Chapter XV: Part 15

It was not very long after this occurrence that poor Gibbon More Cumin was seized with a sudden malady, of which he died after a few days' illness, and he was carried by his friends and dependants to be laid to sleep in the tomb of his fathers. Jealous of the Grants even in his dying moments, he left Bigla, his orphan daughter and heiress, under the guardianship of some of the chieftains of his own clan, with earnest injunctions above all things to "keep her out of the fremyt [6] hands of Freuchie."

There was no one more anxious to fulfil this dying order of Gibbon's than one of the Cumins, who at that time possessed Logie, which, in later times, became the patrimonial property of that more recent branch whence proceeded the worthy family which is now so designated. This gentleman had been for some time one of Bigla's suitors; and his pretensions had been always favourably looked upon by her father. The days of mourning for the old man were not yet expired, when Logie came to Kincherdie, gaily apparelled, and well appointed and attended, and urging the authority of a father's dying wish, he signified to Bigla his desire of taking her with him on the ensuing day to his residence on the banks of the river Findhorn, where, as his guest, and under the protection of his aged mother, she should find a safe and comfortable asylum. Though satisfied that there was more of the warmth of the lover in the language in which this invitation was conveyed, than altogether befitted the character of a guardian, yet the young maiden, in her present lonely state, could not well find any reasonable excuse for refusal, and accordingly she was compelled, however unwillingly, to accept his offer, and she issued orders to her people to prepare for the journey.

The prospect of so soon leaving that home where she had spent her whole life under the fostering care of her doting father, filled her heart with a double portion of sorrow; and after artlessly communicating her feelings to Logie and his friends, she craved their pardon, entreated them to entertain one another, and to make themselves at home, and then she sought the retirement of her chamber, where she spent the remainder of the day, and the greater part of the evening, in giving way to that affliction which had more than one exciting cause.

"My dear mistress," said her faithful maid Agnes Cumin, breaking in upon her as she sat in silent abstraction, with her moist cheek resting upon her hand, "why should you cry your eyes out thus? The night is soft and balmy, a little fresh air would do you good. Do let me throw this plaid over you, and be persuaded to step out a little, were it only as far beyond the walls as the bourtree bower at the lower end of the garden."

"I cannot, my good Aggy," replied Bigla, with a fresh flood of tears; "in sooth I have no heart."

"Come! be persuaded to try the air," said Agnes. "Who knows what sighs and tears may be at this moment idly fanning the leaves and watering the rosebuds of your own bonny bower."

"What say you?" cried Bigla, starting up with a suddenly acquired energy. "What say you, Aggy? is he in the arbour?"

"Hush, my lady!" said the cautious girl, "he is there; and from his tears and sighs I should judge that his heart is well attuned to thine at this moment."

"Let me fly to him!" exclaimed Bigla, "the moments are most precious;" and throwing her plaid hastily around her, she stole out beyond the barbican; and, having reached the garden, she ran on tiptoe to the simple elder-bush bower at the farther end of it, leaving Archy Abhach to keep watch against intrusion.

The scene between Bigla and her lover was tender and melting. For a time they did little else than weep and sigh together.

"Aggy tells me that you go with Logie to-morrow," said Sir John at last. "How could you suffer yourself to be persuaded to agree to any such arrangement?"

"It was with no good will that I did so," replied Bigla; "but as Logie was armed with my dear departed father's delegated authority, and as his proposal was backed by a parent's dying wish, I could not withstand his request."

"Holy Mother, then art thou lost to me for ever!" cried Sir John passionately. "Canst thou thus coolly resolve, even for such a cause, to throw thyself into the very jaws of those from whom I can never hope to reclaim thee but by force of arms!"

"Force of arms!" said Bigla. "I question much whether any force of arms from the Grants could prevail against the men of my clan, who will have the keeping of me. But fear not, for the time is not far distant when the law will give me guidance of mine own affairs; then mayest thou reclaim me from myself with full assurance of a ready compliance on my part."

"But what if these clansmen of thine should basely coerce thee to a hated union with one of themselves?--with Logie, for instance, who is old enough to be thy father!"

"I have no such fears," replied Bigla.

"By the rood, but I have!" cried Sir John hurriedly. "You forget the old saying,--Whilst there are leaves in the forest there--a--a--a"----

"Nay," said Bigla playfully, "do finish your proverb, Sir Knight. Whilst there are leaves in the forest there will be guile in a Cumin. Did your worship mean that as a compliment to me, or do you forget that I, too, am a Cumin?"

"Nay, nay, nay! my dearest Bigla, you are truth itself," replied Sir John eagerly. "Pardon me, my love, for quoting this old saw; but, seriously, you are too valuable, too tempting a prize to be risked in any hands but--but--but"----

"But yours, as I presume thou wouldst say, good Sir Knight," replied Bigla, interrupting him in the same playful tone.

"Thou hast said it, angel of my life!" exclaimed Sir John, rapturously kissing her hand. "I can and will resign thee to no one! Thou art my pledged, mine affianced bride!"

"I am, I am, indeed I am," said Bigla tenderly.

