster produced upon Lady was at length secured with difficulty. Staunton, when the bloody corpse of her husband was Butler, so soon as he was liberated from the ruffians, brought to the house, where she expected to meet him ran to raise Sir George Staunton, but life had wholly alive and well. All was forgotten, but that he was the left him. lover of her youth; and whatever were his faults to the “A creat misfortune,” said Duncan; “I think it will pe world, that he had towards her exhibited only those that pest that I go forward to intimate it to the coot lady.— arose from the inequality of spirits and temper, inci- Tavie, my dear, you hae smelled pouther for the first dent to a situation of unparalleled difficulty. In the vi- time this day—take my sword and hack off Donacha’s vacity of her grief she gave way to all the natural irri- head, whilk will pe coot practice for you against the time tability of her temper; shriek followed shriek, and swoon you may wish to do the same kindness to a living succeeded to swoon. It required all Jeanie’s watchful shentleman—or hould! as your father does not approve, affection to prevent her from making known, in these you may leave it alone, as he will pe a greater object of paroxysms of affliction, much which it was of the high- satisfaction to Leddy Staunton to see him entire; and I est importance that she should keep secret.

613 The Heart of Mid-Lothian At length silence and exhaustion succeeded to frenzy, Gaelic and English, of all the prisoners, and every other and Jeanie stole out to take counsel with her husband, witness of the fatal transaction, she had the body of and to exhort him to anticipate the Captain’s interfer- her brother-in-law undressed and properly disposed. It ence, by taking possession, in Lady Staunton’s name, then appeared, from the crucifix, the beads, and the shirt of the private papers of her deceased husband. To the of hair which he wore next his person, that his sense of utter astonishment of Butler, she now, for the first time, guilt had induced him to receive the dogmata of a reli- explained the relation betwixt herself and Lady gion, which pretends, by the maceration of the body, to Staunton, which authorised, nay, demanded, that he expiate the crimes of the soul. In the packet of papers should prevent any stranger from being unnecessarily which the express had brought to Sir George Staunton made acquainted with from Edinburgh, and which Butler, authorised by his her family affairs. It connection with the deceased, did not scruple to exam- was in such a crisis that ine, he found new and astonishing intelligence, which Jeanie’s active and un- gave him reason to thank God he had taken that mea- daunted habits of vir- sure. tuous exertion were Ratcliffe, to whom all sorts of misdeeds and misdoers most conspicuous. were familiar, instigated by the promised reward, soon While the Captain’s at- found himself in a condition to trace the infant of these tention was still en- unhappy parents. The woman to whom Meg Murdockson gaged by a prolonged had sold that most unfortunate child, had made it the refreshment, and a very companion of her wanderings and her beggary, until he tedious examination, in was about seven or eight years old, when, as Ratcliffe

614 Sir Walter Scott learned from a companion of hers, then in the Correction heads of the information, without descending into House of Edinburgh, she sold him in her turn to Donacha minute details. dhu na Dunaigh. This man, to whom no act of mischief Donacha Dhu had indeed purchased Effie’s unhappy child, was unknown, was occasionally an agent in a horrible with the purpose of selling it to the American traders, whom trade then carried on betwixt Scotland and America, for he had been in the habit of supplying with human flesh. supplying the plantations with servants, by means of But no opportunity occurred for some time; and the boy, kidnapping, as it was termed, both men and women, but who was known by the name of “The Whistler,” made some especially children under age. Here Ratcliffe lost sight of impression on the heart and affections even of this rude sav- the boy, but had no doubt but Donacha Dhu could give age, perhaps because he saw in him flashes of a spirit as an account of him. The gentleman of the law, so often fierce and vindictive as his own. When Donacha struck or mentioned, despatched therefore an express, with a let- threatened him—a very common occurrence—he did not ter to Sir George Staunton, and another covering a war- answer with complaints and entreaties like other children, rant for apprehension of Donacha, with instructions to but with oaths and efforts at revenge—he had all the wild the Captain of Knockdunder to exert his utmost energy merit, too, by which Woggarwolfe’s arrow-bearing page won for that purpose. the hard heart of his master: Possessed of this information, and with a mind agitated by the most gloomy apprehensions, Butler now Like a wild cub, rear’d at the ruffian’s feet, joined the Captain, and obtained from him with some He could say biting jests, bold ditties sing, difficulty a sight of the examinations. These, with a few And quaff his foaming bumper at the board, questions to the elder of the prisoners, soon confirmed With all the mockery of a little man.* the most dreadful of Butler’s anticipations. We give the * Ethwald. 615 The Heart of Mid-Lothian In short, as Donacha Dhu said, the Whistler was a gold he had seen in Lady Staunton’s purse, nor his old born imp of Satan, and therefore he should never leave vow of revenge against the minister; and, to bring the him. Accordingly, from his eleventh year forward, he was whole to a point, he conceived the hope of appropriat- one of the band, and often engaged in acts of violence. ing the money, which, according to the general report The last of these was more immediately occasioned by of the country, the minister was to bring from Edinburgh the researches which the Whistler’s real father made to pay for his pew purchase. While he was considering after him whom he had been taught to consider as such. how he might best accomplish his purpose, he received Donacha Dhu’s fears had been for some time excited by the intelligence from one quarter, that the vessel in which the strength of the means which began now to be em- he proposed to sail was to sail immediately from ployed against persons of his description. He was sen- Greenock; from another, that the minister and a rich sible he existed only by the precarious indulgence of his English lord, with a great many thousand pounds, were namesake, Duncan of Knockdunder, who was used to expected the next evening at the Manse; and from a boast that he could put him down or string him up when third, that he must consult his safety by leaving his or- he had a mind. He resolved to leave the kingdom by dinary haunts as soon as possible, for that the Captain means of one of those sloops which were engaged in the had ordered out a party to scour the glens for him at traffic of his old kidnapping friends, and which was break of day. Donacha laid his plans with promptitude about to sail for America; but he was desirous first to and decision. He embarked with the Whistler and two strike a bold stroke. others of his band (whom, by the by, he meant to sell to The ruffian’s cupidity was excited by the intelligence, the kidnappers), and set sail for the Caird’s Cove. He that a wealthy Englishman was coming to the Manse— intended to lurk till nightfall in the wood adjoining to he had neither forgotten the Whistler’s report of the this place, which he thought was too near the habita-

616 Sir Walter Scott tion of men to excite the suspicion of Duncan Knock, “I will take the liperty to take down the pell-ropes, then break into Butler’s peaceful habitation, and flesh Mr. Putler, as I must pe taking order to hang these idle at once his appetite for plunder and revenge. When his people up to-morrow morning, to teach them more con- villany was accomplished, his boat was to convey him sideration in their doings in future.” to the vessel, which, according to previous agreement Butler entreated him to remember the act abolishing with the master, was instantly to set sail. the heritable jurisdictions, and that he ought to send This desperate design would probably have succeeded, them to Glasgow or Inverary, to be tried by the Circuit. but for the ruffians being discovered in their lurking- Duncan scorned the proposal. place by Sir George Staunton and Butler, in their acci- “The Jurisdiction Act,” he said, “had nothing to do put dental walk from the Caird’s Cove towards the Manse. with the rebels, and specially not with Argyle’s country; Finding himself detected, and at the same time observ- and he would hang the men up all three in one row before ing that the servant carried a casket, or strong-box, coot Leddy Staunton’s windows, which would be a great Donacha conceived that both his prize and his victims comfort to her in the morning to see that the coot gentle- were within his power, and attacked the travellers with- man, her husband, had been suitably afenged.” out hesitation. Shots were fired and swords drawn on And the utmost length that Butler’s most earnest en- both sides; Sir George Staunton offered the bravest re- treaties could prevail was, that he would, reserve “the sistance till he fell, as there was too much reason to be- twa pig carles for the Circuit, but as for him they ca’d lieve, by the hand of a son, so long sought, and now at the Fustler, he should try how he could fustle in a swing- length so unhappily met. ing tow, for it suldna be said that a shentleman, friend While Butler was half-stunned with this intelligence, the to the Duke, was killed in his country, and his people hoarse voice of Knockdunder added to his consternation. didna take at least twa lives for ane.”

617 The Heart of Mid-Lothian Butler entreated him to spare the victim for his soul’s likeness of either of his very handsome parents. Yet how sake. But Knockdunder answered, “that the soul of such could she refuse compassion to a creature so young and a scum had been long the tefil’s property, and that, Cot so wretched,—so much more wretched than even he him- tam! he was determined to gif the tefil his due.” self could be aware of, since the murder he had too prob- All persuasion was in vain, and Duncan issued his man- ably committed with his own hand, but in which he had date for execution on the succeeding morning. The child at any rate participated, was in fact a parricide? She of guilt and misery was separated from his companions, placed food on a table near him, raised him, and slacked strongly pinioned, and committed to a separate room, the cords on his arms, so as to permit him to feed himself. of which the Captain kept the key. He stretched out his hands, still smeared with blood per- In the silence of the night, however, Mrs. Butler arose, haps that of his father, and he ate voraciously and in resolved, if possible, to avert, at least to delay, the fate silence. which hung over her nephew, especially if, upon convers- “What is your first name?” said Jeanie, by way of ing with him, she should see any hope of his being brought opening the conversation. to better temper. She had a master-key that opened ev- “The Whistler.” ery lock in the house; and at midnight, when all was still, “But your Christian name, by which you were bap- she stood before the eyes of the astonished young savage, tized?” as, hard bound with cords, he lay, like a sheep designed “I never was baptized that I know of—I have no other for slaughter, upon a quantity of the refuse of flax which name than the Whistler.” filled a corner in the apartment. Amid features sunburnt, “Poor unhappy abandoned lad!” said Jeanie. “What tawny, grimed with dirt, and obscured by his shaggy hair would ye do if you could escape from this place, and the of a rusted black colour, Jeanie tried in vain to trace the death you are to die to-morrow morning?”

