Chapter VI (5)

Seeing how matters were going on without, old Whithaugh, who had hitherto acted merely upon the defensive, discharged a fowling-piece, which he had ready loaded, at the captain of the band. The ball grazed his bridle hand, and blood followed the slight injury. This so incensed the leader that he immediately ordered the stack-yard and out-houses to be set fire to, vowing that if the traitor were not given up, he would burn down the Ha' house likewise, and not leave a combustible unconsumed about the steading. Already had the poor cattle begun to roar at the stake, and the hens and turkeys to escape from the flaming stack-yard, when out Whithaugh issued, surrounded by his resolute supporters, armed with grapes, pitchforks, and such other lethal weapons as the place and the occasion admitted of. Seeing matters come to this pass, poor Gilbert, who had actually been built up into a hay-stack, the farther extremity of which was now on fire, immediately sprung forth, and, throwing himself betwixt the combatants, called aloud for an armistice, and at once offered to surrender. Meanwhile, the fair but distracted Helen Elliot rushed likewise betwixt the parties, and prayed, on her knees, that her father's grey hairs might be spared. This somewhat altered the state of matters. The cattle were got extricated from the burning--in some cases the flames were extinguished--and, Johnstone having gained his object, though at the expense of life and much valuable property, gave orders for a retreat. Placing poor Gilbert Watson, upon a dragoon's saddle, in a very inconvenient position, whilst the rider sat comfortably in the saddle behind him, and bestowing some extravagant, but unwelcome praises upon the personal charms of fair Helen--the whole party, with the exception of the wounded horse, which was speared to death, and the man who had lost his life in the water, marched up the dale, being resolved that, now at least, they should not risk their lives in the swollen flood. There stood at this time, and probably there stands still, a little public-house at the bridge, and about half a mile from the manse of Castleton. Into this public-house the party betook themselves to refresh, whilst the curate of Castleton was sent for, to have an interview with Johnstone, to whom he was intimately known, and to whom he had often given private information respecting the poor HIDING people, who fled to the mountain and glen, and the moss and the cave, for life and for conscience-sake. This curate of Castleton was a somewhat singular personage in appearance. He gave one a pretty correct idea of AEsop. He was a little bandy-legged body, with a large aquiline nose, a hunched back, and a most sinister squint. His church, indeed, was deserted, unless by the family in the small change-house, and one or two farmers, who, for fear of suspicion and consequent spoliation, were in the habit of occasionally attending. He, like his neighbours of the curacy, had been imported, _ready made_, from Aberdeen, with all its strange dialect, and all its stranger leanings to oppression and Episcopacy. Just at the moment when Johnstone's messenger arrived at the manse, then situated high up the hill, upon the brink of a precipice, the curate was in private converse with a person who was giving him the important information, that a conventicle was this very evening to be held at the Dead-Water--a large mountain-moss, situated on the Borders, and giving rise to the river Tyne on the one side, and the Liddel on the other. This information having been obtained, the curate, commonly designated Clatterwallet, hastened away, in company with Johnstone's messenger, for the Brig change-house. An interview with Johnstone was immediately obtained; and, in a few minutes, orders were given to his men to hold themselves in readiness to march. Meanwhile, the prisoner, Watson, was put under the guardianship of a dragoon, and lodged in a small byre attached to the gavel of the dwelling-house. Several attempts were made by _seeming_ travellers, to get the soldier withdrawn from his station, but they proved ineffectual. Meantime, the night began to darken in, with a soft-falling snow shower, which rendered the ground all white around. Poor Gilbert Watson had said his prayers, sung the 121st Psalm, and was preparing to rest himself, with a cow and her calf for his companions, when he thought he heard a voice whispering to him from the roof of the thatched byre. It was indeed a voice, and a friendly one; for it said, "_Here! Here!_" A staff was thrust through a small aperture in the thatch. Gilbert moved towards the place, and heard, in whispers exceedingly low, that an opening in the roof was about to be made for his escape. Meanwhile, Gilbert kept constantly moving about, so that the watch at the door might be assured that he was still in his keeping. All at once, when a hole large enough had been made, Gilbert was pulled up by the arms and shoulders, and carried on the back of a strong man, with amazing velocity down the glen. The soldier had heard the noise which this occasioned, and immediately hailed his prisoner. No answer being returned, he entered, and discovered at once the trick which had been played upon him. He immediately _rounded_ the byre; but, in doing so, felt his feet entangled in a strong rope, which, when he had put down his hands to disentangle, he was caught by the waist in a strong fox-trap. This made him roar aloud for help; but ere the innkeeper could give him the desired assistance, the prisoner had considerable time to escape. In fact, in noiseless speed, the strong man had borne Gilbert to a considerable distance, and then setting him down, he _untied his shoes, and putting the heels foremost, fastened them, thus reversed, by strings to his feet_. "Now," said the voice, in parting--"now for Castle-Hermitage and its dungeon! till to-morrow morning, when assistance will be rendered." And, saying thus, the strong man took his immediate departure, and disappeared amongst the woods. Poor Gilbert did as he was instructed, and, in about an hour, reached the dismal solitude of Castle-Hermitage. There, on some straw which still remained from the time when poor Sir Alexander Ramsay of Dalhousie had been starved to death by Sir William Douglas, did this poor persecuted man remain till the following morning. In the meantime, Johnstone having discovered that he had been sent on a fool's errand, and that no such meeting was about to take place, as the curate had been advertised of, at the Dead-Water-Moss, returned in no very good humour--first, to the manse of Castleton, from which he proposed ejecting the curate over the precipice, which lay underneath his window, and then, about midnight, to the inn at the Brig-end of Liddel Water. Here his rage was converted into fury at the trick which had now manifestly been played upon him; and he stamped, and swore, and blasphemed during the remainder of the night; drinking, however, and eating mutton ham, by turns, and warning his man that, so soon as day broke, they should give chase to the old fox. Day broke, and chase was given. Some were dismissed in one direction, and some in another; and, as the snow had been undisturbed from the time of the escape till morning, it was naturally guessed that the footsteps of the pursued might still be traced. Accordingly, Johnstone, with three of his men, set out in the track from the back of the byre, and made sure work of it till they came to the bottom of the glen--their footsteps were confused, and the party seemed to have made off towards Whithaugh. Having, however, despatched a strong body to trace those footsteps, Johnstone and his men rode immediately over the rising ground, and came down at once on the old towers of Castle-Hermitage. Here the truth appeared to be manifest. There were double footsteps--those of one approaching and one departing--and the inference was immediately drawn, that the pursued had betaken himself to the castle keep, but had again effected his escape. In fact, the strong man of last evening had advanced, towards morning, with provisions and refreshment to the dungeon; and his shoes being nailed and formed very much like those of Gilbert, they very naturally took the two foot-prints, the one advancing and the other retreating, for one--and off they set at full gallop--whilst Gilbert and one of Whithaugh's ploughmen made the best of their way in the opposite direction, and ultimately separated within sight of Hawick--the honest ploughman returning, not a little satisfied with his dexterity to the broad and fertile acres of Whithaugh; whilst Gilbert Watson ultimately reached some friends who lived in the Cowgate of Edinburgh--by which means he escaped.