"Then why shouldst thou put our mutual happiness to peril?" cried Sir John. "Why not secure it by flying with me this moment? My horses and people are within a whistle of where we now are, and in half an hour's riding or so we shall be safe within the walls of Castle Grant."

"No, no, no!" replied she, "a stolen marriage would neither be for the credit of Sir John Grant nor for that of Bigla Cumin. Besides, I should be but a poor offering at Castle Grant were my broad lands not well buckled to my back."

"I care not for thy lands," said Sir John, "'tis thyself I would wed, and not thine estates. And if that be all, let us to horse forthwith. Better for me to secure thy precious self, though with the chance of losing thy lands, than lose thee in trying to save thy lands."

"'Tis gallantly resolved of thee, Sir John," said Bigla; "but I cannot allow thy chivalrous ardour to do us both so serious an injury. All I ask of thee, then, is to trust everything to my discretion and resolution, and, depend upon it, thou hast nothing to fear."

The parting between the two lovers was tender and prolonged, and it was only at length finally effected by the interference of Agnes and the page, who came running to tell them that the revellers in the hall were breaking up. And what he told them was true, for Bigla found that she required the exertion of some degree of ingenuity to effect her retreat to her chamber unnoticed.

An early hour of the next day beheld the cavalcade, formed by the united trains of Bigla Cumin and her kinsman the Laird of Logie, winding away from her paternal mansion, amidst the mingled lamentations and benedictions of her people. Bigla was mounted on her favourite palfrey, the beautiful and fleet courser of Arabian blood which was presented to her by Corrie MacDonald. Her maid Agnes rode by her side on an animal of mettle little short of that which carried her mistress. Logie and his friends, all well armed, surrounded both in a sort of irregular phalanx, which Bigla could not help thinking had more the appearance of a guard to prevent the escape of a prisoner, than that which might do her honour or give her protection. Her own followers were but few, and they were mixed up with those of the Laird of Logie. In the midst of them was the faithful page Archy, to whose care was committed the charge of a small iron-bound oaken chest, which contained her family charters and other important documents. This Logie had especially insisted that she should carry with her, in order to secure its safety. The strange misformed urchin sat like an ape, mounted on a very remarkable milk-white steed, of noble courage and beautiful proportions, and whose action was in no degree inferior to his beauty. As this fine animal had been accustomed to carry Gibbon More himself for some years before his death, it was not wonderful that Bigla should have ridden up to caress him ere the march began, and whilst she did so she contrived to give some secret orders to the rider, which did not appear to have been poured into a deaf ear.

The sun was nearly in the meridian before the party reached that point on the edge of the high plain, immediately over the double valley of the rivers Findhorn and Divie. There, as you know, a grand and extensive view of these romantic twin glens is to be enjoyed, together with the broad, rich, and beautiful vale that is formed by their union, with the majestic combined stream winding away through it, between its rocky, irregular, and wooded banks, till it is lost amidst the vast extent of forest stretching widely along both sides of it, as it proceeds on its course towards the fertile plains of the low country of Moray, and its distant firth, the whole being bounded by the blue mountains of the north. Bigla had seen this glorious prospect more than once before, but she was an enthusiastic lover of nature, and, consequently, she was not sorry when she heard the Laird of Logie propose that they should alight for a few moments to rest themselves, and that they might enjoy it, at greater leisure, and with more ease to themselves. Logie did not make this proposal without private reasons of his own. Having contrived to seat himself apart with Bigla, he began to urge his passion with an energy which he had never ventured to employ before, and after using every argument that he thought might be most likely to prevail on her to yield to his suit, he seated her again on her palfrey, and as he rode down the wooded steeps by her side, he continued to press her eagerly on the same subject, without taking the trouble to use the delicacy of speaking in a tone which might have rendered their conversation private from those with whom they travelled.

"If you will only consent to be mine, fair Bigla," said he, "I will make you mistress of as much of the bonny land of Moray as your bright eyes can reach over."

"I knew not that thy patrimony had been so ample," said Bigla coldly.

"Put your fate and mine upon the peril of this condition then," said Logie eagerly.

"I trow I might safely do so, were I to bar all trick," replied Bigla.

"Nay, then, thou art pledged to stand to the bargain," said Logie.

"I am pledged to nothing," replied Bigla haughtily.

"Ha, look there now, gentlemen!" cried Logie. "My fair ward and kinswoman Bigla Cumin here hath pledged her own pretty person to me, on condition that I shall make her mistress of as much of bonny Moray-land as her beauteous eyes can reach over. Now, how say you? Let her cast her eyes forward, and you will all bear me witness, my friends, that she can now see nothing of which I am not the undoubted owner."

By this time, you must know the cavalcade had descended from the high grounds through the winding hollows of the steep wooded braes, till all the distant and more extended part of the landscape was lost by the rise of the opposite high grounds, and certainly from the umbrageous recess where they now stood, nothing was to be seen before them but the lands of Logie.

"The joke is very well," said Bigla, not a little piqued, and reddening considerably at the liberty which had been thus taken with her before the men-at-arms who followed them; "but though Moray-land was all thine own from Ness to Spey, I would not have thee if thou wouldst lay it all at my feet."

"Talk not so proudly, mistress!" said Logie, very much nettled. "There are many maidens more than thy marrows, who would be happy to mate with me, though I had nothing but this good claymore for my portion."