618 Sir Walter Scott “Join wi’ Rob Roy, or wi’ Sergeant More Cameron” on finding himself at liberty. He looked so wild, that (noted freebooters at that time), “and revenge Donacha’s Jeanie trembled at what she had done. death on all and sundry.” “Let me out,” said the young savage. “O ye unhappy boy,” said Jeanie, “do ye ken what “I wunna, unless you promise” will come o’ ye when ye die?” “Then I’ll make you glad to let us both out.” “I shall neither feel cauld nor hunger more,” said the He seized the lighted candle and threw it among the youth doggedly. flax, which was instantly in a flame. Jeanie screamed, “To let him be execute in this dreadful state of mind and ran out of the room; the prisoner rushed past her, would be to destroy baith body and soul—and to let threw open a window in the passage, jumped into the him gang I dare not—what will be done?—But he is my garden, sprung over its enclosure, bounded through the sister’s son—my own nephew—our flesh and blood— woods like a deer, and gained the seashore. Meantime, and his hands and feet are yerked as tight as cords can the fire was extinguished, but the prisoner was sought be drawn.—Whistler, do the cords hurt you?” in vain. As Jeanie kept her own secret, the share she had “Very much.” in his escape was not discovered: but they learned his “But, if I were to slacken them, you would harm me?” fate some time afterwards—it was as wild as his life had “No, I would not—you never harmed me or mine.” hitherto been. There may be good in him yet, thought Jeanie; I will The anxious inquiries of Butler at length learned, that try fair play with him. the youth had gained the ship in which his master, She cut his bonds—he stood upright, looked round Donacha, had designed to embark. But the avaricious with a laugh of wild exultation, clapped his hands to- shipmaster, inured by his evil trade to every species of gether, and sprung from the ground, as if in transport treachery, and disappointed of the rich booty which

619 The Heart of Mid-Lothian Donacha had proposed to bring aboard, secured the per- excessive. In the latter months, it assumed the appear- son of the fugitive, and having transported him to ance of listlessness and low spirits, which the monotony America, sold him as a slave, or indented servant, to a of her sister’s quiet establishment afforded no means of Virginian planter, far up the country. When these tid- dissipating. Effie, from her earliest youth, was never ings reached Butler, he sent over to America a sufficient formed for a quiet low content. Far different from her sum to redeem the lad from slavery, with instructions sister, she required the dissipation of society to divert that measures should be taken for improving his mind, her sorrow, or enhance her joy. She left the seclusion of restraining his evil propensities, and encouraging what- Knocktarlitie with tears of sincere affection, and after ever good might appear in his character. But this aid heaping its inmates with all she could think of that came too late. The young man had headed a conspiracy might be valuable in their eyes. But she did leave it; in which his inhuman master was put to death, and had and, when the anguish of the parting was over, her de- then fled to the next tribe of wild Indians. He was never parture was a relief to both sisters. more heard of; and it may therefore be presumed that The family at the Manse of Knocktarlitie, in their own he lived and died after the manner of that savage people, quiet happiness, heard of the well-dowered and beauti- with whom his previous habits had well fitted him to ful Lady Staunton resuming her place in the fashion- associate. able world. They learned it by more substantial proofs, All hopes of the young man’s reformation being now for David received a commission; and as the military ended, Mr. and Mrs. Butler thought it could serve no spirit of Bible Butler seemed to have revived in him, his purpose to explain to Lady Staunton a history so full good behaviour qualified the envy of five hundred young of horror. She remained their guest more than a year, Highland cadets, “come of good houses,” who were as- during the greater part of which period her grief was tonished at the rapidity of his promotion. Reuben fol-

620 Sir Walter Scott lowed the law, and rose more slowly, yet surely. Euphemia up her abode in the convent where she had received her Butler, whose fortune, augmented by her aunt’s gener- education. She never took the veil, but lived and died in osity, and added to her own beauty, rendered her no small severe seclusion, and in the practice of the Roman Catholic prize, married a Highland laird, who never asked the religion, in all its formal observances, vigils, and austeri- name of her grand-father, and was loaded on the occa- ties. sion with presents from Lady Staunton, which made her Jeanie had so much of her father’s spirit as to sorrow the envy of all the beauties in Dumbarton and Argyle bitterly for this apostasy, and Butler joined in her re- shires. gret. “Yet any religion, however imperfect,” he said, After blazing nearly ten years in the fashionable world, “was better than cold scepticism, or the hurrying din and hiding, like many of dissipation, which of her compeers, an fills the ears of world- aching heart with a gay lings, until they care for demeanour—after de- none of these things.” clining repeated offers Meanwhile, happy of the most respectable in each other, in the kind for a second matri- prosperity of their monial engagement, family, and the love and Lady Staunton be- honour of all who knew trayed the inward them, this simple pair wound by retiring to the lived beloved, and died Continent, and taking lamented.

621 The Heart of Mid-Lothian

L’ENVOY,

READER, BY

THIS TALE WILL NOT BE TOLD IN VAIN, IF IT JEDEDIAH CLEISHBOTHAM. SHALL BE FOUND TO ILLUSTRATE THE GREAT TRUTH, THAT GUILT, THOUGH IT MAY ATTAIN TEMPORAL SPLENDOUR, CAN NEVER CONFER Thus concludeth the Tale of “The Heart of Mid- REAL HAPPINESS; THAT THE EVIL CONSE- Lothian,” which hath filled more pages than I opined. QUENCES OF OUR CRIMES LONG SURVIVE The Heart of Mid-Lothian is now no more, or rather it THEIR COMMISSION, AND, LIKE THE GHOSTS is transferred to the extreme side of the city, even as the OF THE MURDERED, FOR EVER HAUNT THE Sieur Jean Baptiste Poquelin hath it, in his pleasant STEPS OF THE MALEFACTOR; AND THAT THE comedy called Le Me’decin Malgre’ Lui, where the simu- PATHS OF VIRTUE, THOUGH SELDOM THOSE lated doctor wittily replieth to a charge, that he had OF WORLDLY GREATNESS, ARE ALWAYS THOSE placed the heart on the right side, instead of the left, OF PLEASANTNESS AND PEACE. “Cela e’tait autrefois ainsi, mais nous avons change’ tout cela.” Of which witty speech if any reader shall demand the purport, I have only to respond, that I teach the French as well as the Classical tongues, at the easy rate

622 Sir Walter Scott of five shillings per quarter, as my advertisements are periodically making known to the public. NOTES TO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN

NOTE A—Author’s connection with Quakerism.

It is an old proverb, that “many a true word is spoken in jest.” The existence of Walter Scott, third son of Sir William Scott of Harden, is instructed, as it is called, by a charter under the great seal, Domino Willielmo Scott de Harden Militi, et Waltero Scott suo filio legitimo tertio genito, terrarum de Roberton.* The munificent old gentleman left all his four sons considerable estates. and settled those of Eilrig and Raeburn, together with valuable possessions around Lessuden, upon Walter, his third son, who is ancestor of the Scotts of Raeburn, and of the Author of Waverley.

* See Douglas’s Baronage, page 215. 623 The Heart of Mid-Lothian He appears to have become a convert to the doctrine of means for reclaiming Walter of Raeburn from his her- the Quakers, or Friends, and a great assertor of their esy, as savoured far more of persecution than persua- peculiar tenets. This was probably at the time when sion. In this he was assisted by MacDougal of George Fox, the celebrated apostle of the sect, made an Makerston, brother to Isabella MacDougal, the wife of expedition into the south of Scotland about 1657, on the said Walter, and who, like her husband, had con- which occasion, he boasts, that “as he first set his horse’s formed to the Quaker tenets. feet upon Scottish ground, he felt the seed of grace to The interest possessed by Sir William Scott and sparkle about him like innumerable sparks of fire.” Upon Makerston was powerful enough to procure the two fol- the same occasion, probably, Sir Gideon Scott of lowing acts of the Privy Council of Scotland, directed Highchester, second son of Sir William, immediate el- against Walter of Raeburn as an heretic and convert to der brother of Walter, and ancestor of the author’s friend Quakerism, appointing him to be imprisoned first in and kinsman, the present representative of the family Edinburgh jail, and then in that of Jedburgh; and his of Harden, also embraced the tenets of Quakerism. This children to be taken by force from the society and direc- last convert, Gideon, entered into a controversy with tion of their parents, and educated at a distance from the Rev. James Kirkton, author of the Secret and True them, besides the assignment of a sum for their mainte- History of the Church of Scotland, which is noticed by nance, sufficient in those times to be burdensome to a my ingenious friend Mr. Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, in moderate Scottish estate. his valuable and curious edition of that work, 4to, 1817. “Apud Edin., vigesimo Junii 1665. Sir William Scott, eldest of the brothers, remained, amid “The Lords of his Magesty’s Privy Council having the defection of his two younger brethren, an orthodox receaved information that Scott of Raeburn, and Isobel member of the Presbyterian Church, and used such Mackdougall, his wife, being infected with the error of

624 Sir Walter Scott Quakerism, doe endeavour to breid and trains up Will- of Quakerism, and, for maintenance of the saids chil- iam, Walter, and Isobel Scotts, their children, in the same dren, did ordain letters to be direct against Raeburn; profession, doe therefore give order and command to Sir and, seeing the Petitioner, in obedience to the said or- William Scott of Harden, the said Raeburn’s brother, der, did take away the saids children, being two sonnes to seperat and take away the saids children from the and a daughter, and after some paines taken upon them custody and society of the saids parents, and to cause in his owne family, hes sent them to the city of Glasgow, educat and bring them up in his owne house, or any other to be bread at schooles, and there to be principled with convenient place, and ordaines letters to be direct at the the knowledge of the true religion, and that it is neces- said Sir William’s instance against Raeburn, for a main- sary the Councill determine what shall be the mainte- tenance to the saids children, and that the said Sir Wm. nance for which Raeburn’s three children may be give ane account of his diligence with all conveniency.” charged, as likewise that Raeburn himself, being now in “Edinburgh, 5th July 1666. the Tolbooth of Edinburgh, where he dayley converses “Anent a petition presented be Sir Wm. Scott of with all the Quakers who are prisoners there, and oth- Harden, for himself and in name and behalf of the three ers who daily resort to them, whereby he is hardened in children of Walter Scott of Raeburn, his brother, show- his pernitious opinions and principles, without all hope ing that the Lords of Councill, by ane act of the 22d of recovery, unlesse he be separat from such pernitious day of Junii 1665, did grant power and warrand to the company, humbly therefore, desyring that the Councell petitioner, to separat and take away Raeburn’s children, might determine upon the soume of money to be payed from his family and education, and to breed them in be Raeburn, for the education of his children, to the some convenient place, where they might be free from petitioner, who will be countable therefor; and that, in all infection in their younger years, from the principalls order to his conversion, the place of his imprisonment

