charged in the rear. It was present men, who signalize the heroes of It The Grunstanes, a numerous and ancient clan, certainly are more conversant with stowage, pilotage, barter, and brokerage, and the relationship of six to seven, than with perilous achievements by spear and sword. As their name has not opened an aecount with the Herald's-office, and as, perchance, these dispensers of Griffins and Blue Lions, are expensive retain ers in dubious pedigrees, I shall spare it one anecdote, which may furnish a motto and a hint for the arms to some of these ingenious gentle To the descendant of this moderate and limited dealer, did Mark Macrabin unfold the venerable volume-the shield as well as consolation of his ancestors. "Lo! and behold, man," said the Cameronian, his wrath visibly abated by touching and contemplating a book so honourable and dear to his name. "Seeread-believe-and judge for thyself; seest thou ought seditious there!" So saying, he placed his finger on the eighth psalm-but kept close hold, as a priest clutches a profitable relic, whilst he submits it to the lips of some suspicious looking pilgrim.— Sorely seemed the collector perplexed; the ready frankness of Mark, the array of Saxon black letter, which, in the vicinity of the brazon studded ellwand, and the darkness of his own ignorance, equalled in mystery an entire mountain of Egyptian history, or the Ogham alphabet of the Sister Island, to those, and they must be many, who lack the faith of Colonel Vallency; but above all, the ellwand itself, hoary and iron headed, and which bore testimony of having taken measure of carcasses as well as cloth; all these tended to unsettle his power of reflection and derange the accuracy of his calculations: "I tell thee, man," said Mark, "this is a book my fathers bore through peril and through blood; with me it hath fallen on more peaceful times. I have carried it through the pleasant vale of the South, and verily it walked with me upon the bosom of the vast deep, as I passed to and from the western world." Nevertheless, the collector, in spite of the rough exterior, the silver clasps, and the sacred contents of the volume, seemed seriously disposed to brand its owner as a dabbler in sedition, an abettor of those turbulent demagogues who disturb the peace of the country and the devotion of its people. I walked into the shop, and stood beside the collector, who, turning to me, said, "there! my good sir, there!" and pushed the book towards me, afraid at the same time to hazard another word on a volume which, for ought he had discovered, might turn out more holy than seditious. "Truly," said I, "Mr Grunstane, this is a very ancient and beautiful Bible, such as the worshippers of scarce works would perform a pilgrimage to obtain, bound too in a patriarchal style, and clasped with no mean metal. And this, sir, is the eighth psalm, a poem of divine beauty; and which even now I heard this gentleman singing, performing, as I presume, domestic worship according to the daily manner, I am proud to say, of the devout people of Scotland." All the while I uttered this, Mark eyed me with a look of indescribable emotion; and ere the last words were from my lips, he was fairly over the table, wringing my hands with a fulness of joy he sought not to express. "Peace be here!-as I hope to be saved!-thou art the son of mine only friend; thyself too a proven one Miles Cameron, thou art welcome as the flower of May; but aye, man, its long since I saw thee!"I returned the gratulation of worthy Mark long and warmly; and so deeply were we both touched at this singular and unexpected meeting, which returned the days of my youth to my contemplation, and presented me with the "cold, the faithless, and the dead," the loved and the lamented; that we missed not Marmaduke Grunstane, who had silently and gladly withdrawn both body and charge from shop and person of the joyous Cameronian. Mark Macrabin gazed on me for one minute's space with great and growing joy; he twice ejaculated "his fathers own son"-snatched up his black letter folio in one hand, and seizing me with the other, stalked stately and silent into the chamber, which in remembrance of ancient times he called his cave of Adullam. A clear large fire, the fairest flower in a winter garden, quoth the proverb, glowed in the grate, and the whole apartment seemed neat and comfortable. Flanking the fire stood an ancient seat, something partaking of the excellent qualities of an English easy chair, and a Scottish langsettle. It was plentifully ornamented with thistles, sand glasses, and scraps of Scripture-bearing date 1646. In the centre pannel of massive oak, was cut in square raised letters, "GIL. MACRABIN, S.L.;" this was wound about with a wreath of blossomed thistles, ably designed, and not unskilfully carved; amid the thistles, lurked a crown-representing the crown abovefor on earthly crowns-except perhaps the crown of martyrdom-the wise house of Macrabin