The shoes which contributed so greatly to the escape of Gilbert Watson, were presented as a memorial to the family of Elliot, and are still shown to the curious in such matters, by the present hospitable and worthy proprietor of Whithaugh. It was remarked, that, after this unfortunate _raid_, Johnstone became morose and peevish, beyond his usual; seemed to suffer great mental agony; and was one morning found dead in his bed. Helen Elliot, the fair maid of Whithaugh, was wooed and won by a Charteris of Empsfield; and from her are the present honourable family of that title descended. So ends my Hysteron Proteron or, "the Shoes Reversed."

THE LOST HEIR OF THE HOUSE OF ELPHINSTONE.[2]

[Footnote 2: This tale is the production of the Rev. George Thomson, "the happy Dominie Thomson of the happy days of Abbotsford," as Lockhart designates him in the last volume of his "Life of Scott," when alluding to the sad inroads of death into the family circle where Thomson had been Tutor for many years. He was a son of the late minister of Melrose, and much respected for his sterling worth, amiability, and sound learning--particularly noted, also, for the eccentricity of his wit, and the humour of his sayings and doings. The above, and another tale, are, so far as I can learn, the only contributions to literature by the amanuensis of Scott.--ED.]

"There are few men," says a peculiar moralist, "however much they may have been loved and esteemed in their day, whose return to life, after any considerable interval, would not be regarded with feelings of regret." In this observation there is some truth. The places once occupied by the departed have been supplied by others; their return to life would be regretted by those whom they would "push from their stools;" and it may be very well believed that, if the rightful heir of a great estate were to make his appearance in life, after having been long lost and regarded as dead, the feelings of the person whom he would supplant, whose possessions, prerogatives, and ostensibility, he would take away, would not be particularly pleasant. But, when no personal interests are at stake, and no feelings of malign selfishness are awakened, there are few things from which a person well constituted in heart and mind, will derive a more vivid delight, or a more exquisite excitement, than the return, and an unexpected meeting with, a long lost and long absent friend. Mark, in proof, the stare of astonishment, the eyes eagerly looking into each other, while the mind gradually opens into recognition, and such exclamations as, "Guide me! it's no possible! can this be really you?--eh, it's lang since I hae seen ye!--hoo hae ye been a' this time?" In no place are such feelings more vivid, or such exclamations more rife, than on the Scottish Borders, whose good-humoured natives have always been distinguished for enterprising energy, as well as warmth of heart, producing a disposition both to rove and to return.