"I doubt it not," replied Bigla; "but as I am not one of these, it may be as well perhaps that we talk not again on any such subject."

"A little less haughtiness would have better become thee," said Logie. "You forget that you are not now on Dulnan side; and, moreover, you forget that I am your guardian."

"Nay, it is you who forget that you are my guardian," replied Bigla. "I do feel, indeed, that I can never forget that thou art so; and, moreover, that there is a cruel difference between an unfeeling guardian and a fond father."

"I am armed with thy father's authority," said Logie hastily; "and I will exert it."

"By basely taking advantage of it to proffer thine own vile suit," said Bigla.

"To see, at least, that Freuchie's son proffers no more suit to thee," replied Logie. "If he took leave of thee last night beyond the barbican, I trow it shall be his last leave-taking of thee."

"Last night!" said Bigla with surprise.

"Aye, last night," said Logie bitterly. "Dost think I have not found out your secret meeting? Had I caught the caitiff his blood should have paid for his impudence."

"'Tis well to boast now, fair sir!" said Bigla, "now that thou hast no chance of any such encounter. Oh, would I were on my bonny Dulnan side again! but I trust that my foot shall soon be on its flowery turf."

"That shall be when thou hast my permission," said Logie, allowing his passion to get the better of him.

"What! am I so in restraint then?" said Bigla taking a scarf from her neck, and waving it behind her head in such a way, that it was hardly perceived to be a signal by any one but Archy Abhach. He no sooner observed it, however, than he began to rein his steed backwards, until he fell behind the line of march.

"Aye, bold girl, thou shalt obey me ere long as thy husband as well as thy guardian!" continued Logie.

"Sayest thou so?" said Bigla, putting on her Arabian to a gentle canter over the meadow towards the ford of the Divie, whither they were then going, so as to rid herself in some degree of the throng by which she had been surrounded. Then turning in her saddle, she shouted aloud--"Ride, Archy, for thy life, man! Ride! ride! Men of Glenchearnich, follow your mistress. Come, Aggy, spur with me, and may Saint Mary be our guide!"

And with these words she and her maid boldly dashed their steeds, breast deep, into the ford, and quickly stemmed the stream of the Divie, whilst the well-tutored Archy Abhach wheeled his horse suddenly round at her word, and, drawing his dirk, he pricked his milk-white sides till the red blood spurted from them, and the noble animal darted off, with his flea-bite of a burden, towards those wooded braes, down which they had so recently come. The Laird of Logie and his followers stood for some moments astounded on the mead, before they could determine what to do. On the one hand fled the lady; and on the other hand the charters of her lands, her bonds, and her wadsets were already winging their way upwards through the woods; and the question was, which of the two objects of pursuit was the most important. Even after he had gathered his scattered recollection, Logie stood in doubt for a time. At length, seeing that Bigla Cumin had taken the direction of the house of Logie, so that he was still left, as he reckoned, between her and her own country, he quickly made his selection.

"After that miscreated devil on the white horse!" cried he. "Take the caitiff and the kist he carries!--take him dead or alive!--but, at all hazards take the kist!"

Off went the laird and his people helter-skelter after Archy Abhach, whilst the followers of Bigla Cumin were left at liberty to become her followers indeed. The waters of the Divie frothed and foamed again as they dashed through after her. I need not tell you, gentlemen, who know the carte de pays so well, that although Bigla rode off at first in the very direction in which the laird had wished her to go, I mean towards his own house, she had no sooner forced her way up the steep narrow path leading from the ford, than she found herself in a position where she had it in her power to choose between two ways--one stretching straight onwards towards the house of Logie, and the other leading directly back over the hills to the eastward of the Divie towards her own country, by a route different from that which she had travelled in the morning. There she stood for some moments on a conspicuous point overlooking the valley. But you may easily guess that she stopped not from any doubt that possessed her as to which of the two ways she should take--she only waited till her panting followers had clustered around her; for they had no sooner gathered than she waved her scarf again, and, amidst the shouts of her men-at-arms, she turned her horse's head to the hill, and began to breast it most vigorously. Logie beheld her manoeuvre, and it shook his purpose for an instant. He gave hurried and contradictory orders, which only had the effect of slackening the pursuit after the urchin page, and Bigla had the satisfaction of seeing that faithful creature shooting far up among the bowery braes ere any final decision had been taken by the laird. At length, a small plump of horsemen were sent off towards the ford to pursue Bigla, whilst the remainder, with Logie at their head, renewed their chase after Archy Abhach and his precious casket.

"Who is he, think you, that rides hither with so much haste from the pass of Craig-Bey?" demanded Sir John Grant of the man-at-arms on watch, as he stalked along the bartizan of his castle to take a look over the country, about the time that the sun was hastening downwards to hide himself below the western horizon.

"If mortal man it be who looks so like a speck on the saddle, he either rides with hot news to spur him on, or he has some enemy after him," replied the man.

"By'r lady, but you have guessed right well," said Sir John; "for see! there comes a straggling line of some dozen of horsemen rattling like thunder through the pass."

"Methinks that the elf who flies bears some strange burden behind him," said the man-at-arms.