625 The Heart of Mid-Lothian may be changed. The Lords of his Maj. Privy Councell ther, proved good scholars. The eldest, William, who having at length heard and considered the foresaid peti- carried on the line of Raeburn, was, like his father, a tion, doe modifie the soume of two thousand pounds deep Orientalist; the younger, Walter, became a good Scots, to be payed yearly at the terms of Whitsunday classical scholar, a great friend and correspondent of be the said Walter Scott of Raeburn, furth of his estate the celebrated Dr. Pitcairn, and a Jacobite so distin- to the petitioner, for the entertainment and education guished for zeal, that he made a vow never to shave his of the said children, beginning the first termes payment beard till the restoration of the exiled family. This last therof at Whitsunday last for the half year preceding, Walter Scott was the author’s great-grandfather. and so furth yearly, at the said terme of Whitsunday in There is yet another link betwixt the author and the tym comeing till furder orders; and ordaines the said simple-minded and excellent Society of Friends, through Walter Scott of Raeburn to be transported from the a proselyte of much more importance than Walter Scott tolbooth of Edinburgh to the prison of Jedburgh, where of Raeburn. The celebrated John Swinton, of Swinton, his friends and others may have occasion to convert him. nineteenth baron in descent of that ancient and once And to the effect he may be secured from the practice powerful family, was, with Sir William Lockhart of Lee, of other Quakers, the said Lords doe hereby discharge the person whom Cromwell chiefly trusted in the man- the magistrates of Jedburgh to suffer any persons sus- agement of the Scottish affairs during his usurpation. pect of these principles to have access to him; and in After the Restoration, Swinton was devoted as a victim case any contraveen, that they secure ther persons till to the new order of things, and was brought down in they be therfore puneist; and ordaines letters to be di- the same vessel which conveyed the Marquis of Argyle rect heirupon in form, as effeirs.” to Edinburgh, where that nobleman was tried and ex- Both the sons, thus harshly separated from their fa- ecuted. Swinton was destined to the same fate. He had

626 Sir Walter Scott assumed the habit, and entered into the Society of the then lying there in the garrison. This was the father of Quakers, and appeared as one of their number before Robert Barclay, author of the celebrated Apology for the the Parliament of Scotland. He renounced all legal de- Quakers. It may be observed among the inconsistencies fence, though several pleas were open to him, and an- of human nature, that Kirkton, Wodrow, and other Pres- swered, in conformity to the principles of his sect, that byterian authors, who have detailed the sufferings of their at the time these crimes were imputed to him, he was in own sect for nonconformity with the established church, the gall of bitterness and bond of iniquity; but that censure the government of the time for not exerting the God Almighty having since called him to the light, he civil power against the peaceful enthusiasts we have saw and acknowledged these errors, and did not refuse treated of, and some express particular chagrin at the to pay the forfeit of them, even though, in the judg- escape of Swinton. Whatever might be his motives for ment of the Parliament, it should extend to life itself. assuming the tenets of the Friends, the old man retained Respect to fallen greatness, and to the patience and calm them faithfully till the close of his life. resignation with which a man once in high power ex- Jean Swinton, grand-daughter of Sir John Swinton, pressed himself under such a change of fortune, found son of Judge Swinton, as the Quaker was usually termed, Swinton friends; family connections, and some interested was mother of Anne Rutherford, the author’s mother. considerations of Middleton the Commissioner, joined to And thus, as in the play of the Anti-Jacobin, the ghost procure his safety, and he was dismissed, but after a long of the author’s grandmother having arisen to speak the imprisonment, and much dilapidation of his estates. It is Epilogue, it is full time to conclude, lest the reader should said that Swinton’s admonitions, while confined in the remonstrate that his desire to know the Author of Castle of Edinburgh, had a considerable share in con- Waverley never included a wish to be acquainted with verting to the tenets of the Friends Colonel David Barclay, his whole ancestry.

627 The Heart of Mid-Lothian

NOTE B.—TOMBSTONE TO HELEN WALKER. JEANIE DEANS;

On Helen Walker’s tombstone in Irongray churchyard, REFUSING THE SLIGHTEST DEPARTURE Dumfriesshire, there is engraved the following epitaph, FROM VERACITY, written by Sir Walter Scott: EVEN TO SAVE THE LIFE OF A SISTER,

THIS STONE WAS ERECTED SHE NEVERTHELESS SHOWED HER BY THE AUTHOR OF WAVERLEY KINDNESS AND FORTITUDE, IN RESCUING HER FROM THE SEVERITY OF TO THE MEMORY THE LAW OF AT THE EXPENSE OF PERSONAL EXERTIONS HELEN WALKER, WHICH THE TIME RENDERED AS DIFFICULT AS THE MOTIVE WAS LAUDABLE. WHO DIED IN THE YEAR OF GOD 1791. RESPECT THE GRAVE OF POVERTY THIS HUMBLE INDIVIDUAL PRACTISED IN WHEN COMBINED WITH LOVE OF TRUTH REAL LIFE AND DEAR AFFECTION. THE VIRTUES WITH WHICH FICTION HAS INVESTED Erected October 1831.

THE IMAGINARY CHARACTER OF 628 Sir Walter Scott present Parliament House was erected, the Tolbooth was NOTE C.—THE OLD TOLBOOTH. occupied as a prison only. Gloomy and dismal as it was, the situation in the cen- The ancient Tolbooth of Edinburgh, Situated as de- tre of the High Street rendered it so particularly well- scribed in this CHAPTER, was built by the citizens in aired, that when the plague laid waste the city in 1645, 1561, and destined for the accommodation of Parlia- it affected none within these melancholy precincts. The ment, as well as of the High Courts of Justice;* and at Tolbooth was removed, with the mass of buildings in the same time for the confinement of prisoners for debt, which it was incorporated, in the autumn of the year or on criminal charges. Since the year 1640, when the 1817. At that time the kindness of his old schoolfellow * This is not so certain. Few persons now living are likely to and friend, Robert Johnstone, Esquire, then Dean of remember the interior of the old Tolbooth, with narrow stair- Guild of the city, with the liberal acquiescence of the case, thick walls, and small apartments, nor to imagine that persons who had contracted for the work, procured for it could ever have been used for these purposes. Robert Cham- bers, in his Minor Antiquities of Edinburgh, has preserved the Author of Waverley the stones which composed the ground-plans or sections, which clearly show this,—the larg- gateway, together with the door, and its ponderous fas- est hall was on the second floor, and measuring 27 feet by 20, and 12 feet high. It may have been intended for the meetings tenings, which he employed in decorating the entrance of Town Council, while the Parliament assembled, after 1560, of his kitchen-court at Abbotsford. “To such base of- in what was called the Upper Tolbooth, that is the south- fices may we return.” The application of these relies of west portion of the Collegiate Church of St. Giles, until the year 1640, when the present Parliament House was com- the Heart of Mid-Lothian to serve as the postern-gate pleted. Being no longer required for such a purpose, it was to a court of modern offices, may be justly ridiculed as set apart by the Town Council on the 24th December 1641 whimsical; but yet it is not without interest, that we see as a distinct church, with the name of the Tolbooth parish, and therefore could not have derived the name from its vicin- the gateway through which so much of the stormy poli- ity to the Tolbooth, as usually stated. 629 The Heart of Mid-Lothian tics of a rude age, and the vice and misery of later times, had found their passage, now occupied in the service of NOTE D—THE PORTEOUS MOB. rural economy. Last year, to complete the change, a tomtit was pleased to build her nest within the lock of The following interesting and authentic account of the the Tolbooth,—a strong temptation to have committed inquiries made by Crown Counsel into the affair of the a sonnet, had the Author, like Tony Lumpkin, been in a Porteous Mob, seems to have been drawn up by the So- concatenation accordingly. licitor-General. The office was held in 1737 by Charles It is worth mentioning, that an act of beneficence cel- Erskine, Esq. ebrated the demolition of the Heart of Mid-Lothian. A I owe this curious illustration to the kindness of a pro- subscription, raised and applied by the worthy Magis- fessional friend. It throws, indeed, little light on the origin trate above mentioned, procured the manumission of of the tumult; but shows how profound the darkness must most of the unfortunate debtors confined in the old jail, have been, which so much investigation could not dispel. so that there were few or none transferred to the new “Upon the 7th of September last, when the unhappy place of confinement. wicked murder of Captain Porteus was committed, His Majesty’s Advocate and Solicitor were out of town; the [The figure of a Heart upon the pavement between St. first beyond Inverness, and the other in Annandale, not Giles’s Church and the Edinburgh County Hall, now far from Carlyle; neither of them knew anything of the marks the site of the Old Tolbooth.] reprieve, nor did they in the least suspect that any disorder was to happen. “When the disorder happened, the magistrates and other persons concerned in the management of the town,

630 Sir Walter Scott seemed to be all struck of a heap; and whether, from the magistrates worth mentioning, but called witness the great terror that had seized all the inhabitants, they after witness in the privatest manner, before himself in thought ane immediate enquiry would be fruitless, or his own house, and for six weeks time, from morning to whether, being a direct insult upon the prerogative of evening, went on in the enquiry without taking the least the crown, they did not care rashly to intermeddle; but diversion, or turning his thoughts to any other business. no proceedings was had by them. Only, soon after, ane “He tried at first what he could do by declarations, by express was sent to his Majestie’s Solicitor, who came to engaging secresy, so that those who told the truth should town as soon as was possible for him; but, in the mean- never be discovered; made use of no clerk, but wrote all time, the persons who had been most guilty, had either the declarations with his own hand, to encourage them ran off, or, at least, kept themselves upon the wing until to speak out. After all, for some time, he could get noth- they should see what steps were taken by the Govern- ing but ends of stories which, when pursued, broke off; ment. and those who appeared and knew anything of the mat- “When the Solicitor arrived, he perceived the whole ter, were under the utmost terror, lest it should take air inhabitants under a consternation. He had no materials that they had mentioned any one man as guilty. furnished him; nay, the inhabitants were so much afraid “During the course of the enquiry, the run of the town, of being reputed informers, that very few people had so which was strong for the villanous actors, begun to al- much as the courage to speak with him on the streets. ter a little, and when they saw the King’s servants in However, having received her Majestie’s orders, by a let- earnest to do their best, the generality, who before had ter from the Duke of New castle, he resolved to sett spoke very warmly in defence of the wickedness, began about the matter in earnest, and entered upon ane en- to be silent, and at that period more of the criminals quiry, gropeing in the dark. He had no assistance from began to abscond.