On the east coast--somewhere between Berwick and St Abb's Head--a village is situated at the mouth of a small stream, which gives it an immediate access to, and egress from the open sea. Its harbour does not admit vessels of any considerable burthen; but there is good anchorage ground in the offing, and its situation being favourable for the irregular discharge of a cargo, it is said to have been, in former times, notorious for the contraband trade. It continued to enjoy an honourable prosperity, however, after this infamous and most pernicious traffic had been put down by the vigilance of government, owing to its permanent local advantages. The chief employment of its inhabitants is fishing; and its coasting trade is considerable, affording to the tenantry of the adjoining country a ready market for farm produce of all kinds--grazing, pastoral, and agricultural. In this village, long before the formation of those regularly constituted clubs which now exist in every considerable market town, a number of persons, whom business had brought together, used to hold regular meetings in the evening of the market day. These meetings, of which, when a young man, I was a constant attender, were generally composed of nearly the same persons, who, by tacit agreement, used to assemble at the same time and in the same place; one particular apartment of the principal inn being always reserved for their use. On these occasions, there was much innocent enjoyment and little variety. In allusion to the chief avocations of the persons present, and the commodities which formed the staple of the market, it was customary to give, as the toast of the evening--

"The life of man, the death of fish,
The boat, the crook, the plough;
Horn, corn, lint, and yarn,
Flax, and tarry woo."

The chief transactions of the day having been talked over, and the party having gradually diminished as the evening advanced, to a few intimates who dwelt in the immediate neighbourhood, many a tale, anecdote, and legend used to be told, while the glass circled round. The appetite for legendary lore, orally delivered, had not begun to abate in the days of my youth.

I remember well a particular evening in which many stories were told, of "hair-breadth 'scapes," strange coincidences, and remarkable incidents of various kinds; but gene rally connected with the departure and return of Scottish adventurers. Mr Plainworth, and the patient butt of his playful humour, Mr Wonderlove, two respectable Septuagenarians, and the venerable fathers of the club, occupied, as usual, the two arm chairs which stood one on each side of the fire. At length, after having been long a silent listener, Mr Plainworth stated that an incident as remarkable as any that had yet been told, had occurred in the very apartment in which we were sitting, and when he himself was present. "Did any of you," said he, "know the late William Elphinstone, Esq.?"

"I for one knew him well, for a most excellent and worthy man," said Wonderlove; "and his family is said to be the first of their line that ever did well. I have heard of a dule (doom) which was formerly laid upon that house, by a mother cursing, in the anguish of her heart, and on her bare knees, the bearing of which was, that the sword would never be off the race, till their pride had been humbled--till their head had wedded a maiden of low degree."

"That," said Plainworth, "I regarded as a mere folly of the olden time. Some aggravated case of seduction, in which family pride was exhibited, and innocence ruined and forsaken, had suggested the idea of a suitable doom, which was supposed to hang over the house; or a curse may have been pronounced under such awful circumstances; and as there would be no black and white upon the matter, its import and bearing might easily be made to correspond with subsequent events. An obliquity of disposition--a transmitted depravity of character--will sometimes be hereditary for two or three generations in a particular race; on the removal of which, the evils to which, by natural consequence, it had led, and which might seem to flow from a hereditary fatality or doom, will also pass away. The fortunes of the house of Elphinstone seem to have improved with the improved character of the race."

"You are a deep thinker, Mr Plainworth," said the other; "but it is well-known that, for a long period of time, the sword never was off that house. Deeply involved in the troubles that preceded and followed the civil wars, they always came off with the worst. Some fell in battle; some bled on the scaffold; and when others ceased to kill them, they began to put an end to themselves."

"You allude," said Plainworth, "to the death of Edward Elphinstone, the brother of the laird. Poor unhappy young man! I knew him well."

"Sir," said Wonderlove, "I could tell you of a strange thing, which I cannot help thinking is somehow connected with his death. I was acquainted with the son of the parish minister. He and his father had occasion to go down to the churchyard, on account of something which had gone wrong with the cattle. A loud scream was heard at the west-end of the church, in a little while followed by another. The son, who hurried forward to see what was the matter, beheld a light streaming from the window of the Elphinstone aisle; and, on looking in, he could perceive a human figure, lying on the central grave-stone, under a white sheet. He stood and gazed till, from below the white sheet, another scream came pealing exactly like the two he had heard before; and then he ran back in terror to his father, and both made the best of their way home. Next morning, Edward Elphinstone was found dead in the neighbouring woods. He had fired his own gun through his head, by means of a string attached to the trigger, and passed round the butt end. Now, sir, what is your opinion as to that?"

"I would say," replied Plainworth, "that it must have been the poor youth stretching himself in life, in the place where he was shortly to lie dead--put down, alas! by his own hand--one of the strange fancies of a mind meditating suicide, and therefore labouring under a degree of frenzied excitement. Had he been conveyed home, the catastrophe might have been prevented."

"An admirable explanation," said the other, "and a true."

"What!" cried Plainworth, "and is Wonderlove so ready to give up such a likely and well-authenticated tale of diablerie? Well, in return for your candour, I assure you that William Elphinstone, the first of the line who seems to have been freed from the dread hereditary doom, really did marry 'a maiden of low degree.' I was his friend, and the confidant of his innocent and honourable love."

"And the thing you mean to tell us of--does it concern him?" asked Wonderlove.

