in levying contributions, which was exerted in former times in England, when "the royal purveyors, sallying forth from under the Gothic portcullis to purchase provisions with power and prerogative, instead of money, brought home the plunder of an hundred markets, and that could be seized from a flying and hiding country, and deposited their spoil in an hundred caverns."

A spirit of resistance to authority, even to the requests of their former feudal lords, had become fully established at Wolf's Hope, and was strengthened and confirmed in its obstinacy by the advice and knowledge of Davie Dingwall, the writer; changes which had shut against the purveyor from Wolf's Crag all resources from this "El Dorado" and its purlieus. Caleb vowed that he would never set the print of his foot within the causeway of this refractory village again, and kept his promise with the most exact punctuality, until the duties of his situation, and the honour of the house of Ravenswood, imperatively demanded the aid of his valuable purveying services, in furnishing a dinner for a guest who had unexpectedly arrived at the castle. Labouring under impressions of a humiliating, in fact of a degrading, nature, he directed Mr. Lockhard to Mrs. Sma'trash's change-house, where a din, proceeding from the revels of Bucklaw and his party, sounded half-way down the street, while the red glare from the window overpowered the gray twilight which was now settling down, and glimmered against a parcel of old tubs, kegs, and barrels, piled up in the cooper's yard. Caleb himself, with foot as heavy as lead, and yet far lighter than his heart, passed on through the unequal street of the straggling village, meditating the attack, which he finally directed, against the well-supplied habitation of Gibbie Girder, the man of tubs.

The village of Eyemouth with its little haven secured by a pier, the foundation of which had been laid by the eleventh Lord Ravenswood, surnamed the Skipper, afforded our author the original of this faithful description. The peculiarities attached to the place, or rather to the inhabitants, will be found fully detailed in our description of the Links of Wolf's Hope. The additional object of interest introduced into this illustration, St. Abb's Head, completes the topography of that wild and very interesting district of Eyemouth, where the novelist found suggestions for painting his Wolf's Castle, (Fast Castle,) and the Village and Links of Wolf's Hope.

The noble, bold, and precipitous foreland which adorns the coast of Berwickshire, about four miles to the north-west of Coldingham, is denominated St. Abb's-Head. Parnassus-like, it elevates two lofty pinnacles, separated naturally from the rest of the promontory by a deep ravine, which the Picts are said to have rendered deeper still, with the intention of detaching "the Heads" altogether from the main land. A speculatory belonging to the preventive-guard service occupies the apex of the western head, while the ruins of the church and monastery of St. Abb adorn and give interest to the eastern summit, or Kirkhill. A winding path conducts the inquirer to the spacious plateau on the top, where the traces of the religious edifices may be observed, and whence a sublime marine prospect may be enjoyed. The chapel occupied the very edge of a precipice about four hundred feet above the sea: the surface all round is desolate, and singularly *Vide page 67.

unproductive; and the eye, however fatigued by the uniformity of barrenness and sameness of an ocean-view, finds little relief by being permitted to turn towards a dismal and forlorn cemetery, the only object that breaks the monotonous character of the view, where all things rank and gross in nature wave over the melancholy emblems of mortality that strew the unapproachable enclosure.

The establishment of a religious house at this place is dated at a very early period : legend attributes its dedication to the pious character who has bequeathed her name to the mighty promontory which projects into the ocean, and shelters the hope or haven of Eyemouth. The monks of this "Mount Athos" of North Britain, being one day occupied in witnessing the heavings of the ocean, and reflecting upon the causes that made "the waters rage and swell," when they observed a little boat, evidently bearing two figures, surrounded by the foaming billows, yet holding on its course with undeviating steadiness for the sandy beach beneath the Kirk-hill, where alone a landing could be effected with safety. The monks descended hastily to the landing-place, where they found a female, of the fairest face, most graceful form, and splendid attire, extended on the sands, apparently exhausted by recent fatigue; but the boat and second figure were nowhere to be seen. With all becoming humanity, they removed the weary stranger to their home, and used every means to restore her strength. As soon as she became capable of replying, the monks inquired for her companion, and were inconceivably surprised at her declaration, that she had not been accompanied by any one. She added, that she was daughter of a Northumbrian prince, that misfortune had obliged her to fly from her country, and that she had trusted herself to the treacherous element that bore her thither, without any guide or protector but a kind Providence. On her voyage a storm arose, yet, in the midst of all the horrors of a tempestuous sea, without rudder, sail, or pilot, she felt no fear, and escaped, as they saw, to thank the Being that preserved her. The monks assured her that they had seen a figure seated at the helm, guiding the bark to the accustomed haven, and that they felt convinced it could have been none other than an angel deputed especially to conduct her to their home; and her preservation, they concluded, was an obvious miracle. The princess herself was amongst the first converts to this belief: the impression of her miraculous voyage, escape, and reception shed their influence over her mind, and induced her, in gratitude, to devote herself ever after to the service of her all-merciful Protector. She immediately took the veil, became subsequently abbess of the priory that stood on the highest point of the promontory; and after her death, which happened in the seventh century, was admitted amongst the then rapidly increasing catalogue of saints.

THE LINKS OF WOLF'S HOPE.

"Who thundering comes on blackest steed,

With slackened bit, and hoof of speed?
The foam that streaks the courser's side,
Seems gathered from the ocean tide.
Though weary waves are sunk to rest,

There's none within his rider's breast;

The rock is doubled, but the shore

Shakes with the clattering tramp no more."

BYRON.

Tales of my Landlord, (3d series,) Bride of Lammermoor, Vol. II. pp. 367-368.

“Caleb hastened to the eastern battlement, whence he could easily see his master riding towards the sands as fast as his horse could carry him. The prophecy at once rushed on his mind, that the lord of Ravenswood should perish on the Kelpie's Flow, which lay betwixt the tower and the links, to the northward of Wolf's Hope. He saw him accordingly reach the fatal spot, but he never saw him pass further. Colonel Ashton, frantic for revenge, was already in the field, pacing the turf with eagerness, and looking with impatience towards the tower for the arrival of his antagonist. The sun had now risen, and showed its broad disk above the eastern sea, so that he could easily discern the horseman that rode towards him with speed which argued impatience equal to his own. At once the figure became invisible, as if it had melted into the air. He rubbed his eyes as if he had witnessed an apparition, and then hastened to the spot, near which he was met by Caleb Balderstone, who came from an opposite direction. No trace whatever of horse or rider could be discerned; it only appeared that the late winds and high tides had greatly extended the usual bounds of the quicksands, and that the unfortunate horseman, as appeared from the hoof-tracks, in his precipitated haste, had not attended to keep on the firm sands at the foot of the rock, but had taken the shortest and most dangerous course. One only vestige of his fate appeared: a large sable feather had been detached from his hat, and the rippling waves of the rising tide wafted it to Caleb's feet. The old man took it up, dried it, and placed it in his bosom.

"The inhabitants of Wolf's Hope were now alarmed, and crowded to the place; but their search availed nothing. The tenacious depths of the quicksand retained its prey.”