631 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “At length the enquiry began to open a little, and the “James Braidwood, son to a candlemaker in town, was, Sollicitor was under some difficulty how to proceed. He by a signed declaration, charged as haveing been at the very well saw that the first warrand that was issued out Tolbooth door, giveing directions to the mob about set- would start the whole gang; and as he had not come at ting fire to the door, and that the mob named him by any of the most notorious offenders, he was unwilling, his name, and asked his advice. upon the slight evidence he had, to begin. However, upon “By another declaration, one Stoddart, a journeyman notice given him by Generall Moyle, that one King, a smith, was charged of having boasted publickly, in a butcher in the Canongate, had boasted, in presence of smith’s shop at Leith, that he had assisted in breaking Bridget Knell, a soldier’s wife, the morning after Cap- open the Tolbooth door. tain Porteus was hanged, that he had a very active hand “Peter Traill, a journeyman wright, (by one of the in the mob, a warrand was issued out, and King was declarations) was also accused of haveing lockt the apprehended, and imprisoned in the Canongate Nether-Bow Port, when it was shutt by the mob. Tolbooth. “His Majestie’s Sollicitor having these informations, “This obliged the Sollicitor immediately to take up implored privately such persons as he could best rely those against whom he had any information. By a signed on, and the truth was, there were very few in whom he declaration, William Stirling, apprentice to James could repose confidence. But he was, indeed, faithfully Stirling, merchant in Edinburgh, was charged as haveing served by one Webster, a soldier in the Welsh fuzileers, been at the Nether-Bow, after the gates were shutt, with recommended him by Lieutenant Alshton, who, with a Lochaber-ax or halbert in his hand, and haveing be- very great address, informed himself, and really run some gun a huzza, marched upon the head of the mob to- risque in getting his information, concerning the places wards the Guard. where the persons informed against used to haunt, and

632 Sir Walter Scott how they might be seized. In consequence of which, a all severally examined, and denyed the least accession. party of the Guard from the Canongate was agreed on “In the meantime, the enquiry was going on, and it to march up at a certain hour, when a message should haveing cast up in one of the declarations, that a hump’d be sent. The Sollicitor wrote a letter and gave it to one backed creature marched with a gun as one of the guards of the town officers, ordered to attend Captain Maitland, to Porteus when he went up to the Lawn Markett, the one of the town Captains, promoted to that command person who emitted this declaration was employed to since the unhappy accident, who, indeed, was extremely walk the streets to see if he could find him out; at last diligent and active throughout the whole; and haveing he came to the Sollicitor and told him he had found him, got Stirling and Braidwood apprehended, dispatched the and that he was in a certain house. Whereupon a officer with the letter to the military in the Canongate, warrand was issued out against him, and he was appre- who immediately begun their march, and by the time hended and sent to the Castle, and he proved to be one the Sollicitor had half examined the said two persons in Birnie, a helper to the Countess of Weemys’s coachman. the Burrow-room, where the Magistrates were present, “Thereafter, ane information was given in against Wil- a party of fifty men, drums beating, marched into the liam M’Lauchlan, ffootman to the said Countess, he Parliament close, and drew up, which was the first thing haveing been very active in the mob; ffor sometime he that struck a terror, and from that time forward, the kept himself out of the way, but at last he was appre- insolence was succeeded by fear. hended and likewise committed to the Castle. “Stirling and Braidwood were immediately sent to the “And these were all the prisoners who were putt under Castle and imprisoned. That same night, Stoddart, the confinement in that place. smith, was seized, and he was committed to the Castle also; “There were other persons imprisoned in the Tolbooth as was likewise Traill, the journeyman wright, who were of Edinburgh, and severalls against whom warrands

633 The Heart of Mid-Lothian were issued, but could not be apprehended, whose names tion, there was a witness who declared, nay, indeed swore and cases shall afterwards be more particularly taken (for the Sollicitor, by this time, saw it necessary to put notice of. those he examined upon oath), that he met him [Stirling] “The ffriends of Stirling made an application to the after he entered into the alley where his master lives, Earl of Islay, Lord Justice-Generall, setting furth, that going towards his house; and another witness, fellow- he was seized with a bloody fflux; that his life was in prentice with Stirling, declares, that after the mob had danger; and that upon ane examination of witnesses seized the Guard, he went home, where he found Stirling whose names were given in, it would appear to convic- before him; and, that his master lockt the door, and kept tion, that he had not the least access to any of the riot- them both at home till after twelve at night: upon weigh- ous proceedings of that wicked mob. ing of which testimonies, and upon consideration had, “This petition was by his Lordship putt in the hands That he was charged by the declaration only of one per- of his Majestie’s Sollicitor, who examined the witnesses; son, who really did not appear to be a witness of the and by their testimonies it appeared, that the young greatest weight, and that his life was in danger from the man, who was not above eighteen years of age, was that imprisonment, he was admitted to baill by the Lord night in company with about half a dozen companions, Justice-Generall, by whose warrand he was committed. in a public house in Stephen Law’s closs, near the back “Braidwood’s friends applyed in the same manner; but of the Guard, where they all remained untill the noise as he stood charged by more than one witness, he was came to the house, that the mob had shut the gates and not released—tho’, indeed, the witnesses adduced for seized the Guard, upon which the company broke up, him say somewhat in his exculpation—that he does not and he, and one of his companions, went towards his seem to have been upon any original concert; and one master’s house; and, in the course of the after examina- of the witnesses says he was along with him at the

634 Sir Walter Scott Tolbooth door, and refuses what is said against him, with or sort of commander, for some time, of a Guard, that regard to his having advised the burning of the Tolbooth stood cross between the upper end of the Luckenbooths door. But he remains still in prison. and the north side of the street, to stop all but friends “As to Traill, the journeyman wright, he is charged by from going towards the Tolbooth; and by other wit- the same witness who declared against Stirling, and there nesses, that he was at the Tolbooth door with a link in is none concurrs with him and, to say the truth con- his hand, while the operation of beating and burning it cerning him, he seemed to be the most ingenuous of any was going on; that he went along with the mob with a of them whom the Solicitor examined, and pointed out halbert in his hand, untill he came to the gallows stone a witness by whom one of the first accomplices was dis- in the Grassmarket, and that he stuck the halbert into covered, and who escaped when the warrand was to be the hole of the gallows stone: that afterwards he went putt in execution against them. He positively denys his in amongst the mob when Captain Porteus was carried having shutt the gate, and ’tis thought Traill ought to to the dyer’s tree; so that the proof seems very heavy be admitted to baill. against him. “As to Birnie, he is charged only by one witness, who “To sum up this matter with regard to the prisoners had never seen him before, nor knew his name; so, tho’ I in the Castle, ’tis believed there is strong proof against dare say the witness honestly mentioned him, ’tis pos- M’Lauchlan; there is also proof against Braidwood. But, sible he may be mistaken; and in the examination of as it consists only in emission of words said to have been above 200 witnesses there is no body concurrs with him, had by him while at the Tolbooth door, and that he is and he is ane insignificant little creature. ane insignificant pitifull creature, and will find people “With regard to M’Lauchlan, the proof is strong to swear heartily in his favours, ’tis at best doubtfull against him by one witness, that he acted as a serjeant, whether a jury will be got to condemn him.

635 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “As to those in the Tolbooth of Edinburgh, John “There was also one James Wilson incarcerated in the Crawford, who had for some time been employed to ring said Tolbooth, upon the declaration of one witness, who the bells in the steeple of the New Church of Edinburgh, said he saw him on the streets with a gun; and there he being in company with a soldier accidentally, the dis- remained for some time, in order to try if a concurring course falling in concerning the Captain Porteus and his witness could be found, or that he acted any part in the murder, as he appears to be a light-headed fellow, he tragedy and wickedness. But nothing farther appeared said, that he knew people that were more guilty than against him; and being seized with a severe sickness, he any that were putt in prison. Upon this information, is, by a warrand signed by his Majestie’s Advocate and Crawford was seized, and being examined, it appeared, Sollicitor, liberated upon giveing sufficient baill. that when the mob begun, as he was comeing down from “As to King, enquiry was made, and the ffact comes the steeple, the mob took the keys from him; that he out beyond all exception, that he was in the lodge at the was that night in several corners, and did indeed delate Nether-Bow with Lindsay the waiter, and several other severall persons whom he saw there, and immediately people, not at all concerned in the mob. But after the warrands were despatched, and it was found they had affair was over, he went up towards the guard, and hav- absconded and fled. But there was no evidence against ing met with Sandie the Turk and his wife, who escaped him of any kind. Nay, on the contrary, it appeared, that out of prison, they returned to his house at the Abbey, he had been with the Magistrates in Clerk’s, the and then ’tis very possible he may have thought fitt in vintner’s, relating to them what he had seen in the his beer to boast of villany, in which he could not possi- streets. Therefore, after haveing detained him in prison bly have any share for that reason; he was desired to ffor a very considerable time, his Majestie’s Advocate find baill and he should be set at liberty. But he is a and Sollicitor signed a warrand for his liberation. stranger and a fellow of very indifferent character, and

636 Sir Walter Scott ’tis believed it won’t be easy for him to find baill. Where- Nor, indeed, was it easy to trust any of the acquaintan- fore, it’s thought he must be sett at liberty without it. ces of so low, obscure a fellow with the secret of the Because he is a burden upon the Government while kept warrand to be putt in execution. in confinement, not being able to maintain himself. “There was also strong evidence found against Rob- “What is above is all that relates to persons in custody. ert Taylor, servant to William and Charles Thomsons, But there are warrands out against a great many other per- periwig-makers, that he acted as ane officer among the sons who had fled, particularly against one William White, mob, and he was traced from the guard to the well at a journeyman baxter, who, by the evidence, appears to have the head of Forester’s Wynd, where he stood and had been at the beginning of the mob, and to have gone along the appellation of Captain from the mob, and from that with the drum, from the West-Port to the Nether-Bow, and walking down the Bow before Captain Porteus, with his is said to have been one of those who attacked the guard, Lochaber axe; and, by the description given of one who and probably was as deep as any one there. hawl’d the rope by which Captain Porteus was pulled “Information was given that he was lurking at Falkirk, up, ’tis believed Taylor was the person; and ’tis farther where he was born. Whereupon directions were sent to probable, that the witness who debated Stirling had the Sheriff of the County, and a warrand from his Ex- mistaken Taylor for him, their stature and age (so far as cellency Generall Wade, to the commanding officers at can be gathered from the description) being the same. Stirling and Linlithgow, to assist, and all possible “A great deal of pains were taken, and no charge was endeavours were used to catch hold of him, and ’tis said saved, in order to have catched hold of this Taylor, and he escaped very narrowly, having been concealed in some warrands were sent to the country where he was born; outhouse; and the misfortune was, that those who were but it appears he had shipt himself off for Holland, employed in the search did not know him personally. where it is said he now is.