"It does, as you shall hear," replied Plainworth. "After the death of Edward, the second son," continued Plainworth, "there remained of the family of Elphinstone, only the Laird, and William, the youngest son, my particular friend. The health of the laird had been irreparably injured, both by early excesses, and by a fall which he got from his horse while hunting. After this accident, his life was despaired of; and, although he partially recovered, his constitution, owing to an injury in the head, was ruined for ever. A cousin, who would have succeeded to the estates, failing him and his brother, made various abortive attempts to sow dissension between them; which, being ascribed to their true motive, caused the laird to hate him most cordially. To defeat the crooked policy of this bad man, he was anxious to keep William at home; and he endeavoured to effect a marriage between him and an heiress of good family, great fortune, and greater expectations. The lady was favourable--her friends not less so. But William had placed his affections in a lower sphere. He had long loved the only daughter of a Mr Constant, the humble proprietor of about fifty acres of poor land, called Sanditofts. Mary Constant was a young woman who had everything to recommend her, except fortune. William had succeeded in gaining her heart; but, with a noble disinterestedness, she persisted in discouraging his addresses to herself, and did her utmost to prevail on him to gratify his elder brother, by preferring the more advantageous match.

"Of this ground of difference, the first which had existed between the brothers, the wicked cousin endeavoured to make the most. He contrived to have unworthy suspicions of the innocent object of William's love, insinuated into the mind of the laird; and that there might be some foundation for these suspicions, the fiend had insidiously pointed her out to the notice of a Sir Charles Ranger--a man of fashion and profligate manners, who happened at the time to be resident in this part of the country. Observing something peculiar in William's manner one day, I wrung from him the secret cause, which was, that he had been given to understand that Mary was in the habit of receiving, and with encouragement, the attentions of Sir Charles. 'If that should be true,' said he, with a sigh, 'how inconsistent in a creature who, in mind as well as in person, seems to be all perfection!' On my demanding his authority, he stated that his brother had been his first informer, who had got his information from one lady, who had got it from another, and so on; but that he thought he had been able, very nearly, to run up the slander to his cousin, with whom it must have originated."

"'What can be the villain's motive?' cried I, indignantly.

"'Evidently,' said he, 'to give my brother an unfavourable opinion of Mary, that he may be induced to set his face, like flint, against my being united to her in marriage; in which case he may anticipate that such a quarrel might arise between him and me as would admit of no reconciliation; and that, as I might then have to lead the precarious unsettled life of an adventurer, the extinction of the elder branch of the family would become more likely. That may be his policy, for, in my brother's infirm state, I am certainly the chief obstruction to his hope of eventually succeeding to the family inheritance; but why speculate about the motives of such a man? I beat him soundly on the occasion you know of, when he attempted to do me ill offices with my brother.'

"'Beat him, did you?' cried I.

"'That I did,' said he, 'and with right good will. I began with mild expostulation, which was all I intended at first; but his shameless attempts at justification, and at maintaining the character of a mutual friend, made him appear so vile in my eyes, that I threw him on the ground, told him that I would make an impression on his body, if not on his mind, and beat him with a sapling, till I had tired my arm, rather than exhausted my wrath."

"'He well deserved all he got,' said I; 'but a mind like his will never forgive a blow--far less a long succession of blows, most energetically laid on--although he may not have the spirit to show his resentment openly.'

"'He hates me from his soul,' said he, 'while he fawns upon me; and he well knows that to let fly an envenomed shaft at poor Mary, is the likeliest way to give me a deadly wound.'

"'You have acted most rashly towards him,' said I; 'for he is a dark, deep, dangerous man; the deadly enmity of such as he ought never to be unnecessarily provoked; under the sting of a reptile will a lion die.'

"'He is indeed a reptile,' replied he, 'whom I pity and despise, and whom you will have some difficulty in persuading me to fear. I am not free,' he added with perceptible agitation, 'I am not free from the hereditary imperfection of our ill-fated race; but I endeavour to restrain my mind by those means by which the mind can best be restrained. As for the inheritance of our house, which seems to excite my wretched cousin's cupidity, I could almost wish he had it, with the hereditary curse along with it; so that I had only a moderate competence, with God's blessing, a peaceful mind, and Mary's love.'

"A few days after the above conversation took place, as William Elphinstone and I were sauntering about, without any particular object, who should we see coming over the hill but Mary herself, along with Sir Charles Ranger? 'Now, Elphinstone,' said I, on observing them, 'keep your temper, and don't allow yourself to be flung off your guard--that is indeed Sir Charles; but the meeting has been unintentional on Mary's part. The poor girl could not drive such an intruder away, as easily as the wind would a piece of thistle-down.'

"'They are walking wide apart, on opposite sides of the road,' said he, with considerable emotion.

"As we moved towards them, keeping on the inside of a hedge, which afforded us concealment, we lost sight of them for a little while; but, on turning a corner, they again came in view. She was evidently walking too fast for her gallant attendant; and William seemed to be amused with his efforts to maintain his fashionable swagger at the unusual pace. As we continued to follow them unobserved, we could see him in several instances come over to her side of the road; but she always crossed to the other, and quickened her pace. At length having come to a turn of the road, where Sir Charles perhaps thought that he behoved either to desist, or to make a bold effort, he sprung forward, and placed himself before her, so as to obstruct her passage, and began to pour forth all manner of professions, protestations, and unmeaning extravagances. Mary, with indignation and disdain in her every look, peremptorily demanded to be permitted to pass on unmolested. At length he went so far as to catch her in his arms, earnestly imploring that she would give him for one moment a hearing. Upon which she screamed in terror; and young Elphinstone springing over the hedge, seized the unprincipled libertine by the collar, and dashed him to the ground. On my coming forward, he delivered the trembling girl into my care; and then turning to Sir Charles, as he was attempting to rise, he quietly begged to know who it was that had pointed out that young woman to him, as a fit person for such as he to accost.'

