Infomotions, Inc.The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner / Hogg, James, 1770-1835



Author: Hogg, James, 1770-1835
Title: The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner
Publisher: Project Gutenberg
Tag(s): laird
Contributor(s): Abbott, Thomas Kingsmill, 1829-1913 [Translator]
Versions: original; local mirror; HTML (this file); printable
Services: find in a library; evaluate using concordance
Rights: GNU General Public License
Size: 85,568 words (short) Grade range: 12-14 (college) Readability score: 57 (average)
Identifier: etext2276
Delicious Bookmark this on Delicious

Discover what books you consider "great". Take the Great Books Survey.

Project Gutenberg Etext Confessions of A Justified Sinner, by Hogg
The complete title is:
The Private Memoirs and Confessions of A Justified Sinner
By James Hogg


Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check
the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!!

Please take a look at the important information in this header.
We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an
electronic path open for the next readers.  Do not remove this.


**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**

**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**

*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations*

Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and
further information is included below.  We need your donations.


The Private Memoirs and Confessions of A Justified Sinner

By James Hogg

August, 2000  [Etext #2276]


The Project Gutenberg Etext of Robin Hood by J. Walker McSpadden
******This file should be named pmfjs10.txt or pmfjs10.zip******

Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, pmfjs11.txt
VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, pmfjs10a.txt


Scanned in by Andreas Philipp
aphilipp@andinet.com
Proofing by Martin Adamson

Project Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multiple editions,
all of which are in the Public Domain in the United States, unless a
copyright notice is included.  Therefore, we usually do NOT keep any
of these books in compliance with any particular paper edition.


We are now trying to release all our books one month in advance
of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing.

Please note:  neither this list nor its contents are final till
midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at
Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month.  A
preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
and editing by those who wish to do so.  To be sure you have an
up to date first edition [xxxxx10x.xxx] please check file sizes
in the first week of the next month.  Since our ftp program has
a bug in it that scrambles the date [tried to fix and failed] a
look at the file size will have to do, but we will try to see a
new copy has at least one byte more or less.


Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)

We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work.  The
time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours
to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc.  This
projected audience is one hundred million readers.  If our value
per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
million dollars per hour this year as we release thirty-six text
files per month, or 432 more Etexts in 1999 for a total of 2000+
If these reach just 10% of the computerized population, then the
total should reach over 200 billion Etexts given away this year.

The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext
Files by December 31, 2001.  [10,000 x 100,000,000 = 1 Trillion]
This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,
which is only ~5% of the present number of computer users.

At our revised rates of production, we will reach only one-third
of that goal by the end of 2001, or about 3,333 Etexts unless we
manage to get some real funding; currently our funding is mostly
from Michael Hart's salary at Carnegie-Mellon University, and an
assortment of sporadic gifts; this salary is only good for a few
more years, so we are looking for something to replace it, as we
don't want Project Gutenberg to be so dependent on one person.

We need your donations more than ever!


All donations should be made to "Project Gutenberg/CMU": and are
tax deductible to the extent allowable by law.  (CMU = Carnegie-
Mellon University).

For these and other matters, please mail to:

Project Gutenberg
P. O. Box  2782
Champaign, IL 61825

When all other email fails. . .try our Executive Director:
Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com>
hart@pobox.com forwards to hart@prairienet.org and archive.org
if your mail bounces from archive.org, I will still see it, if
it bounces from prairienet.org, better resend later on. . . .

We would prefer to send you this information by email.

******

To access Project Gutenberg etexts, use any Web browser
to view http://promo.net/pg.  This site lists Etexts by
author and by title, and includes information about how
to get involved with Project Gutenberg.  You could also
download our past Newsletters, or subscribe here.  This
is one of our major sites, please email hart@pobox.com,
for a more complete list of our various sites.

To go directly to the etext collections, use FTP or any
Web browser to visit a Project Gutenberg mirror (mirror
sites are available on 7 continents; mirrors are listed
at http://promo.net/pg).

Mac users, do NOT point and click, typing works better.

Example FTP session:

ftp sunsite.unc.edu
login: anonymous
password: your@login
cd pub/docs/books/gutenberg
cd etext90 through etext99
dir [to see files]
get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files]
GET GUTINDEX.??  [to get a year's listing of books, e.g., GUTINDEX.99]
GET GUTINDEX.ALL [to get a listing of ALL books]

***

**Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor**

(Three Pages)


***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START***
Why is this "Small Print!" statement here?  You know: lawyers.
They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with
your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from
someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
fault.  So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement
disclaims most of our liability to you.  It also tells you how
you can distribute copies of this etext if you want to.