"He doth so, indeed," said Sir John.

"Some common thief, I'll warrant me, who hath carried away a booty from some usurious burgher of Forres," said the man-at-arms.

"Be he what he may, his white horse is no carrion," said Sir John. "How the noble animal devours the ground!"

"He is as like old Gibbon More's favourite horse as one egg is to another," said the man-at-arms as he drew nearer.

"Gibbon More's, saidst thou?" exclaimed Sir John; "and, by all that is good, he that rides is like my faithful page; but see, he turns this way. Let's to the barbican," and, taking three steps down the narrow stair at each stride, he was at the barbican in a few moments.

"What, ho!" cried Sir John, as the horse came galloping up to the gate. "What, ho! Archy Abhach, is it you? What news of thy mistress?"

"I have neither time nor breath to speak of her at present," cried Archy, leaping from his horse, and hastily unbuckling the little charter-chest from behind the saddle of his reeking horse; "but here--catch!--there you have her charters and titles, being that which I reckon some of the people who are after me would think the best part of herself. There, catch, I say!" and with that, he threw the precious box clean over the top of the wall.

"Soh!" continued Archy, taking a long breath--"I have done my lady's bidding like a true Cumin, and now I must draw to defend mine own head, like a true Grant, for the knaves will be upon me."

"Thou shalt not long lack help, my brave little fellow!" cried Sir John, and in a moment, a party of armed Grants came crowding out from the gate at the heels of their young chief. And, as Archy's pursuers came up one by one, they collected into a knot on the top of the heathery hillock, and then filed off without ever daring to come within bowshot of the walls.

"Now, tell me what has befallen the Lady Bigla?" cried Sir John Grant, impatiently addressing the page.

The faithful Archy Abhach gave him a brief outline of all he knew.

"To horse! to horse!" cried Sir John, hardly waiting till he had finished. "Holy St. Mary! she may be lost if we tarry."

A very few minutes only were expended ere Sir John and his troop were mounted and away. They galloped after the retiring Cumins, but they could see nothing of them anywhere. He had got to the side of the hill of Craig-Bey, and was stretching his eyes in all directions, when the distant clash of conflict came up through the woods that sloped away into the glen to the right. Sir John gave the spur to his horse, and dashed down through the thicket, calling to his men to follow him. In a grassy holm, by the side of a small stream, he found Bigla Cumin surrounded by her faithful but small band of followers, who were bravely defending her against a superior body of assailants. His sudden appearance immediately dispersed her enemies, and, overpowered by the fatigue occasioned by her long wearisome and rapid flight, as well as by the alarm which she had endured, she slipped from her palfrey, and sank exhausted on the ground. Sir John Grant was soon on his knees beside her, to support her weakness, and to calm her agitation. She had owed her escape, in the first place, to the swiftness and endurance of her favourite Arabian blooded palfrey, together with her own wonderful hardihood as a horsewoman, which, much surpassing that of the Lady Juliana Berners herself, had carried her over mountain and moss, through bog and stream, in a manner altogether inconceivable; and, secondly, to the appearance of Sir John Grant, just as she had been attacked by a quickly formed ambush of the retreating Cumins, whose onset had given time to those who pursued her to come up, by which means she and her people being hemmed in on all sides would have been speedily overcome.

Ere the evening closed in, Bigla Cumin found herself safely housed within the walls of Castle Grant; and the very next day the priest's blessing gave to Sir John Grant her fair hand, and with it her fair lands too.

VELVET CUSHIONS.

Clifford.--Well done, Bigla Cumin! If ever I marry, I am resolved to have a fearless wife who can gallop across a country. But hey!--(stretching himself as we arose to proceed)--I protest I am quite stiff. Confound your green velvety grass! commend me rather to your velvet cushion of Genoa. Your story was too long, Mr. Macpherson, and by far too interesting for a breezy hill-side and a dewy bank like this.

Dominie.--It will grieve me sore, Mr. Clifford, if you should in any way suffer from my prolixity.

Clifford.--Tut, man, I'd sit in a snow-wreath, or on a glacier, to listen to you. But, hark ye! what was that you muttered, before you began your story, about leaving us?

Dominie.--Really I cannot speak it without vurra great pain, Mr. Clifford; but my path disparts from your road a little way on here. I have to wend my way through the whole extent of these wild forests, which you see below us there, stretching across the intermediate country between us and the misty Cairngorums yonder. I am journeying to visit a brother of mine, who, as the elegant author of Douglas hath it,

"Feeds his flocks,
A frugal swain,"

on the slopes of the mountains beyond.

Clifford.--Nay, nay, we cannot part with you so. Had it been a lady, indeed, that you were going to visit, I should not have said a word. But for a brother merely.

Dominie (with the tear swelling in his eye).--Pardon me, Mr. Clifford, pardon me; but I have an affection for my brother which few can estimate. We were twin bairns. Ewan and I alone remain of all our family. I make a yearly journey to visit him.

Clifford.--I venerate you for your feelings, and I sympathise with them from the bottom of my heart. But if I may make a guess at the geography of the country before us, I should conceive that if we could persuade you to go with us to Tomantoul to-day, your walk from thence to your brother's to-morrow would be but short.