"'Well thought of, Elphinstone,' cried I; 'wring an answer to that question out of him, one way or other.'

"Mary did her utmost to put a stop to further violence, but I prevented her from interfering, and encouraged William to proceed. Upon which, fixing on his prostrate foe, a look, in which was expressed all the fire of his race, he repeated his question. Sir Charles refused to answer--William threatened! the one hesitated--the other kept holding him down. At length, finding himself compelled to speak, Sir Charles pronounced the name of William Elphinstone's cousin.

"'All's well,' cried the latter, assisting him to rise. 'You may now go away, sir; and if you should think that the punishment inflicted has been in this case greater than the evil you have been able to do, you will perhaps remember passages in your life, in which the balance was the other way.'

"As the baffled profligate withdrew, he tried to put on a menacing look, and hinted that, as Elphinstone's conduct was dissonant to the usages of society, he was determined to demand the satisfaction of a gentleman, and that he should hear from him shortly. This threat, however, was never put into effect; for, although bold enough toward an unprotected female, he was not over-fond of confronting an antagonist such as Elphinstone.

"In excuse for our having continued violent measures ill-suited to her presence, after protection had been afforded, I shewed to Mary, as we were escorting her home, the importance of the disclosure which had been wrung from Sir Charles, which would enable us to ascribe not merely the insults to which she had been exposed, but also the slanders by which her good name had been secretly assailed, to the malice of William's cousin, whose name Sir Charles had been compelled to give up. I spoke, also, of the distress which we had both had on her account for some time past. Whenever she became aware of the painful fact, that she had been an object of suspicion, she stopped, her features became agitated, and she burst into tears. Nothing that we could say would pacify her--stung to the heart with the anguish of offended female pride. When she had somewhat recovered from this agitation, young Elphinstone began to press his suit with impassioned earnestness; while Mary, on her part, persisted in giving him no encouragement, but pointed out the great advantages of the other match intended for him by his brother; and extolled the lady as being far superior to herself in every respect. She spoke firmly, but yet with the air of one who is rather acting on high principle than from inclination. William had evidently a powerful advocate in her heart. Long did she hesitate, nevertheless; and much did she say about the impropriety of her allowing him to sacrifice to his passion for her, the favour of his elder brother, and such great expectations. But at last the lover's importunities were successful. Mary--her countenance becoming pale and then crimson--faintly, yet distinctly pronounced the words--'Speak to my father.'

"Soon after this, we heard the sound of a horseman, who was coming up behind us at a rapid trot. This was none other than Mr Elphinstone, the brother of William, who began with accusing him of having acted in a most ruffian-like manner toward Sir Charles Ranger, whom he had met, and by whose representations a most unfavourable impression had been made upon his mind. William attempted to explain; the former, however, would not hear; but harshly added, with a look of cruel meaning, directed to the most interesting person present--'I find you, sir, in most improper society.'

"William, forgetting himself for an instant, made a grasp at his brother's rein, and also at his collar, saying--'Not one disrespectful word, sir, of that young woman; a more innocent and a nobler the world does not hold.'

"'Unloose your hand from my rein and collar,' vociferated the elder Elphinstone, fiercely; 'after this insolence, we can never meet more.' With that he immediately rode off.

"'The laird will soon be informed of the true state of matters,' said I, soothingly; 'and he is not a man to retain his anger long.'

"'This is the first time,' replied William, 'that a harsh word ever passed between my brother and me; and I can only regret that our feud should have originated in such a cause.'

"The humble habitation of Mary now came in sight--a low cottage-looking building, with agricultural appurtenances behind it--neat and comfortable, though plain in its appearance, and betokening the residence of a person in easy circumstances, who was not disposed to live above his sphere. On our approaching the house, Mary's father came out to welcome us; and, perceiving, from our appearance, that something more than ordinary had happened, he looked inquiringly. Mary and her lover entered the house, each, with a look, devolving the task of explanation upon me; and, between Mr Constant and myself, a long conversation followed, in which everything was told. Entering then the house where he was anxiously waited for, he bent over the chair which William Elphinstone occupied, and exclaimed--'My dear young man, accept a father's thanks for the protection which ye have this day afforded to his only child. As for what ye further intend, there are difficulties, but none shall arise from me. Had ye been of our own sphere of life, there is none in the country on whom I would have been more willing to have bestowed my daughter.'