637 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “There is strong evidence also against Thomas Burns, to a shop upon the Friday before, and charged the jour- butcher, that he was ane active person from the beginning neymen and prentices there to attend in the Parliament of the mob to the end of it. He lurkt for some time amongst close on Tuesday night, to assist to hang Captain those of his trade; and artfully enough a train was laid to Porteus. These three did early abscond, and, though catch him, under pretence of a message that had come warrands had been issued out against them, and all from his father in Ireland, so that he came to a blind ale- endeavours used to apprehend them, could not be found. house in the Flesh-market close, and, a party being ready, “One Waldie, a servant to George Campbell, wright, was, by Webster the soldier, who was upon this exploit, has also absconded, and many others, and ’tis informed advertised to come down. However, Burns escaped out at that numbers of them have shipt themselves off ffor a back-window, and hid himself in some of the houses the Plantations; and upon an information that a ship which are heaped together upon one another in that place, was going off ffrom Glasgow, in which severall of the so that it was not possible to catch him. ’Tis now said he is rogues were to transport themselves beyond seas, proper gone to Ireland to his father who lives there. warrands were obtained, and persons despatched to “There is evidence also against one Robert Anderson, search the said ship, and seize any that can be found. journeyman and servant to Colin Alison, wright; and “The like warrands had been issued with regard to against Thomas Linnen and James Maxwell, both ser- ships from Leith. But whether they had been scard, or vants also to the said Colin Alison, who all seem to have whether the information had been groundless, they had been deeply concerned in the matter. Anderson is one no effect. of those who putt the rope upon Captain Porteus’s neck. “This is a summary of the enquiry, ffrom which it ap- Linnen seems also to have been very active; and Max- pears there is no prooff on which one can rely, but against well (which is pretty remarkable) is proven to have come M’Lauchlan. There is a prooff also against Braidwood,

638 Sir Walter Scott but more exceptionable. His Majestie’s Advocate, since he came to town, has join’d with the Sollicitor, and has THE PORTEOUS MOB. done his utmost to gett at the bottom of this matter, but hitherto it stands as is above represented. They are In the preceding CHAPTERs (I. to VI.) the circum- resolved to have their eyes and their ears open, and to stances of that extraordinary riot and conspiracy, called do what they can. But they laboured exceedingly against the Porteous Mob, are given with as much accuracy as the stream; and it may truly be said, that nothing was the author was able to collect them. The order, regular- wanting on their part. Nor have they declined any labour ity, and determined resolution with which such a vio- to answer the commands laid upon them to search the lent action was devised and executed, were only equalled matter to the bottom.” by the secrecy which was observed concerning the principal actors. Although the fact was performed by torch-light, and in presence of a great multitude, to some of whom, at least, the individual actors must have been known, yet no discovery was ever made concerning any of the perpetrators of the slaughter. Two men only were brought to trial for an offence which the Government were so anxious to detect and punish. William M’Lauchlan, footman to the Countess of Wemyss, who is mentioned in the report of the So- licitor-General, against whom strong evidence had been

639 The Heart of Mid-Lothian obtained, was brought to trial in March 1737, charged having left the city in youth, returned with a fortune as having been accessory to the riot, armed with a amassed in foreign countries, that they had originally Lochaber axe. But this man (who was at all times a silly fled on account of their share in the Porteous Mob. But creature) proved, that he was in a state of mortal in- little credit can be attached to these surmises, as in most toxication during the time he was present with the of the cases they are contradicted by dates, and in none rabble, incapable of giving them either advice or assis- supported by anything but vague rumours, grounded tance, or, indeed, of knowing what he or they were doon the ordinary wish of the vulgar, to impute the suc- ing. He was also able to prove, that he was forced into cess of prosperous men to some unpleasant source. The the riot, and upheld while there by two bakers, who put secret history of the Porteous Mob has been till this a Lochaber axe into his hand. The jury, wisely judging day unravelled; and it has always been quoted as a close, this poor creature could be no proper subject of punish- daring, and calculated act of violence, of a nature pe- ment, found the panel Not Guilty. The same verdict was culiarly characteristic of the Scottish people. given in the case of Thomas Linning, also mentioned in Nevertheless, the author, for a considerable time, nour- the Solicitor’s memorial, who was tried in 1738. In short, ished hopes to have found himself enabled to throw some neither then, nor for a long period afterwards, was any- light on this mysterious story. An old man, who died thing discovered relating to the organisation of the about twenty years ago, at the advanced age of ninety- Porteous Plot. three, was said to have made a communication to the The imagination of the people of Edinburgh was long clergyman who attended upon his death-bed, respect- irritated, and their curiosity kept awake, by the mys- ing the origin of the Porteous Mob. This person followed tery attending this extraordinary conspiracy. It was the trade of a carpenter, and had been employed as such generally reported of such natives of Edinburgh as, on the estate of a family of opulence and condition. His

640 Sir Walter Scott character in his line of life and amongst his neighbours, covered, since though in itself a great conflagration, its was excellent, and never underwent the slightest suspi- source, according to this account, was from an obscure cion. His confession was said to have been to the follow- and apparently inadequate cause. ing purpose: That he was one of twelve young men be- I have been disappointed, however, in obtaining the longing to the village of Pathhead, whose animosity evidence on which this story rests. The present propri- against Porteous, on account of the execution of Wil- etor of the estate on which the old man died (a particu- son, was so extreme, that they resolved to execute ven- lar friend of the author) undertook to question the son geance on him with their own hands, rather than he of the deceased on the subject. This person follows his should escape punishment. With this resolution they father’s trade, and holds the employment of carpenter crossed the Forth at different ferries, and rendezvoused to the same family. He admits that his father’s going at the suburb called Portsburgh, where their appear- abroad at the time of the Porteous Mob was popularly ance in a body soon called numbers around them. The attributed to his having been concerned in that affair; public mind was in such a state of irritation, that it but adds that, so far as is known to him, the old man only wanted a single spark to create an explosion; and had never made any confession to that effect; and, on this was afforded by the exertions of the small and de- the contrary, had uniformly denied being present. My termined band of associates. The appearance of pre- kind friend, therefore, had recourse to a person from meditation and order which distinguished the riot, ac- whom he had formerly heard the story; but who, either cording to his account, had its origin, not in any previ- from respect to an old friend’s memory, or from failure ous plan or conspiracy, but in the character of those of his own, happened to have forgotten that ever such a who were engaged in it. The story also serves to show communication was made. So my obliging correspon- why nothing of the origin of the riot has ever been dis- dent (who is a fox-hunter) wrote to me that he was com-

641 The Heart of Mid-Lothian pletely planted; and all that can be said with respect to the tradition is, that it certainly once existed, and was NOTE E.—CARSPHARN JOHN. generally believed. John Semple, called Carspharn John, because minister [N.B.—The Rev. Dr. Carlyle, minister of Inveresk, in of the parish in Galloway so called, was a Presbyterian his Autobiography, gives some interesting particulars re- clergyman of singular piety and great zeal, of whom lating to the Porteous Mob, from personal recollections. Patrick Walker records the following passage: “That He happened to be present in the Tolbooth Church when night after his wife died, he spent the whole ensuing night Robertson made his escape, and also at the execution in prayer and meditation in his garden. The next morn- of Wilson in the Grassmarket, when Captain Porteous ing, one of his elders coming to see him, and lamenting fired upon the mob, and several persons were killed. his great loss and want of rest, he replied,—’I declare I Edinburgh 1860, 8vo, pp. 30-42.] have not, all night, had one thought of the death of my wife, I have been so taken up in meditating on heavenly things. I have been this night on the banks of Ulai, plucking an apple here and there.’”—Walker’s Remark- able Passages of the Life and Death of Mr. John Semple.

642 Sir Walter Scott thos, but always expressing the most daring confidence NOTE F.—PETER WALKER. in his own correctness of creed and sentiments, sometimes with narrow-minded and disgusting bigotry. His This personage, whom it would be base ingratitude in turn for the marvellous was that of his time and sect; the author to pass over without some notice, was by far but there is little room to doubt his veracity concerning the most zealous and faithful collector and recorder of whatever he quotes on his own knowledge. His small the actions and opinions of the Cameronians. He re- tracts now bring a very high price, especially the earlier sided, while stationary, at the Bristo Port of Edinburgh, and authentic editions. The tirade against dancing, pro- but was by trade an itinerant merchant, or pedlar, which nounced by David Deans, is, as intimated in the text, profession he seems to have exercised in Ireland as well partly borrowed from Peter Walker. He notices, as a foul as Britain. He composed biographical notices of reproach upon the name of Richard Cameron, that his Alexander Peden, John Semple, John Welwood, and memory was vituperated, “by pipers and fiddlers play- Richard Cameron, all ministers of the Cameronian per- ing the Cameronian march—carnal vain springs, which suasion, to which the last mentioned member gave the too many professors of religion dance to; a practice un- name. becoming the professors of Christianity to dance to any It is from such tracts as these, written in the sense, spring, but somewhat more to this. Whatever,” he pro- feeling, and spirit of the sect, and not from the sophisti- ceeds, “be the many foul blots recorded of the saints in cated narratives of a later period, that the real charac- Scripture, none of them is charged with this regular fit ter of the persecuted class is to be gathered. Walker of distraction. We find it has been practised by the writes with a simplicity which sometimes slides into the wicked and profane, as the dancing at that brutish, base burlesque, and sometimes attains a tone of simple pa- action of the calf-making; and it had been good for that