*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT
By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept
this "Small Print!" statement.  If you do not, you can receive
a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by
sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person
you got it from.  If you received this etext on a physical
medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.

ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS
This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-
tm etexts, is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor
Michael S. Hart through the Project Gutenberg Association at
Carnegie-Mellon University (the "Project").  Among other
things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright
on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and
distribute it in the United States without permission and
without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules, set forth
below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext
under the Project's "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark.

To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable
efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain
works.  Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any
medium they may be on may contain "Defects".  Among other
things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged
disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer
codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES
But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below,
[1] the Project (and any other party you may receive this
etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including
legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR
UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,
INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE
OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE
POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.

If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of
receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)
you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that
time to the person you received it from.  If you received it
on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and
such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement
copy.  If you received it electronically, such person may
choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to
receive it electronically.

THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS".  NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A
PARTICULAR PURPOSE.

Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or
the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the
above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you
may have other legal rights.

INDEMNITY
You will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors,
officers, members and agents harmless from all liability, cost
and expense, including legal fees, that arise directly or
indirectly from any of the following that you do or cause:
[1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification,
or addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect.

DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm"
You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by
disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this
"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg,
or:

[1]  Only give exact copies of it.  Among other things, this
     requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the
     etext or this "small print!" statement.  You may however,
     if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable
     binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
     including any form resulting from conversion by word pro-
     cessing or hypertext software, but only so long as
     *EITHER*:

     [*]  The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and
          does *not* contain characters other than those
          intended by the author of the work, although tilde
          (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may
          be used to convey punctuation intended by the
          author, and additional characters may be used to
          indicate hypertext links; OR

     [*]  The etext may be readily converted by the reader at
          no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent
          form by the program that displays the etext (as is
          the case, for instance, with most word processors);
          OR

     [*]  You provide, or agree to also provide on request at
          no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the
          etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC
          or other equivalent proprietary form).

[2]  Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this
     "Small Print!" statement.

[3]  Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the
     net profits you derive calculated using the method you
     already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  If you
     don't derive profits, no royalty is due.  Royalties are
     payable to "Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon
     University" within the 60 days following each
     date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare)
     your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return.

WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?
The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time,
scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty
free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution
you can think of.  Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg
Association / Carnegie-Mellon University".

*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*





Scanned in by Andreas Philipp
aphilipp@andinet.com
Proofing by Martin Adamson





THE PRIVATE MEMOIRS
AND CONFESSIONS
OF A JUSTIFIED SINNER

WRITTEN BY HIMSELF

WITH A DETAIL OF CURIOUS TRADITIONARY FACTS, AND
OTHER EVIDENCE, BY THE EDITOR

By James Hogg




THE EDITOR'S NARRATIVE


It appears from tradition, as well as some parish registers still 
extant, that the lands of Dalcastle (or Dalchastel, as it is often 
spelled) were possessed by a family of the name of Colwan, 
about one hundred and fifty years ago, and for at least a century 
previous to that period. That family was supposed to have been a 
branch of the ancient family of Colquhoun, and it is certain that 
from it spring the Cowans that spread towards the Border. I find 
that, in the year 1687, George Colwan succeeded his uncle of the 
same name, in the lands of Dalchastel and Balgrennan; and, this 
being all I can gather of the family from history, to tradition I 
must appeal for the remainder of the motley adventures of that 
house. But, of the matter furnished by the latter of these powerful 
monitors, I have no reason to complain: It has been handed down 
to the world in unlimited abundance; and I am certain that, in 
recording the hideous events which follow, I am only relating to 
the greater part of the inhabitants of at least four counties of 
Scotland matters of which they were before perfectly well 
informed.

This George was a rich man, or supposed to be so, and was 
married, when considerably advanced in life, to the sole heiress 
and reputed daughter of a Baillie Orde, of Glasgow. This proved 
a conjunction anything but agreeable to the parties contracting. It 
is well known that the Reformation principles had long before 
that time taken a powerful hold of the hearts and affections of the 
people of Scotland, although the feeling was by no means 
general, or in equal degrees; and it so happened that this married
couple felt completely at variance on the subject. Granting it to 
have been so, one would have thought that the laird, owing to his 
retiring situation, would have been the one that inclined to the 
stern doctrines of the reformers; and that the young and gay dame 
from the city would have adhered to the free principles cherished 
by the court party, and indulged in rather to extremity, in 
opposition to their severe and carping contemporaries.