Dominie (hesitating).--Hu--um!--that may be, sir. I am sure I am vurra happy in your company; but, may I ask gentlemen, what your plans are?

Clifford.--We tie ourselves to no plans. For aught we know we may be in Switzerland or Sweden before this day month. But, at present, we propose to proceed up the Glen of the Aven to-morrow, on our way to Loch Aven.

Dominie.--It is a wild place, and the way is not easy to find.

Author.--Wild enough, indeed. I once wandered all round it; but I never approached it by its own glen.

Dominie.--I would have fain gone with you as your guide, for well do I know every mountain, moss, rock, and well by the way. But I cannot mistrust my brother, who is expeckin' me about this time. Albeit, as I cannot go all the way myself with you, I would fain, before I quit you, put you into the hands of one who is well acquainted with all the mountain tracks and passes, that there may be no risk of your losing yourselves amidst those savage Alpine solitudes.

Clifford.--Ah! that would be kind of you indeed.

Grant.--Had you not better consent to spend this night with us at Tomantoul, then, Mr. Macpherson.

Dominie.--I was just thinking in my own mind that I behooved so to do. I can then see you as far up Strathdaun to-morrow as Gaulrig, where old Willox the Wizard lives, and there----

Clifford.--What! a wizard, said you? You don't mean to put us under the guidance of Satan, I hope. That would indeed be sending us to the----

Dominie.--No, no, Mr. Clifford; but there is a friend of mine, who lives near to old Willox, one Archy Stewart, a retired sergeant, who will be just the man for your purpose, if we can find him at home. He knows every inch of the mountains, and, moreover, he is as full of old stories as an egg is full of meat.

Clifford.--The very man for us. But what can you tell us of old Willox the Wizard? I hope we shall see him.

Author.--I have often heard of him. His name is MacGregor, is it not? I should like much to see him.

Dominie.--You will be sure to see him if you call at Gaulrig, for, as he is now above ninety, he is too old to leave home. He is worth the seeing too; for although, as I need not tell you, gentlemen, he never possessed any supernatural power, yet his cleverness must have been great to have enabled him to make the whole country, far and near, believe, even in these more enlightened days, that he can divine secrets and work wonders by means of his two charmed instruments--the mermaid's stone and the enchanted bridal of the water-kelpie.

Clifford.--How the deuce did he get hold of such articles? and what sort of things are they?

Dominie.--You will easily persuade him to show them to you; and it will be better for me to leave him to tell his own story about them. But, as I have now made up my mind to go on with you to Tomantoul, gentlemen, I can tell you a short anecdote or two of him as we journey on our way, which will show you that all his fame as a warlock really rested on his own natural acuteness.

Clifford.--I could have guessed as much, methinks, without being any great conjuror myself. But let us have your anecdotes, if you please.

Dominie.--I had much information about Willox from the Rev. John Grant, late Minister of Duthel, who was acquainted with him for many years. For, notwithstanding the warlock's reputation for the possession of uncanny qualities, he was uniformly consorted with and treated as a gentleman by all the gentry of this Highland country. My old and worthy, and kind and benevolent friend, Mr. Grant, was a man of too much wisdom as well as learning to believe in the supernatural powers of Willox, or any such pretender. Mr. Grant, indeed, was a man of vurra enlarged mind and sound judgment, a deep divine, a classical scholar, such as is seldom to be met with in our poor country of Scotland, an admirable critic, and an elegant poet; and although what I may be stating regarding him has little to do with what I am going to tell you about Willox, yet, as you may have a chance to hear more of Mr. Grant from my friend Sergeant Archy Stewart when you come to make his acquaintance, I may be allowed to complete my sketch of this remarkable man by saying that, whilst he was pious and regular in his duties, as became a clergyman, he was, nevertheless, cheerful and convivial, and extremely fond of a bit of humour; and, moreover, as he was often called upon to give his opinion pretty strongly in argument, he was equally ready to back it up at any time by his courage and bodily vigour against the brute force or the insults of his opponents, in days, now happily gone by, when even the sacred character of a minister of the gospel did not always proteck his person from injury. To enable him to defend himself the more effectually in such chance encounters, nature had given to him a stout and athletic frame and a nervous arm, in addition to which he did himself furnish the hand of that arm with a great hazel stick, which he facetiously called his Ruling Elder, and so armed, no man nor set of men in the whole country side could make him show his back. He was a capital preacher; but many doubted whether his sermons or his cudgel wrought the most reformation in his neighbourhood.

It was observed that Mr. Grant was always peculiarly unfortunate in losing his cattle. Not a year passed that some of them did not die of a strange and unaccountable disease which quite baffled the skill of all the farriers and cow-leeches in the district. But on one occasion the mortality was so great as seriously to threaten the utter extermination of his stock. As this calamity seemed to affect none of his neighbours, and to fall upon him alone, it was not unnatural for his superstitious servants to say that his cattle were bewitched. In their opinion nobody but Willox could cure such an evil.

"If you don't send for Willox, sir, you'll lose every nout beast in your aught," said the minister's hind.