643 The Heart of Mid-Lothian unhappy lass, who danced off the head of John the durst crook a hough to fyke and fling at a piper’s and Baptist, that she had been born a cripple, and never fiddler’s springs. I bless the Lord that ordered my lot so drawn a limb to her. Historians say, that her sin was in my dancing days, that made the fear of the bloody written upon her judgment, who some time thereafter rope and bullets to my neck and head, the pain of boots, was dancing upon the ice, and it broke, and snapt the thumikens, and irons, cold and hunger, wetness and head off her; her head danced above, and her feet be- weariness, to stop the lightness of my head, and the neath. There is ground to think and conclude, that when wantonness of my feet. What the never-to-be-forgotten the world’s wickedness was great, dancing at their mar- Man of God, John Knox, said to Queen Mary, when she riages was practised; but when the heavens above, and gave him that sharp challenge, which would strike our the earth beneath, were let loose upon them with that mean-spirited, tongue-tacked ministers dumb, for his overflowing flood, their mirth was soon staid; and when giving public faithful warning of the danger of the the Lord in holy justice rained fire and brimstone from church and nation, through her marrying the Dauphine heaven upon that wicked people and city Sodom, en- of France, when he left her bubbling and greeting, and joying fulness of bread and idleness, their fiddle-strings came to an outer court, where her Lady Maries were and hands went all in a flame; and the whole people in fyking and dancing, he said, ‘O brave ladies, a brave thirty miles of length, and ten of breadth, as historians world, if it would last, and heaven at the hinder end! say, were all made to fry in their skins and at the end, But fye upon the knave Death, that will seize upon those whoever are giving in marriages and dancing when all bodies of yours; and where will all your fiddling and will go in a flame, they will quickly change their note. flinging be then?’ Dancing being such a common evil, “I have often wondered thorow my life, how any that especially amongst young professors, that all the lovers ever knew what it was to bow a knee in earnest to pray, of the Lord should hate, has caused me to insist the

644 Sir Walter Scott more upon it, especially that foolish spring the Cameronian march!”—Life and Death of Three Famous NOTE G.—MUSCHAT’S CAIRN. Worthies, etc., collected and printed for Patrick Walker, Edin. 1727, 12mo, p. 59. Nichol Muschat, a debauched and profligate wretch, It may be here observed, that some of the milder class having conceived a hatred against his wife, entered into of Cameronians made a distinction between the two a conspiracy with another brutal libertine and gambler, sexes dancing separately, and allowed of it as a healthy named Campbell of Burnbank (repeatedly mentioned and not unlawful exercise; but when men and women in Pennycuick’s satirical poems of the time), by which mingled in sport, it was then called promiscuous danc- Campbell undertook to destroy the woman’s character, ing, and considered as a scandalous enormity. so as to enable Muschat, on false pretences to obtain a divorce from her. The brutal devices to which these worthy accomplices resorted for that purpose having failed, they endeavoured to destroy her by administering medi- cine of a dangerous kind, and in extraordinary quanti- ties. This purpose also failing, Nichol Muschat, or Muschet, did finally, on the 17th October 1720, carry his wife under cloud of night to the King’s Park, adjacent to what is called the Duke’s Walk, near Holyrood Palace, and there took her life by cutting her throat almost quite through, and inflicting other wounds. He pleaded guilty to the

645 The Heart of Mid-Lothian indictment, for which he suffered death. His associate, Campbell, was sentenced to transportation, for his share NOTE H.—HANGMAN, OR LOCKMAN. in the previous conspiracy. See MacLaurin’s Criminal Cases, pp. 64 and 738. Lockman, so called from the small quantity of meal In memory, and at the same time execration, of the (Scottice, lock) which he was entitled to take out of ev- deed, a cairn, or pile of stones, long marked the spot. It ery boll exposed to market in the city. In Edinburgh, is now almost totally removed, in consequence of an al- the duty has been very long commuted; but in Dumfries, teration on the road in that place. the finisher of the law still exercises, or did lately exercise, his privilege, the quantity taken being regulated by a small iron ladle, which he uses as the measure of his perquisite. The expression lock, for a small quantity of any readily divisible dry substance, as corn, meal, flax, or the like, is still preserved, not only popularly, but in a legal description, as the lock and gowpen, or small quantity and handful, payable in thirlage cases, as in town multure.

646 Sir Walter Scott called him) who lived about that town. She had given me NOTE I.—THE FAIRY BOY OF LEITH, so strange an account of him, that I desired her I might see him the first opportunity, which she promised; and This legend was in former editions inaccurately said to not long after, passing that way, she told me there was exist in Baxter’s “World of Spirits;” but is, in fact, to be the Fairy Boy but a little before I came by; and casting found, in “Pandaemonium, or the Devil’s Cloyster; be- her eye into the street, said, ‘Look you, sir, yonder he is at ing a further blow to Modern Sadduceism,” by Richard play with those other boys,’ and designing him to me. I Bovet, Gentleman, 12mo, 1684. The work is inscribed went, and by smooth words, and a piece of money, got to Dr. Henry More. The story is entitled, “A remarkable him to come into the house with me; where, in the pres- passage of one named the Fairy Boy of Leith, in Scot- ence of divers people, I demanded of him several astro- land, given me by my worthy friend, Captain George logical questions, which he answered with great subtility, Burton, and attested under his hand;” and is as fol- and through all his discourse carried it with a cunning lows:— much beyond his years, which seemed not to exceed ten “About fifteen years since, having business that detained or eleven. He seemed to make a motion like drumming me for some time in Leith, which is near Edenborough, upon the table with his fingers, upon which I asked him, in the kingdom of Scotland, I often met some of my ac- whether he could beat a drum, to which he replied, ‘Yes, quaintance at a certain house there, where we used to sir, as well as any man in Scotland; for every Thursday drink a glass of wine for our refection. The woman which night I beat all points to a sort of people that use to meet kept the house was of honest reputation amongst the under yon hill” (pointing to the great hill between neighbours, which made me give the more attention to Edenborough and Leith). ‘How, boy,’ quoth I; ‘what com- what she told me one day about a Fairy Boy (as they pany have you there?’— ‘There are, sir,’ said he, ‘a great

647 The Heart of Mid-Lothian company both of men and women, and they are enter- not keep him from the rendezvous on Thursday night; tained with many sorts of music besides my drum; they upon which, by promising him some more money, I got a have, besides, plenty variety of meats and wine; and many promise of him to meet me at the same place, in the af- times we are carried into France or Holland in a night, ternoon of the Thursday following, and so dismissed him and return again; and whilst we are there, we enjoy all at that time. The boy came again at the place and time the pleasures the country doth afford.’ I demanded of appointed, and I had prevailed with some friends to con- him, how they got under that hill? To which he replied, tinue with me, if possible, to prevent his moving that ‘that there were a great pair of gates that opened to them, night; he was placed between us, and answered many though they were invisible to others, and that within there questions, without offering to go from us, until about were brave large rooms, as well accommodated as most eleven of the clock, he was got away unperceived of the in Scotland.’ I then asked him, how I should know what company; but I suddenly missing him, hasted to the door, he said to be true? upon which he told me he would read and took hold of him, and so returned him into the same my fortune, saying I should have two wives, and that he room; we all watched him, and on a sudden he was again saw the forms of them sitting on my shoulders; that both out of the doors. I followed him close, and he made a would be very handsome women. noise in the street as if he had been set upon; but from “As he was thus speaking, a woman of the that time I could never see him. neighbourhood, coming into the room, demanded of him “GEORGE BURTON.” what her fortune should be? He told her that she had two bastards before she was married; which put her in such a [A copy of this rare little volume is in the library at rage, that she desired not to hear the rest. The woman of Abbotsford.] the house told me that all the people in Scotland could

648 Sir Walter Scott

NOTE J.—INTERCOURSE OF THE COV- NOTE K.—CHILD-MURDER. ENANTERS WITH THE INVISIBLE WORLD. The Scottish Statute Book, anno 1690, CHAPTER 21, The gloomy, dangerous, and constant wanderings of the in consequence of the great increase of the crime of persecuted sect of Cameronians, naturally led to their child-murder, both from the temptations to commit the entertaining with peculiar credulity the belief that they offence and the difficulty of discovery enacted a certain were sometimes persecuted, not only by the wrath of set of presumptions, which, in the absence of direct men, but by the secret wiles and open terrors of Satan. proof, the jury were directed to receive as evidence of In fact, a flood could not happen, a horse cast a shoe, or the crime having actually been committed. The circum- any other the most ordinary interruption thwart a stances selected for this purpose were, that the woman minister’s wish to perform service at a particular spot, should have concealed her situation during the whole than the accident was imputed to the immediate agency period of pregnancy; that she should not have called for of fiends. The encounter of Alexander Peden with the help at her delivery; and that, combined with these Devil in the cave, and that of John Sample with the grounds of suspicion, the child should be either found demon in the ford, are given by Peter Walker almost in dead or be altogether missing. Many persons suffered the language of the text. death during the last century under this severe act. But during the author’s memory a more lenient course was followed, and the female accused under the act, and conscious of no competent defence, usually lodged a petition to the Court of Justiciary, denying, for form’s sake,

649 The Heart of Mid-Lothian the tenor of the indictment, but stating, that as her good name had been destroyed by the charge, she was willing NOTE L.—CALUMNIATOR OF THE FAIR SEX. to submit to sentence of banishment, to which the crown counsel usually consented. This lenity in practice, and The journal of Graves, a Bow Street officer, despatched the comparative infrequency of the crime since the doom to Holland to obtain the surrender of the unfortunate of public ecclesiastical penance has been generally dis- William Brodie, bears a reflection on the ladies some- pensed with, have led to the abolition of the Statute of what like that put in the mouth of the police-officer William, and Mary, which is now replaced by another, Sharpitlaw. It had been found difficult to identify the imposing banishment in those circumstances in which unhappy criminal; and when a Scotch gentleman of re- the crime was formerly capital. This alteration took place spectability had seemed disposed to give evidence on the in 1803. point required, his son-in-law, a clergyman in Amsterdam, and his daughter, were suspected by Graves to have used arguments with the witness to dissuade him from giving his testimony. On which subject the journal of the Bow Street officer proceeds thus:— “Saw then a manifest reluctance in Mr. ———, and had no doubt the daughter and parson would endeavour to persuade him to decline troubling himself in the matter, but judged he could not go back from what he had said to Mr. Rich.—Nota Bene. No mischief but a woman or a priest in it—here both.”