"We spent the evening there; and I never saw William appear to such advantage. If he could not raise his wife to the sphere in which he had been bred and born, he was to go down contentedly into hers; to constitute her happiness was to be the delight of his life. Mr Constant--who had long esteemed him highly, but had never before seen him open, throwing forth in rich profusion, the treasures of his noble heart and vigorous understanding--was in amazement. As for Mary, her heart seemed to be overflowing with happiness, while she contemplated, with a woman's pride, the high qualities of the man who had chosen her for his own. Every doubt as to the propriety of the momentous step which she had taken, having been removed by her father's knowledge, concurrence, and approbation--

"'----she, pleased, resigned
To tender feelings all her lovely mind.'

"Next day, William sent to his brother a plain unvarnished statement of all that had happened, expressed in a fair manly style--asking for nothing, apologizing for nothing, and conceding nothing; and, after having discharged this act of fraternal duty, he came and met me early in the afternoon in the town here, for the purpose of bringing me back with him to Sanditofts. It was the market day, and, wherever he went, his old friends gathered in congratulating groups around him; for he was a universal favourite. On our proposing to leave them, they absolutely laid violent hands on us; and so having sent off a card to apologize, and bring Mr Constant to meet us, we sat down along with them to their usual dinner in this same room. I could easily see that poor William would rather have been at Sanditofts, where his heart was; but, making a virtue of necessity, he exerted himself to please, and was successful. His affair with Sir Charles was brought on, or rather it insensibly stole upon the carpet. One person accidentally made a very distant allusion to it; a second reproved him for so doing; a third, a fourth, a fifth made observations, pointing, though from afar, to what had happened. Pleased and amused at the delicacy which was so visibly restraining the general feeling, William threw open the subject at once, by giving a modest statement of the whole affair. He added--'I would have done as much for any other young woman under the like circumstances; and what could I have done less for her who has been for long the object of my fondest love--a love now sanctioned by her father!'

"The importance of this disclosure, and the deep pathos of his voice, produced an instant silence, which was first broken by Mr Macquil, the lawyer, who gave his opinion as to the legal bearings of the case. He assured us that Sir Charles had no ground for an action whatsoever, having been guilty of accosting rudely, and with evil intent, a lone woman--the most sacred of all objects in the eye of the law.

"'I remember a case,' said he, 'in which a rude person having merely used, in female society, some expressions not suitable for a female ear, a young officer of the army present, seized upon and twisted his nose. Upon which an action was raised against the officer; and, the case having come before the fifteen, sixpence of damages only was awarded, with no expenses at all.'

"Thus did the evening pass on, none of us apprehending that it was to have such a woful termination. As the party separated, each, as he retired, came and grasped William by the hand, testifying the highest approbation of the part which he had acted, in simple warm-hearted language. In these feelings, all the great proprietors around participated. They are strictly moral, the _real_ gentry, and they have noble hearts. They detested Sir Charles for his dissolute life; and they suspected him of being, what he afterwards really proved to be, a ruined profligate, flying from English creditors to this side of the Border.

"All those members of the company whose homes were at any distance had now retired; and the party had become such a one as we have at present. The fine spirits which William had maintained throughout the evening, had vanished; his attitude, and the expression of his countenance, had become thoughtful and strangely sad; and I thought he looked fearfully like his brother Edward. At length he started up from his reverie; and I, approaching him, looked anxiously into his countenance, and asked him how he did. He assured me that he had never been better in his life--that he had never enjoyed so much of the best happiness which can irradiate the heart. 'But,' said he, 'my quarrel with my brother hurts me. I never loved him so much in my life as when that spark of his old fire, which my rude grasp struck out of him, made him look so like what he was in other days. And, Mary--to think of her having at length given up her opposition to my wishes, in such a manner! Altogether, it is too much for me; and I have been silly enough to allow shadowy imaginations of evils, which may affect my relations with her and my poor brother, and mar the happiness of us all, to disturb my ruminations. That is the fact; and I apprehend that you, regarding my foolish features with friendly anxiety, have been speculating thereon.'

"This explanation, which agreed well with what I knew of the character of his mind, in which there was not a little of an undue ascendency of the imagination, seemed to me quite satisfactory; and I said to him--'Everything is to go right; you and your brother will soon be reconciled.'

"'I am not entirely dependent on my brother,' said he; 'as I shall show you all to-night, when we talk seriously over certain arrangements.'

"'Where are you going just now?' said I to him, as he was moving toward the door.

"'Merely to have a look at the evening,' said he--'I will be back to you in five seconds.'

"Thus did he retire; and I, relieved from apprehensions which, in the issue, seemed to be very like 'coming events casting their shadows before,' fell fast asleep on resuming my chair. Meanwhile, Mr. Constant came in and awoke me, to inquire after William. He told me that he had received his card, but had been prevented from being with us earlier, by a visit which he had received from Mr Elphinstone, the laird, who had spent the day with them, and was with them still; and he gave me the gratifying information that the letter which William had that day sent to his brother had removed every bad impression from his mind, that, instead of opposing his inclinations, he was anxious that his marriage with Mary might take place as soon as possible; and that he was impatient to see himself personally, that everything might be satisfactorily arranged for it, and that they might be reconciled after the unpleasant affair of yesterday, which, he said, was the only serious difference they had ever had.

"'I have just come down,' continued he, 'to bring you both to Sanditofts, for that purpose.'