"Saunders," replied the minister, "although I have no faith in any such wicked and abominable superstitions as would gift Mr. MacGregor with superhuman powers, I am willing enough to give him credit for more than ordinary shrewdness and sagacity as a mere man. You may, therefore, send for him with my compliments, as I believe that he is more likely than any one to discover the natural cause of these my losses."

Willox came accordingly; and after the usual salutations he took the parson aside.

"Between you and me, Mr. Grant," said he, "there is no use in my making any pretence of witchcraft. But you know we may find out the cause of the death of your cattle for all that. Your losses, I think, always happen at or about this particular season of the year?"

"They do," replied the parson.

"Come, then, let you and me take a quiet walk together over your farm."

Mr. Grant and Willox patiently perambulated the farm, and especially the cattle-pastures for some hours together, Willox all the while throwing his sharp eyes around him in every direction, until they came to a hollow place where the warlock suddenly stopped.

"Here is the cause of the evil," said Willox, at once pointing to a certain plant which grew there, and nowhere else in the neighbourhood. "If you will only take care that your man Saunders never allows your cattle to get into this hollow until the flower of that plant is withered and gone, you will find that you will never again lose a single beast in the same way."

I need not tell you, gentlemen, that Mr. Grant took care that the warlock's advice was strictly followed; and the result was perfectly satisfactory.

Clifford.--A most invaluable wizard! I wonder whether one might hold a consultation with him on the mysteries of fly-fishing.

Grant.--I have no doubt he could advise you well.

Clifford.--Nay, it was not for myself that I was asking. I manage to do well enough by means of mine own conjuring rod; but to you and my friend there some little aid of magic might be useful, seeing you can make so little of it by your own simple skill. But come, Mr. Macpherson, what more of old Willox?

Dominie.--A great alarm was created at Castle Grant, in consequence of a strange madness that frequently seized upon the cattle at pasture in the grounds. At such times they were observed furiously running in all directions, with the tips of their noses and tails in the air, and bursting over all the fences. The easiest solution of this phenomenon was to say that they were bewitched; and all the servants about the castle, especially those who had the broken fences to mend, believed that it was the true one. Even Sir James Grant, worthy man, when brought out to judge for himself, could not deny the grounds at least of this general opinion. To satisfy those who held it, he allowed the aid of Willox to be called in.

"Some trick has been played here," said the warlock, after inquiring into all the particulars, and minutely examining those parts of the pastures where the animals were in the habit of lying most frequently. "Some wicked person has thrown some disagreeable odour among the beasts."

The probability of this was doubted by every one present. Nay, every one declared that such a thing was impossible.

"Well," said Willox, "I know that what I say is true; and I'll soon convince you all that it is possible. Drive the cattle into the fold."

The cattle were folded accordingly, and Willox walked into the very midst of them. There he took certain ingredients from his pocket, and putting them on a small bundle of tow, he prepared to strike fire with a flint and steel.

"Now, gentlemen," said he, "I advise all of you who have any regard for your own safety to look sharp to it."

The fire was struck, the tow was kindled, a most offensive stench arose, and no sooner had the cattle winded the fumes of it, than they darted off in twenty different directions, as if the burning tow had been the fuse that discharged them from some vast bomb-shell. The poles and other barriers of the fold were shivered and levelled in a moment as if such an inclosure had never existed. Down went the astonished spectators one by one in detail, as they chanced to come into the diverging lines of flight of the scattering herd. Smack, crash, and rumble went the nearer fences, as the several flying animals went through or over them, like cannon-shot; and by the time the poor wounded, maimed, and crippled people had gathered themselves to their legs, such of them, I mean, as had legs left to stand upon, they beheld, to their utter dismay, the cattle scouring the distant country in all directions.

I need hardly add, that a little further investigation enabled Willox, without the aid of witchcraft, not only to satisfy every one that his first suspicions had been well founded, but also to prove that they had been so by discovering the offender.

Grant.--Depend upon it, this warlock must be no ordinary man.

Dominie.--I have another anecdote of him. A certain farmhouse in Strathspey was said to be haunted. Stones and dust and rubbish were thrown into the middle of the family apartment, and no one could discover whence or from what hand they came. Mr. John Grant, the minister of the parish, was sent for to lay the ghost; and to the great comfort of those to whom the house belonged, he came accompanied by Willox.

"While I am engaged in going through the evening family worship," said the parson to Willox, "do you keep your eyes on the alert, and try to ascertain whence the missiles appear to come."

The minister began the duties of the evening. A psalm was sung. During the time the people present were singing it, the volleys were discontinued; but the moment the psalm was ended, the discharges again commenced.

"We had better sing another psalm," whispered Willox to the parson. Mr. Grant immediately gave out some verses accordingly. The disturbance ceased as before; but they were no sooner concluded, than it began again with redoubled fury. The sharp eyes of Willox shot like lightning into every part of the chamber. In an instant they were arrested by one of those great clumsy wooden partitions so common in our Highland farmers' humble dwellings, which, being boarded on both sides, rise up a certain height only towards the bare rafters above, leaving the vast vacuity below the roof undivided from end to end of the building. Willox gave a preconcerted sign to the parson.

"My friends," said Mr. Grant, "I insist that the boxing of that partition be immediately opened up."