never turned its ambition. Into this ancestorial restingplace, Mark partly thrust, and partly motioned me-a cushion composed of something rivalling in softness the famous down of Canna (of which poets, in holiday verse, promise beds to their loves, but in the week-day prose of matrimony make them contented with unboulted chaff) was ready to receive me, and there I sat giving the cave of Adullam and its proprietor alternately the scrutiny of my looks. "Son of my best friend, said Mark, son or daughter have I none-nor wife, nor matron, nor maid-nor bondman, nor bond woman-nor carlin, nor gyrecarlin-nor bogle, nor browniebrownie would do me rarely-none of them all have I to do a hand's turn, or a blessed turn for me. But my hands are clean-my viands are pure-yea, the smell of this seems not unsavoury"-placing before me, while he spoke, a reeking mess of Scottish collops, a noggin of notable ale-" and girdle cakes, weel brandered brown"-pronouncing on the whole a blessing, which a hungry bishop might envy for its brevity. To this national supper, ample and instant justice was done. The Cameronian then brought forth in both hands an ancient and capacious bowl, girded round the mouth with a rim of silver, evidently less for ornament than for preserving entire an hereditary vessel which had graced so many bridals, baptisms, and even burials of the house of Macrabin. Its shattered and repaired sides betokened the potency of its former contentsthe dizzy head, and the unsteady or erring hand had wronged this fountain of evening delight. Placing it on the table, he instantly produced & large bottle of brown-stone, called by the Irish a garderine, the precious contents of which he introduced to immediate acquaintanceship with warm water and sugar, and the bowl emitted an odour far outrivalling the famed cedar-wood-scented fire of the goddess in Homer. "This," said Mark, as he poured it unsparingly forth," is just a drop of the rarest blood of barleybetter never bore a bell, or the kindly name of peat-reek-the reek of sea coal's but a sang till't-I got it from Duncan Macgillaray, of the Perth mountains.-Duncan's father does as good as keep a small still-I wish, if the wish is not sinful, that it was as big as a kirk-I mean an English cathedral-for his sake." The weak liquid, and the strong, mixed pleasantly together as things weak and strong should always do-and approached the brim of the bowl singing and simmering -forming a goodly pool of potent drink. Into this beverage, Mark introduced a large spoon of green horn, of dimensions equal to the rapacity of that of an ogress. It is called by the Lowlanders a "divider;" nor was this unworthy of the name, for its mouth was rimmed with silver, the shaft ornamented with the same, terminating in a whistle, equalling in power of sound those framed by school boys, from the boughs of the plane, when the buds first come out on the timber. Inspired shepherd of Ettricke, is this plane-tree whistle-the old Scottish shepherd's pipe-accursed, and fallen off like Milton's spirit from its original beauty-to which queens have listened, and of which poets have sung 66 "A dainty whistle, with a pleasant sound?"] The spirit of digression seemed here to seize on Mark also, for in a voice half audible he said, while he produced the divider, "If thou could'st speak, thou could'st tell a curious tale!" and for a moment he seemed pondering on some passing pleasant thing. He changed to a graver mood, and said, you would like-your douce father liked-a doucer man-a man with a kinder heart, or a cleverer head, never put leg in gray hose; but why should I speak of the blest with a graceless bowl of punch before me howsoever, ye would like to have the rank untaken-down spirit of this Highlandman's aquavitæ softened and subdued-passed through the flame, as daft Davie Davidson did when he pushed auld king Corrie into the bonfire, and cried, "O king, live for ever;" So saying, he lifted up a spoonful of the punch, and touching it, as he replaced it in the bowl, with burning paper, set the whole beverage on fire, and moving it gently with the spoon, the agitated flame wavered glimmering and blue, like the charmed cauldron in the presence of Macbeth. Good punch and a good man, said the Cameronian, are just alike; if punch cannot lowe, its no suppable; if a man cannot burn, no at the stake I mean-but with anger at a knave's deed, and that spills my simile-The back of my hand be to him, I should not like to trust my weazon near his knife." 