"'In that case,' said I, 'every obstacle to my friend's happiness is completely removed;' and I assured him that William had just gone out, but that he would return immediately. He did not return, however, although, as one of the company observed, he must have intended to do so, his hat having been left behind him. After waiting for some minutes longer, I became very uneasy; a feeling of apprehension began to steal over my mind, and I hurried out to make inquiries, followed by Mr Constant. On reaching the foot of the stairs, we were informed that William had gone out by a back passage which led down to the sea-beach, and we turned our steps thither.

"The evening was pleasant. A gentle breeze was blowing off the land, and a yellow radiance faintly tinging the east, and sharply cutting far the black water in the offing, showed that the darkness was on the point of being lightened by the rising of an unclouded moon. We proceeded onward, my anxious friend and I, for a great way along the rocky margin of the sea, until we gained a commanding station, and the moon more than half-risen threw a clearer light upon our view. But no traces did we discover of the object of our search. As a last resource, raising our voices together, we shouted aloud the name of William. As we stood long and anxiously listening, we became aware of a sound which came booming over the water, and which after having been once heard, we could again distinguish as it ever and anon recurred, at irregular intervals. While looking toward the point from which these sounds seemed to come, we beheld for an instant the upper spars of a two-masted lugger distinctly pourtrayed on the face of the moon. She was so diminished by distance, as not to do more than fill the moon's disk, and she seemed to be crowding all sail. Shortly after the single mast of a fore-and-aft rigged vessel, also under a press of canvass, was beheld in the same way; and the smoke, curling in wreaths among her rigging, seemed to indicate that it was from the latter vessel that the sounds which we heard proceeded.

"'I wonder,' said my companion, 'if that can have any connection with the disappearance of Mr. William.'

"'It's merely a revenue cutter,' replied I, 'in chase of some smuggling vessel.'

"Having returned to the apartment in the inn, we found the company still assembled, and reported to them our want of success, my poor friend casting a long and wistful look at the hat of William, which was hanging, and which long continued to hang, on that very pin. On its being suggested that there was a chance that he might be found in some house in the town, all with one accord separated to make inquiries. The whole place was soon in commotion, and so was the whole country side. Every place in which it was possible for William to be, dead or alive, was searched in vain.

"'They sought him that night, and they sought him next day,
Oh! vainly they sought him, till a week past away:--
And years flew by, and their sorrow at last,
Was told as a mournful tale that is past.'

"If among the friends of him who had so strangely disappeared, his intended bride felt the most acutely, it was on his brother that the blow fell most heavily. Mary long refused to be comforted; and was only sustained by young health, and by hopes which we all laboured to infuse into her dejected heart; but the sickly frame of William's brother never recovered from the shook it received. He always reflected on himself for having parted from his brother in anger; the fate of Edward, which was ever before his eyes, seemed to afford too natural an explanation of the mystery of William's disappearance; and his exhausted frame yielded at last to death, after an interval of about three years, during which his chief solace was the society and the kind attentions of the amiable family of Sanditofts. His last words were--

"'Whither is he gone?--what accident
Hath rapt him from us?'

"The title of his wicked cousin was contested by another claimant, which kept matters in abeyance, else he never could have been prevented by us, the executors, from entering into possession. At last, after a long litigation, the case went in his favour, of which I was first informed while engaged in the market here; and, although I had long anticipated such a result, the impression which the intelligence made upon my mind was most painful. At the weekly dinner, whither I repaired as usual, from long habitude rather than inclination, I felt feverish and uncomfortable; an insatiable thirst made me drink rather more than my wont, and in the course of the evening I sank into a heavy bilious slumber. How long I remained in that state I know not. But I remember well, that, feeling a hand laid on my arm, which kept tightening its grasp till it awoke me, I turned to my next neighbour, who was staring as if at some object of terror; and that, following his affrighted look, I beheld William sitting before me, with features wasted, care-worn, and wofully sad, and in the well-remembered attitude in which I had seen him, a little before his strange disappearance. Confounded, incapable of speech and action, did I remain for some time. At length, having caught his eye, we both started up together.

"'William,' cried I, 'can this be really you?--O man! where hae ye been a' this time?'

"'Mary! Mary!' cried he; 'tell me about her!'

"I told him that she was alive and well.

"'But, but!' said he.

"'She is still unmarried,' said I, 'and as devoted to you as ever, which is more than you were entitled to expect, after having left her in the manner you did.'

"'I have been a prisoner,' said he, in a mournful tone, 'in a land of which till lately I knew not the name, and I was carried away by force.'

"Amid exclamations of wrath, which came from all parts of the room, and the tumultuous flocking of his old friends around him, his voice was again heard.

"'And my brother?' said he; 'tell me also about him.'

"'He has been dead,' said I, 'for about two years. In the arms of your beloved did he breathe his last sigh.'