650 Sir Walter Scott ceiving any satisfaction, the Scottish Croesus was thrown NOTE M.—Sir William Dick of Braid. into prison, in which he died, 19th December 1655. It is said his death was hastened by the want of common This gentleman formed a striking example of the insta- necessaries. But this statement is somewhat exagger- bility of human prosperity. He was once the wealthiest ated, if it be true, as is commonly said, that though he man of his time in Scotland, a merchant in an extensive was not supplied with bread, he had plenty of pie-crust, line of commerce, and a farmer of the public revenue; thence called “Sir William Dick’s Necessity.” insomuch that, about 1640, he estimated his fortune at The changes of fortune are commemorated in a folio two hundred thousand pounds sterling. Sir William Dick pamphlet, entitled, “The Lamentable Estate and dis- was a zealous Covenanter; and in the memorable year tressed Case of Sir William Dick” [Lond. 1656]. It con- 1641, he lent the Scottish Convention of Estates one tains three copper-plates, one representing Sir William hundred thousand merks at once, and thereby enabled on horseback, and attended with guards as Lord Pro- them to support and pay their army, which must other- vost of Edinburgh, superintending the unloading of one wise have broken to pieces. He afterwards advanced of his rich argosies. A second exhibiting him as arrested, £20,000 for the service of King Charles, during the usur- and in the hands of the bailiffs. A third presents him pation; and having, by owning the royal cause, provoked dead in prison. The tract is esteemed highly valuable by the displeasure of the ruling party, he was fleeced of collectors of prints. The only copy I ever saw upon sale, more money, amounting in all to £65,000 sterling. was rated at £30. (In London sales, copies have varied Being in this manner reduced to indigence, he went to in price from £15 to £52: 10s.) London to try to recover some part of the sums which had been lent on Government security. Instead of re-

651 The Heart of Mid-Lothian House of Edinburgh may be trusted, it was the follow- NOTE N.—Doomster, or Dempster, of Court. ing anecdote which occasioned the disuse of the Dempster’s office. The name of this officer is equivalent to the pronouncer It chanced at one time that the office of public execu- of doom or sentence. In this comprehensive sense, the tioner was vacant. There was occasion for some one to Judges of the Isle of Man were called Dempsters. But act as Dempster, and, considering the party who gener- in Scotland the word was long restricted to the designa- ally held the office, it is not wonderful that a locum tention of an official person, whose duty it was to recite ens was hard to be found. At length, one Hume, who the sentence after it had been pronounced by the Court, had been sentenced to transportation, for an attempt and recorded by the clerk; on which occasion the to burn his own house, was induced to consent that he Dempster legalised it by the words of form, “And this I would pronounce the doom on this occasion. But when pronounce for doom.” For a length of years, the office, as brought forth to officiate, instead of repeating the doom mentioned in the text, was held in commendam with to the criminal, Mr. Hume addressed himself to their that of the executioner; for when this odious but neces- lordships in a bitter complaint of the injustice of his sary officer of justice received his appointment, he peti- own sentence. It was in vain that he was interrupted, tioned the Court of Justiciary to be received as their and reminded of the purpose for which he had come Dempster, which was granted as a matter of course. hither; “I ken what ye want of me weel eneugh,” said The production of the executioner in open court, and the fellow, “ye want me to be your Dempster; but I am in presence of the wretched criminal, had something in come to be none of your Dempster, I am come to sum- it hideous and disgusting to the more refined feelings of mon you, Lord T, and you, Lord E, to answer at the bar later times. But if an old tradition of the Parliament of another world for the injustice you have done me in

652 Sir Walter Scott this.” In short, Hume had only made a pretext of complying with the proposal, in order to have an opportu- NOTE O.—John Duke of Argyle and Greenwich. nity of reviling the Judges to their faces, or giving them, in the phrase of his country, “a sloan.” He was hurried This nobleman was very dear to his countrymen, who off amid the laughter of the audience, but the indeco- were justly proud of his military and political talents, rous scene which had taken place contributed to the and grateful for the ready zeal with which he asserted abolition of the office of Dempster. The sentence is now the rights of his native country. This was never more read over by the clerk of court, and the formality of conspicuous than in the matter of the Porteous Mob, pronouncing doom is altogether omitted. when the ministers brought in a violent and vindictive bill, for declaring the Lord Provost of Edinburgh inca- [The usage of calling the Dempster into court by the pable of bearing any public office in future, for not fore- ringing of a hand-bell, to repeat the sentence on a crimi- seeing a disorder which no one foresaw, or interrupting nal, is said to have been abrogated in March 1773.] the course of a riot too formidable to endure opposition. The same bill made provision for pulling down the city gates, and abolishing the city guard,—rather a Hi- bernian mode of enabling their better to keep the peace within burgh in future. The Duke of Argyle opposed this bill as a cruel, unjust, and fanatical proceeding, and an encroachment upon the privileges of the royal burghs of Scotland, secured to them by the treaty of Union. “In all the proceedings of that

653 The Heart of Mid-Lothian time,” said his Grace, “the nation of Scotland treated cumstance mentioned in the text, that there is a tradi- with the English as a free and independent people; and tion in Scotland, that George II., whose irascible tem- as that treaty, my Lords, had no other guarantee for the per is said sometimes to have hurried him into express- due performance of its articles, but the faith and honour ing his displeasure par voie du fait, offered to the Duke of a British Parliament, it would be both unjust and un- of Argyle in angry audience, some menace of this na- generous, should this House agree to any proceedings that ture, on which he left the presence in high disdain, and have a tendency to injure it.” with little ceremony. Sir Robert Walpole, having met Lord Hardwicke, in reply to the Duke of Argyle, seemed the Duke as he retired, and learning the cause of his to insinuate, that his Grace had taken up the affair in a resentment and discomposure, endeavoured to reconcile party point of view, to which the nobleman replied in the him to what had happened by saying, “Such was his spirited language quoted in the text. Lord Hardwicke Majesty’s way, and that he often took such liberties with apologised. The bill was much modified, and the clauses himself without meaning any harm.” This did not mend concerning the dismantling the city, and disbanding the matters in MacCallummore’s eyes, who replied, in great guard, were departed from. A fine of £2000 was imposed disdain, “You will please to remember, Sir Robert, the on the city for the benefit of Porteous’s widow. She was infinite distance there is betwixt you and me.” Another contented to accept three-fourths of the sum, the payment frequent expression of passion on the part of the same of which closed the transaction. It is remarkable, that, in monarch, is alluded to in the old Jacobite song— our day, the Magistrates of Edinburgh have had recourse to both those measures, hold in such horror by their prede- The fire shall get both hat and wig, cessors, as necessary steps for the improvement of the city. As oft-times they’ve got a’ that. It may be here noticed, in explanation of another cir-

654 Sir Walter Scott All the fourteen gathered together with pale faces, and NOTE P.—Expulsion of the Bishops from the stood in a cloud in the Parliament Close; James Wilson, Scottish Convention. Robert Neilson, Francis Hislop, and myself, were standing close by them; Francis Hislop with force thrust Rob- For some time after the Scottish Convention had com- ert Neilson upon them, their heads went hard on one menced its sittings, the Scottish prelates retained their another. But there being so many enemies in the city seats, and said prayers by rotation to the meeting, until fretting and gnashing the teeth, waiting for an occasion the character of the Convention became, through the to raise a mob, when undoubtedly blood would have been secession of Dundee, decidedly Presbyterian. Occasion shed, and having laid down conclusions amongst our- was then taken on the Bishop of Ross mentioning King selves to avoid giving the least occasion to all mobs, kept James in his prayer, as him for whom they watered their us from tearing off their gowns. couch with tears. On this the Convention exclaimed, they “Their graceless Graces went quickly off, and there had no occasion for spiritual Lords, and commanded the was neither bishop nor curate seen in the street—this Bishops to depart and return no more, Montgomery of was a surprising sudden change not to be forgotten. Some Skelmorley breaking at the same time a coarse jest upon of us would have rejoiced near them in large sums to the scriptural expression used by the prelate. Davie have seen these Bishops sent legally down the Bow that Deans’s oracle, Patrick Walker, gives this account of they might have found the weight of their tails in a tow their dismission. to dry their tow-soles; that they might know what hang- “When they came out, some of the Convention said ing was, they having been active for themselves and the they wished the honest lads knew they were put out, for main instigators to all the mischiefs, cruelties, and blood- then they would not get away with haill (whole) gowns. shed of that time, wherein the streets of Edinburgh and

655 The Heart of Mid-Lothian other places of the land did run with the innocent precious dear blood of the Lord’s people.”—Life and Death NOTE Q.—Half-hanged Maggie Dickson. of three famous Worthies (Semple, etc.), by Patrick Walker. Edin. 1727, pp. 72, 73. [In the Statistical Account of the Parish of Inveresk (vol. xvi. p. 34), Dr. Carlyle says, “No person has been convicted of a capital felony since the year 1728, when the famous Maggy Dickson was condemned and executed for child-murder in the Grassmarket of Edinburgh, and was restored to life in a cart on her way to Musselburgh to be buried. … She kept an ale-house in a neighbouring parish for many years after she came to life again, which was much resorted to from curiosity.” After the body was cut down and handed over to her relatives, her revival is attributed to the jolting of the cart, and according to Robert Chambers,—taking a retired road to Musselburgh, “they stopped near Peffer- mill to get a dram; and when they came out from the house to resume their journey, Maggie was sitting up in the cart.” Among the poems of Alexander Pennecuick (who died in 1730), is one entitled “The Merry Wives of Musselburgh’s Welcome to Meg Dickson;” while another

656 Sir Walter Scott broadside, without any date or author’s name, is called character who went by the name of “saut Maggie,” and “Margaret Dickson’s Penitential Confession,” contain- is represented in one or more old etchings about 1790.] ing these lines referring to her conviction:—

“Who found me guilty of that barbarous crime, And did, by law, end this wretched life of mine; But God … did me preserve,” etc.

In another of these ephemeral productions hawked about the streets, called, “A Ballad by J—n B—s,” are the following lines:—

“Please peruse the speech Of ill-hanged Maggy Dickson. Ere she was strung, the wicked wife Was sainted by the Flamen (priest), But now, since she’s retum’d to life, Some say she’s the old samen.”