His orders were obeyed, and no sooner were the boards removed than the ghost was discovered. A little black Highland herd lassie sat cowering within, her face filled with dread of the punishment that awaited her. The creature had managed from time to time to creep in there by lifting up a loose plank, and from that concealment she had contrived to throw her missiles over the open top of the partition into the apartment, all which she had done to revenge herself against the family for having been whipped for some piece of negligence of which she had been guilty. The parson had no sooner learned these particulars, than he pounced upon the trembling culprit, like a great mastiff on a mouse, and dragging her forth, he, without the least delay or ceremony, gave her, to use his own phrase, a good skegging.

Clifford.--Had Mr. Grant and Willox been sent for, the celebrated ghost of Cock Lane would have had but a short reign of it.

Dominie.--I have but one story more of Willox to plague you with. William Stuart, a farmer in Brae Moray, was led, by his father's persuasion, and very much against his own inclination, to marry a woman whom he could not like, all because she possessed a certain tocher. He went to his marriage like a condemned thief to the gallows, and from the very first moment he treated his wife as an alien. A certain worthy lady in the neighbourhood, who felt interested in Mrs. Stuart, firmly believed that her husband's dislike to her was occasioned by witchcraft. She accordingly sent for Willox, and entreated him to exercise his skill in the poor woman's behalf, and the warlock undertook to do all in his power for her.

Having contrived to pay a visit at Stuart's house, when he knew that he should find him at home, he accepted his invitation to stay to dine with him, and after they had had a cheerful glass together, Willox ventured to begin his attempt by drinking Mrs. Stuart's health.

"You are the only man, Stuart, that does not admire your wife," said Willox, in a half jocular tone.

"May be so," said Stuart dryly.

"If you were not bewitched, as my skill tells me that you are, you would find more happiness at your own fireside than you do," continued Willox.

"Maybe I am bewitched," said Stuart, from the mere desire of being civil.

"I tell you I know you are," said Willox, "and if you will allow me I shall soon show you the people who have bewitched you."

"Ha! ha! I should like to see them," said Stuart with a forced laugh; "but if you do show them to me, you are even a greater conjuror than I take you to be."

Willox, with great solemnity, now took forth the mermaid's stone from his pocket. It was semi-transparent, circular, and convex, like an ordinary lens, and it filled the palm of his hand. Placing the back of his hand on the table, and keeping the stone in the hollow of it, he solemnly addressed Stuart.

"If you would know those who bewitch you," said he, "look downwards through the mermaid's stone."

"I see nothing," said Stuart, following his direction.

"Do you see nothing now?" demanded Willox.

"Yes," replied Stuart, "I see something like a red spot."

"Look again, do you see nothing more now?" demanded Willox.

"Yes," said Stuart again, "I see something like a black spot, a little way from the red spot."

"Listen, then!" said Willox. "These are the heads of a red-haired lass and a black-haired lass, and it is they who bewitch you from your lawful wife."

"If you are not a great warlock, you are at least a great rascal," cried Stuart, losing all temper; "but by the great oath, I'll soon know which you are." And saying so, he suddenly seized on the wizard's hand before he was aware, and turning it up, he extracted two pins from between the fingers, the head of one of which had been dipped in red wax, and the head of the other in black wax.

"You scoundrel," said Stuart, preparing to assault him, "you have been unjustifiably prying into my secrets, but I'll teach you to use greater discretion in future."

"Approach me at your peril!" cried Willox, stepping back towards the door, and brandishing a dagger which he drew from his bosom. "I have done or said nothing but what is friendly to you, and if you have the folly to attempt anything of a different nature towards me, you must take the consequences," and so saying he immediately took himself off. So ended the Dominie.

Our walk to-day had little beauty in it, except in its distant prospects, which, when we looked over the vast extent of fir forests towards the Cairngorum group of mountains, were always grand. The scenery of the Aven indeed, and especially at the spot where we crossed it, delighted us all. The fragment of the ruined bridge of Campdale still stood, a sad monument of the ravages of the fearful flood of August, 1829; but the stream now sparkled away along its customary channel like liquid crystal.

Clifford (stopping mechanically to put his fishing-rod together).--It is certainly the clearest stream I ever beheld. Yet shall I try my skill to extract some trouts from it for dinner.

Grant (as we ascended the path that led us up from the deep glen of the Aven where we left Clifford fishing).--Anything to be seen at Tomantoul?

Author.--Nothing that I have ever been able to discover. The sight is one of the dreariest I know,--a high, wide, bare, and uninteresting moor, quite raised, as you see, above all the beauties of the river, which are buried from it in the profound of the neighbouring valley; nor has the village itself any very great redeeming charm about it.

Grant.--How comes it that all the cottages and walls are built of sandstone in the very heart of this primitive country?

Author.--You may well be surprised, but you will perhaps be still more astonished to learn that the place stands on a great detached isolated field of the floetz strata, four miles in length by one in breadth, which has been raised up on the very bosom of the primitive granite.

Grant.--A curious geological fact.

Author.--It is a fact which I learned when I was here formerly from a very intelligent gentleman who is the clergyman here, to whom I was also indebted for much valuable information during my inquiries about the great flood. I shall be happy to introduce you to him.

Grant.--I believe similar instances occur elsewhere in this part of Scotland.