"Upon this his tears began to flow; but he checked them immediately, adding--'Enough for the present. In a little while, my kind friends, I will tell you all. But my heart is now heavy, and the crisis is urgent. Will you, for old friendship's sake, have the goodness either to go or to send down the coast, a little to the northward of this. A party of poor fellows will be found in the same plight as I am. Bring them all hither, and provide for them, in my name, dry clothing, a good supper, plenty of drink, and comfortable bedding.' All with one accord readily undertook the charge. 'And now, then,' said he, 'this old hat shall be again fitted to my head; for the billows are sporting with the one I lately wore.' Perceiving his clothes to be wet, we adverted to the circumstance. 'Pooh,' said he, 'I have just been shipwrecked, that's all.' With that he hurried me out of this house, and entering that of a mutual friend, where comfortable dry clothing was provided for him, and a chaise having been procured, we flung ourselves into it, and drove off to Sanditofts.

"As we drew near the house, painful feelings began to arise in his mind, as to the reception he would meet with, and the construction which might have been put upon his involuntary absence. Dismissing the carriage, therefore, I hurried on before him, at his earnest request, and finding, on entering the house, the father and daughter by themselves, my first words were--'William has been a prisoner in a strange land--he was carried away by force, poor fellow. Amazement, mingled with many other feelings, was visibly depicted in each countenance. Poor Mary began to weep profusely. Diffidently, and with her eyes earnestly fixed on mine, she was just inquiring when they might expect to see him or to hear from him, when her ear was caught by the sound of an approaching foot; and, immediately, the door opening, William stood before her. With a cry of joy, she and her father flew to welcome him. For long did she remain clasped in his arms; and what a scene was exhibited in the outpourings of their innocent and faithful love--a love which had withstood the most perilous of all trials--a long separation, which had been connected with so many doubts and anxious fears, and over which so thick a veil of mystery had hung! The father and I stood silently regarding them, as they wept in sadness and were rapturously joyful by turns.

"'Weel,' said the father, rubbing his hands together, with a look of inexpressible satisfaction, 'that's really a sight guid for sair een. Poor things!--lang hae they loved each other, and sair has their love been tried.'

"When our excited feelings had a little subsided, curiosity became the prevailing sentiment. Mr. Constant and I began by detailing the particulars of our ineffectual search along the coast. William, on his part, declared that, when he left me on going out, it really was his intention to have come back immediately, and to have returned to Sanditofts, where he had been invited and had promised to pass the night; but he stated that, having felt somewhat oppressed by the heat of the crowded apartment, he had been unhappily induced, by the refreshing coolness of the evening, to walk a little way by the sea-side, where he had apprehended no evil.

* * * * *

"To all appearance," said he, "there was nothing but solitude around me; only, I heard carts at a distance which seemed to be driven inland; and my curiosity was excited by a low rumbling sound which came from the other side of a small projecting promontory. I ran hastily in the direction of the latter sound. After having proceeded a little way, I heard footsteps coming up behind me; but I continued to move on, without slackening my pace, until there came a shrill whistle, followed by the sound as of a number of men rushing towards me. I then attempted to fly, but was prevented by two stout fellows, who placed themselves right in my way, and a numerous party of men quickly surrounded me, one of whom, eyeing me attentively, exclaimed--'The very man we want. We shall be able to do our friend's work with very little trouble.' On my attempting to expostulate and resist, I was overpowered and forced into a boat. The boat rowed off to a smuggling vessel which was lying to in the offing; and which, soon after I was put on board, stood out to sea under a press of canvass--chased, as it soon appeared, by a revenue cutter, which continued for long to fire at her."

Here he was interrupted by our mentioning the two vessels which we had seen passing over the moon.

"I was in the first of these vessels," said he; "the two-masted lugger, which, unfortunately, was able to escape, by superior sailing, from the second vessel (a revenue cutter, fore-and-aft rigged, with one mast) by which she was pursued.

"My captors continued, for two or three weeks, to land goods on different parts of the eastern coasts, sustaining so many losses that I could not help saying that, if their trade was a paying one, the goods which they could afford to lose in such quantities could not be honestly come by--an observation at which great offence was taken. After having parted with her original cargo, and shipped another, which was chiefly composed of provisions of all sorts, the vessel left the German Ocean, going north about; and she then pursued a south-westerly course across the Atlantic for many weeks, until she was accosted by a notorious pirate, Gonsalvo by name, the terror of the West Indian seas; for whom, as I could observe, a careful look-out had long been kept. This ferocious ruffian, having come on board our vessel, had a long interview with our captain--the two worthies being, to all appearance, on terms of most courteous and familiar intimacy--and our cargo of provisions was put on board the pirate's vessel; while hogsheads of sugar, puncheons of rum, and other articles of West Indian produce, were received in exchange. This transaction clearly explained the mystery of the contraband trade. The smugglers of the present day are connected with the Buccaneers, who, not daring to bring their ill-gotten goods to a regular market, willingly barter the bulky part of them on any terms, for the necessaries of life. These goods having been taken originally for nothing, and subsequently sold for little or nothing, if one cargo out of three escapes seizure, the concern will pay. Hence it is, that the contraband trade is maintained in spite of every effort to put it down.

"After another long interview which our captain had with this Gonsalvo, some of my shipmates came to me with joyful countenances, looking like men from whose minds some heavy burden had just been removed; and they told me, that 'my life was to be safe; only,' said they, 'take care of your tongue.'