66 Though I have little faith in the saying, that sound friendship, like good corn, must have frequent wettings to make it prosper, still I think an occasional sprinkling, merely to cool the blade, is both refreshing and delightful-so thought my entertainer, as with two curiously carved and mounted drinking cups, known in the annals of Lowland delight by the name of quechs, we made incessant inroads on the social element. Our converse, for much converse we had, was a curious piece of patch-work-so old and so new-so joyous and so devout-so digressive and so straight forward-so full of the odd, the common, the strange, and the dramatic, that it defied resemblance in any thing written or traditional. Ancient times shook hands with latter, and the pathetic and the ludicrous walked side by side like "sisters twin." Add to all this, the frequent intrusion of explanatory notes, upon obscure passages, as we passed, and the supplemental illustrations which the narrative required. Mark, evidently driven from the even tenor of his way by these marginal interruptions, made a full pause; and lifting up his replenished quech, turned it thrice round between his eye and the candle, said, with an introductory cough, "Truly, Miles Cameron, I had better at once take a calivine pen and two sclate stanes-no in imitation of the prophet, gude forgive me for the resemblance-and thereon indite ye a full and famous history of the house of Macrabin; or if ye would like it better," said the Cameronian, evidently alarmed at the extent and importance of his offer-" for I am dooms dull when I come to plain black and white-I shall even give you a memoir, as they call it, of myself clean off loof, as Rab Rabson shot the barn-door; and conscience, lad, if ye stop or mar me in my march, I shall just begin the tale again, as Laird Lawrie did with Robin Hood, when he stumbled at the hundred and seventy and seventh verse." I readily assured Mark of a joyous listener one that would lend to his history a quiet and curious ear. For I expect ed a singular tale. I knew he was acquainted with a vast range of strange and curious things; and I knew, from the peculiar and original way he contemplated all passing events, that the commonest matter would acquire a new stamp and form, and become amusing or instructive in his mouth. auld Roosty Fiddle, the antiquariar, anent their origin. I bribed his opinion with one of the longest, and he declared they were sharp weapons, framed for the mischief of brute or body, by whose hands it would be difficult to say;-and truly, the man in the course of seven years vindicated his opinion in two folio volumes, with seventeen plates, displaying my elf-arrow in all the views man's invention could devise, and averring, that he dug this curious missile out of Locher-moss, sixteen feet under the surface, searching for a seam of coal; and truly, it was a wise place to seek fuel in. If he got not coals he got peats. But, worst of all, one summer half the cows of the Vale grew sick, and milk grew like a medicine. Some said it was the burning drought-some said it was the will of God; and MaOn this assurance, Mark Macrabin rion Murdieson said it was the witch placed his empty quech on the table, of Galloway's milking-peg that drainand said, "Young man, look at me- ed them all yell. This was a charmye never saw my father-how could ed utensil-I wish I had such a one ye? but if ye had, truly, then, ye be--ye had only to say a certain word held a man as steeve to his purpose as the tempered steel-desperate, dour, and self-willed-who sought no man's counsel, though many men sought his; and there were few or none in the famous Vale of Nith, that matched his knack in ministering Scripture salves to moral sores, or were so gifted and skilful anent elf-arrows and uncanny een. Well, would ye credit it, my father had a firm belief in witches and familiar spirits, for which, doubt less, he had Scripture warrant, and I'll not say that I am free of the belief myself. He gave many kindly presents to Marion Murdieson of Auchincairn, just because word gade she was nae cannie.' She was a cunning carlin that could gar him birl his bawbee-ye see I'm not unread in the classic works of Caledonia: Moreover, my father was the sworn cronie of Samuel Colin of Colliestown, who mended whole flocks that were rendered as lean by withcraft as the two cows in the dream of Pharoah; and extracted more elf-arrows out of one cow's side than were stuck by the barbarians in the shield of the Roman centurion-ye see my learning's of no limited kind. Samuel confided to my father's hands his whole collection of elf-arrow-heads. I have seen them myself, and they were made of as rare flint as ever yielded fire. I consulted pull the peg, and out gushed milk, rich reeking milk; and that, too, as long as a cow within fifty miles had a drop to spare. I wonder where the wood grew it was made of; and then, as the tale rang, the peg ran red blood. My father heard the story, and was missing three days and three nights. Some said he was at a preaching at the foot of Tintoc, and some said he was in quest of the Galloway witch and her sympathetic milking-peg. Home he came, gloomy and silent-I fear some wicked people had laughed at him; and I, who never could be silent, said, Father, saw ye any gowks in Galloway;' for which I had to fly to the mountain tops a night and a day. When I came back, and complained of the