Author.--Yes, at Kildrummie Castle, in the Glen of Dollas, and also near the borders of the primitive in the vale of Pluscardine.

Dominie.--To what strange changes has this earth of ours been subjeckit!

Grant.--Tell me, I pray you, what nice looking house is this?

Author.--It is the residence of the clergyman; perhaps you would like to call on him now, while our friend here goes on to the inn with our man to secure beds and entertainment for us all.

Grant assented, and, entering the manse accordingly, we remained talking very agreeably there, until the whistling of Clifford, as he marched up the street with his rod in his hand, and his fishing pannier on his back, made us suddenly terminate our interesting colloquy, in order to run after him. As we got into the inn we found him in the act of admiring his trouts, which filled a large trencher.

Clifford.--See what noble fellows! There is one of three pounds and a half if he is an ounce. I hooked him in the pool above the broken bridge, and I called to you as you were going up the hill to come back and witness the sport he yielded; but you were too intent on your own conversation to hear me, and so you lost it all. What were you talking about?

Grant.--Geology.

Clifford.--Geology!--fiddlesticks. By all that is good, you deserve to dine upon fossil fishes.

Author (to the landlady).--Well, ma'am, I hope you can give us something good for dinner.

Landlady.--We shall see, sir; we'll do the best we can.

Author.--You will at least be able to give us an omelet, after the instructions I gave you when I was last in your house.

Landlady.--That I can; I made one for the Duke when he was up here at the fowling, and he said that it was just famous.

Clifford.--Can you give us any soup?

Landlady.--Na, sir; I'm dootin' that I hae na time for that.

Clifford.--Pooh! If you will give me a large smooth white pebble, such as is called by my geological friends here quartz, but which you know better, I believe, by the name of a chucky-stane, I'll make some capital soup out of it in a very few minutes.

Landlady.--Odd, sir, I'm thinkin' ye'll be clever an ye can do that.

Clifford.--Be quick, then, and fetch me such a stone as I have described. Remember it must be quite clean, and large enough to make soup for four gentlemen,--and recollect that we are very hungry.

Landlady (entering with a stone in one hand).--There it is. It's quite clean, for I washed it wi' my ain hands.

Clifford.--So, that is all right. Now, fetch me a pan with clean water in it. Oh, you have it there, I see. Well, put in the stone, and put the pan on the fire. Now, you see, my good woman, I am a pupil of old Willox the Warlock, therefore you need not be astonished at anything I do. Go get me a spoon to taste the soup with. (Whilst her back is turned, slyly dropping a cake or two of portable soup into the pot.) Aye, now, let me see; taste it yourself. It already begins to have some flavour.

Landlady (astonished).--Have a care o' huz a', so it has!

Clifford (stirring it).--But, stay a moment; taste it now!

Landlady (taking a spoonful of it).--Keep me, that is just awthegither maygics indeed!

Clifford (tasting it).--Oh, it will do now. Bring me an iron spoon to take out the stone with. Now, here take it away, dry it well, and lock it carefully up in your larder; for, you perceive, that it is but very little wasted, and, consequently, it will make some good tureens of soup yet; and though such stones are plenty enough, yet you know it is always good housewifery to be economical.

Landlady (taking away the stone).--That's true, indeed, sir.

Grant (after we had dined).--Well, thanks to Clifford's chucky-stone soup, his delicious fritto of trout, our landlady's excellent mutton-chops, and your omelet, we have dined like princes.

Clifford.--I am now hungry for nothing but a narrative. Come, Mr. Macpherson, as we are to lose you to-morrow, I must remind you that you are still in my book for some story about Old Stachcan, the man with the pistol, I mean, whose portrait we saw at Castle Grant. Pray do not hesitate to clear off your score.

Dominie.--I need not say, Mr. Clifford, that since you and your friends here are so good as to accept of such poor coin as my bit stories, in return for all the kindness and condescension which I have received from you, it is well my part to pay it readily, and without a grudge. But what I had to tell you about Old Stachcan was more an account of the man than any very parteeklar story about him. Now, as you will pass by the very bit where he lay concealed, I would rather leave it to my friend Sergeant Archy Stewart, who knows more about him than I do, to give you his history on the spot.

Grant.--Well, since that is the case, Mr. Macpherson, I shall undertake to tell a story for you. And instead of that which you were to tell us about one Grant, I shall give you a legend which I have heard of two lairds of that name.

Clifford.--Provided you do not on that account make your story twice as long as Mr. Macpherson's would have been, I for one am contented.

Grant.--If I should do so, you have your resource, Clifford, you may go to sleep, you know; and if you do, I shall perhaps have the pleasure of singing, in the words of Scott's Water Sprite,--

"Good luck to your fishing."

Clifford.--No more of that, an thou lovest me, Hal.

LEGEND OF THE RIVAL LAIRDS OF STRATHSPEY.

Some time previous to the Reformation a venerable priest, of the name of Innes, lived at Easter Duthel, in Strathspey, and superintended the spiritual concerns of the people of the surrounding district. He was a benevolent old man, whose heart was devoted to the duties of his sacred office, and to those deeds of Christian benevolence which he inculcated upon his flock by example as well as by precept.