In his reference to Maggie’s calling salt after her recovery, the Author would appear to be alluding to another

657 The Heart of Mid-Lothian “When Feckless Fannie appeared in Ayrshire, for the NOTE R.—Madge Wildfire. first time, in the summer of 1769, she attracted much notice, from being attended by twelve or thirteen sheep, In taking leave of the poor maniac, the Author may here who seemed all endued with faculties so much superior observe that the first conception of the character, though to the ordinary race of animals of the same species, as afterwards greatly altered, was taken from that of a per- to excite universal astonishment. She had for each a dif- son calling herself, and called by others, Feckless Fannie ferent name, to which it answered when called by its (weak or feeble Fannie), who always travelled with a small mistress, and would likewise obey in the most surpris- flock of sheep. The following account, furnished by the ing manner any command she thought proper to give. persevering kindness of Mr. Train, contains, probably, all When travelling, she always walked in front of her flock, that can now be known of her history, though many, and they followed her closely behind. When she lay down among whom is the Author, may remember having heard at night in the fields, for she would never enter into a of Feckless Fannie in the days of their youth. house, they always disputed who should lie next to her, “My leisure hours,” says Mr. Train, “for some time by which means she was kept warm, while she lay in the past have been mostly spent in searching for particulars midst of them; when she attempted to rise from the relating to the maniac called Feckless Fannie, who trav- ground, an old ram, whose name was Charlie, always elled over all Scotland and England, between the years claimed the sole right of assisting her; pushing any that 1767 and 1775, and whose history is altogether so like a stood in his way aside, until he arrived right before his romance, that I have been at all possible pains to collect mistress; he then bowed his head nearly to the ground every particular that can be found relative to her in that she might lay her hands on his horns, which were Galloway, or in Ayrshire. very large; he then lifted her gently from the ground by

658 Sir Walter Scott raising his head. If she chanced to leave her flock feed- dying man, and to close his eyes in death. He bequeathed ing, as soon as they discovered she was gone, they all me his little all, but I only accepted these sheep, to be began to bleat most piteously, and would continue to do my sole companions through life, and this hat, this plaid, so till she returned; they would then testify their joy by and this crook, all of which I will carry until I descend rubbing their sides against her petticoat and frisking into the grave.’ about. “This is the substance of a ballad, eighty-four lines of “Feckless Fannie was not, like most other demented which I copied down lately from the recitation of an old creatures, fond of fine dress; on her head she wore an woman in this place, who says she has seen it in print, old slouched hat, over her shoulders an old plaid, and with a plate on the title-page, representing Fannie with carried always in her hand a shepherd’s crook; with any her sheep behind her. As this ballad is said to have been of these articles she invariably declared she would not written by Lowe, the author of Mary’s Dream, I am part for any consideration whatever. When she was in- surprised that it has not been noticed by Cromek in his terrogated why she set so much value on things seem- Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song; but he per- ingly so insignificant, she would sometimes relate the haps thought it unworthy of a place in his collection, as history of her misfortune, which was briefly as follows:— there is very little merit in the composition; which want “‘I am the only daughter of a wealthy squire in the of room prevents me from transcribing at present. But north of England, but I loved my father’s shepherd, and if I thought you had never seen it, I would take an early that has been my ruin; for my father, fearing his family opportunity of doing so. would be disgraced by such an alliance, in a passion “After having made the tour of Galloway in 1769, as mortally wounded my lover with a shot from a pistol. I Fannie was wandering in the neighbourhood of Moffat, arrived just in time to receive the last blessing of the on her way to Edinburgh, where, I am informed, she

659 The Heart of Mid-Lothian was likewise well known, Old Charlie, her favourite ram, seasons of the year, she continued her wandering course, chanced to break into a kale-yard, which the proprietor nor could she be prevented from doing so, either by en- observing, let loose a mastiff, that hunted the poor sheep treaty or promise of reward. The late Dr. Fullarton of to death. This was a sad misfortune; it seemed to renew Rosemount, in the neighbourhood of Ayr, being well all the pangs which she formerly felt on the death of acquainted with her father when in England, endeav- her lover. She would not part from the side of her old oured, in a severe season, by every means in his power, friend for several days, and it was with much difficulty to detain her at Rosemount for a few days until the she consented to allow him to be buried; but still wish- weather should become more mild; but when she found ing to pay a tribute to his memory, she covered his grave herself rested a little, and saw her sheep fed, she raised with moss, and fenced it round with osiers, and annu- her crook, which was the signal she always gave for the ally returned to the same spot, and pulled the weeds sheep to follow her, and off they all marched together. from the grave and repaired the fence. This is altogether “But the hour of poor Fannie’s dissolution was now at like a romance; but I believe it is really true that she did hand, and she seemed anxious to arrive at the spot where so. The grave of Charlie is still held sacred even by the she was to terminate her mortal career. She proceeded to school-boys of the present day in that quarter. It is now, Glasgow, and while passing through that city a crowd of perhaps, the only instance of the law of Kenneth being idle boys, attracted by her singular appearance, together with attended to, which says, ‘The grave where anie that is the novelty of seeing so many sheep obeying her command, slaine lieth buried, leave untilled for seven years. Re- began to ferment her with their pranks, till she became so pute every grave holie so as thou be well advised, that irritated that she pelted them with bricks and stones, which in no wise with thy feet thou tread upon it.’ they returned in such a manner, that she was actually stoned “Through the storms of winter, as well as in the milder to death between Glasgow and Anderston.

660 Sir Walter Scott “To the real history of this singular individual credu- as the night march of Don Quixote was delayed by lity has attached several superstitious appendages. It is Sancho’s tale of the sheep that were ferried over the said that the farmer who was the cause of Charlie’s death river. shortly afterwards drowned himself in a peat-hag; and The Author has only to add, that notwithstanding the that the hand with which a butcher in Kilinarnock preciseness of his friend Mr. Train’s statement, there may struck one of the other sheep became powerless, and be some hopes that the outrage on Feckless Fannie and withered to the very bone. In the summer of 1769, when her little flock was not carried to extremity. There is no she was passing by New Cumnock, a young man, whose mention of any trial on account of it, which, had it oc- name was William Forsyth, son of a farmer in the same curred in the manner stated, would have certainly taken parish, plagued her so much that she wished he might place; and the Author has understood that it was on the never see the morn; upon which he went home and Border she was last seen, about the skirts of the Cheviot hanged himself in his father’s barn. And I doubt not hills, but without her little flock. that many such stories may yet be remembered in other parts where she had been.” So far Mr. Train. The Author can only add to this narrative that Feckless Fannie and her little flock were well known in the pastoral districts. In attempting to introduce such a character into fiction, the Author felt the risk of encountering a comparison with the Maria of Sterne; and, besides, the mechanism of the story would have been as much retarded by Feckless Fannie’s flock

661 The Heart of Mid-Lothian and could not stay with the troop, but was still raging NOTE S.—Death of Francis Gordon. and ranging to catch hiding suffering people. Meldrum and Airly’s troops, lying at Lanark upon the first day This exploit seems to have been one in which Patrick of March 1682, Mr. Gordon and another wicked com- Walker prided himself not a little; and there is reason to rade, with their two servants and four horses, came to fear, that that excellent person would have highly re- Kilcaigow, two miles from Lanark, searching for Will- sented the attempt to associate another with him in the iam Caigow and others, under hiding. slaughter of a King’s Life-Guardsman. Indeed, he would “Mr. Gordon, rambling throw the town, offered to have had the more right to be offended at losing any abuse the women. At night, they came a mile further to share of the glory, since the party against Gordon was the Easter-Seat, to Robert Muir’s, he being also under already three to one, besides having the advantage of hiding. Gordon’s comrade and the two servants went to firearms. The manner in which he vindicates his claim bed, but he could sleep none, roaring all night for women. to the exploit, without committing himself by a direct When day came, he took only his sword in his hand, statement of it, is not a little amusing. It is as follows:— and came to Moss-platt, and some new men (who had “I shall give a brief and true account of that man’s been in the fields all night) seeing him, they fled, and he death, which I did not design to do while I was upon the pursued. James Wilson, Thomas Young, and myself, stage; I resolve, indeed (if it be the Lord’s will), to leave having been in a meeting all night, were lying down in a more full account of that and many other remarkable the morning. We were alarmed, thinking there were steps of the Lord’s dispensations towards me through many more than one; he pursued hard, and overtook my life. It was then commonly said, that Francis Gor- us. Thomas Young said, ‘Sir, what do ye pursue us for?’ don was a volunteer out of wickedness of principles, He said, ‘he was come to send us to hell.’ James Wilson

662 Sir Walter Scott said, ‘that shall not be, for we will defend ourselves.’ He avowed enemies in Scotland had been in his veins. Hav- said, ‘that either he or we should go to it now.’ He run ing such a clear call and opportunity, I would have re- his sword furiously throw James Wilson’s coat. James joiced to have seen it all gone out with a gush. I have fired upon him, but missed him. All this time he cried, many times wondered at the greater part of the in- ‘Damn his soul!’ He got a shot in his head out of a dulged, lukewarm ministers and professors in that time, pocket-pistol, rather fit for diverting a boy than killing who made more noise of murder, when one of these en- such a furious, mad, brisk man, which, notwithstand- emies had been killed even in our own defence, than of ing, killed him dead. The foresaid William Caigow and twenty of us being murdered by them. None of these Robert Muir came to us. We searched him for papers, men present was challenged for this but myself. Tho- and found a long scroll of sufferers’ names, either to kill mas Young thereafter suffered at Mauchline, but was or take. I tore it all in pieces. He had also some Popish not challenged for this; Robert Muir was banished; books and bonds of money, with one dollar, which a poor James Wilson outlived the persecution; Williarn Caigow man took off the ground; all which we put in his pocket died in the Canongate Tolbooth, in the beginning of again. Thus, he was four miles from Lanark, and near a 1685. Mr. Wodrow is misinformed, who says that he suf- mile from his comrade, seeking his own death and got fered unto death.” it. And for as much as we have been condemned for this, I could never see how any one could condemn us that allows of self-defence, which the laws both of God and nature allow to every creature. For my own part, my heart never smote me for this. When I saw his blood run, I wished that all the blood of the Lord’s stated and

663 The Heart of Mid-Lothian approached, when the chime ran thus:— NOTE T.—Tolling to Service in Scotland. Bellu’m Belle’llum, In the old days of Scotland, when persons of property Bernera and Knockdow’s coming! (unless they happened to be non-jurors) were as regular Bellu’m Belle’llum, as their inferiors in attendance on parochial worship, Bernera and Knockdow’s coming! there was a kind of etiquette, in waiting till the patron or acknowledged great man of the parish should make Thereby intimating that service was instantly to pro- his appearance. This ceremonial was so sacred in the ceed. eyes of a parish beadle in the Isle of Bute, that the kirk bell being out of order, he is said to have mounted the [Mr. Mackinlay of Borrowstounness, a native of Bute, steeple every Sunday, to imitate with his voice the suc- states that Sir Walter Scott had this story from Sir Adam cessive summonses which its mouth of metal used to Ferguson; but that the gallant knight had not given the send forth. The first part of this imitative harmony was lairds’ titles correctly—the bellman’s great men being simply the repetition of the words Bell bell, bell bell, two “Craich, Drumbuie, and Barnernie!”—1842.] or three times in a manner as much resembling the sound as throat of flesh could imitate throat of iron. Bellu’m! bellu’m! was sounded forth in a more urgent manner; End of Volume 2 but he never sent forth the third and conclusive peal, the varied tone of which is called in Scotland the ringing-in, until the two principal heritors of the parish

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