cold top of the Moloch-hill, my father said, Didst thou fly to the mountains, thou graceless knave-the ancient place of refuge for the sage and the godly-the valley was good enough for thee.' Such was the kind of temper that threw me desolate on the wide world when I was a stripling of seventeen. "But my father was not always wayward and stern;-he had fits of gentleness and tenderness for his family and for mankind-his devotion, at all times sincere and fervent, approached sometimes to the romantic. The Wardlaw hill, the summit of which is evergreen, was a favourite place of his devotion, the lonely vale of Dumfries and On its top, it is in current and credit- never a soul had I beside me, unless ed tradition that the Covenanters as- ye count Jane Tamson of Heerleg. sembled during the stormy time of dodie, a queer quean and a bonny. the persecution to preach and to pray, I think myself, my father wanted and three of their graves are still seen new scenery and associations for his swelling above the brown heather at devotion; certain it is, he sought out the bottom where Claverhouse over- new scenery, for there is not a martook and slew them. He's supping tyr's grave in the whole south counbrimstone brose for that—else there is try which he did not visit with prayer no faith in old songs. Howsoever, and thanksgiving. And nought deye'll hardly believe, that on the sum- terred him from giving the grave of mer Sunday afternoons, nowhere else, the Laird of Lagg, in the old kirksave on this hill, did my father think yard of Dunscore, the noted persecu family worship could, with sincerity tor, a visit of thanksgiving and conand full and deep effect, be performed. gratulation; but the dread lest the And I shall confess frankly, that what old bloody dour deevil should shake with the green hill itself standing so the mools off him and attend to the beautiful among barren heaths, on which singing himself—he was aye ready, in the very sun seemed unwilling to sink his way, to march to the sound of a -the three green graves at the bottom psalm. -and the earnest and melting manner in which my father associated the cause of the righteous, and the deeds of violence and blood, with the lonely fairy mountain-I was fairly overcome, even to tears, and never felt devotional fervour more deep and exalted in my life. This confirmed my father's belief in the saving grace of out-of-doors devotion, and though I never positively cursed the green Wardlaw-one could not look on the hill so lone, so green, and so bonny, and do that well-yet I wished it was waving with yellow grain-and I have had my foolish wish. The fairest hill in sixty miles riding has passed under the plow-I wish the man that did it was passed under the harrowand instead of reverend men, with gray locks, singing a godly psalm to the sweet tune of Stroud Water, we have rows of filthy reapers singing profane and graceless songs. My father became weary of this hill-he never liked long what other people liked-he was so inconsistent, or rather, had os much of the old warm Scotch blood trying for mastery with the coldness of his Cameronian creed, that he had armed himself in his youth with the good cutting sword of Gideon Macrabin, and would have infallibly joined Prince Charles, had he not been alarmed with the terror of beads, and crosses, and pastoral crooks. -I cannot say exactly what made him weary of the Wardlaw-I have sat on its top a whole summer Sunday myself, with little devotion in my head, looking westward and southward on Now more "But all this was to have an endand, as far as I was concerned, a curious end it had. The Laird of Airnaumery died, he was a close handed carle, and had it not been for dread of country scandal, the heir would have marched his fathers corpse to the grave to the sound of sackbut and psaltery. He was better advised, and half the parish came to the funeralmy father one of the foremost. my father had a strong gift, as you may guess, of prayer, and nobody thought they could die safely without him-and over bridal or burial drink who could pronounce a blessing but he? The spence of Airnaumery was crowded with old and young, with matron and maid-there was black crape than black sorrow-and up in the midst of them all my father rose to pronounce the blessing on the burial bread and wine. That man who wrung his riches from the widow and the orphan, "whose hand was iron, and whose heart was more," lay wrapped in his shroud before him. The temptation could not be resisted, and he drew a picture of his griping greed that might have made his flesh creep 'neath the winding sheet. At the head of the coffin sat the heir, whose delight the presence of death could not allay-he wrung his hands to be sure, but it was with joy-and by the motion of his lips, he seemed to follow the prayer, but he was only repeating the single word Po-ssess-ion, measuring it out syllable by syllable with continued and protracted delight. Round on him turned my |