The contrary, however, happened to be the case. The laird was 
what his country neighbours called "a droll, careless chap", with a 
very limited proportion of the fear of God in his heart, and very 
nearly as little of the fear of man. The laird had not intentionally 
wronged or offended either of the parties, and perceived not the 
necessity of deprecating their vengeance. He had hitherto 
believed that he was living in most cordial terms with the greater 
part of the inhabitants of the earth, and with the powers above in 
particular: but woe be unto him if he was not soon convinced of 
the fallacy of such damning security! for his lady was the most 
severe and gloomy of all bigots to the principles of the 
Reformation. Hers were not the tenets of the great reformers, but 
theirs mightily overstrained and deformed. Theirs was an unguent 
hard to be swallowed; but hers was that unguent embittered and 
overheated until nature could not longer bear it. She had imbibed 
her ideas from the doctrines of one flaming predestinarian divine 
alone; and these were so rigid that they became a stumbling block 
to many of his brethren, and a mighty handle for the enemies of 
his party to turn the machine of the state against them.

The wedding festivities at Dalcastle partook of all the gaiety, not 
of that stern age, but of one previous to it. There was feasting, 
dancing, piping, and singing: the liquors were handed, around in 
great fulness, the ale in large wooden bickers, and the brandy in 
capacious horns of oxen. The laird gave full scope to his homely 
glee. He danced--he snapped his fingers to the music--clapped his 
hands and shouted at the turn of the tune. He saluted every girl in 
the hall whose appearance was anything tolerable, and requested 
of their sweethearts to take the same freedom with his bride, by 
way of retaliation. But there she sat at the head of the hall in still 
and blooming beauty, absolutely refusing to tread a single 
measure with any gentleman there. The only enjoyment in which 
she appeared to partake was in now and then stealing a word of 
sweet conversation with her favourite pastor about divine things; 
for he had accompanied her home after marrying her to her 
husband, to see her fairly settled in her new dwelling. He 
addressed her several times by her new name, Mrs. Colwan; but 
she turned away her head disgusted, and looked with pity and 
contempt towards the old inadvertent sinner, capering away in the 
height of his unregenerated mirth. The minister perceived the 
workings of her pious mind, and thenceforward addressed her by 
the courteous title of Lady Dalcastle, which sounded somewhat 
better, as not coupling her name with one of the wicked: and 
there is too great reason to believe that, for all the solemn vows 
she had come under, and these were of no ordinary binding, 
particularly on the laird's part, she at that time despised, if not 
abhorred him, in her heart.

The good parson again blessed her, and went away. She took 
leave of him with tears in her eyes, entreating him often to visit 
her in that heathen land of the Amorite, the Hittite, and the 
Girgashite: to which he assented, on many solemn and qualifying 
conditions--and then the comely bride retired to her chamber to 
pray.

It was customary, in those days, for the bride's-man and maiden, 
and a few select friends, to visit the new-married couple after 
they had retired to rest, and drink a cup to their healths, their 
happiness, and a numerous posterity. But the laird delighted not 
in this: he wished to have his jewel to himself; and, slipping away 
quietly from his jovial party, he retired to his chamber to his 
beloved, and bolted the door. He found her engaged with the
writings of the Evangelists, and terribly demure. The laird went 
up to caress her; but she turned away her head, and spoke of the 
follies of aged men, and something of the broad way that leadeth 
to destruction. The laird did not thoroughly comprehend this 
allusion; but being considerably flustered by drinking, and 
disposed to take all in good part, he only remarked, as he took off 
his shoes and stockings, that, "whether the way was broad or 
narrow, it was time that they were in their bed."

"Sure, Mr. Colwan, you won't go to bed to-night, at such an 
important period of your life, without first saying prayers for 
yourself and me."

When she said this, the laird had his head down almost to the 
ground, loosing his shoe-buckle; but when he heard of prayers, on 
such a night, he raised his face suddenly up, which was all over 
as flushed and red as a rose, and answered:

"Prayers, Mistress! Lord help your crazed head, is this a night for 
prayers?"

He had better have held his peace. There was such a torrent of 
profound divinity poured out upon him that the laird became 
ashamed, both of himself and his new-made spouse, and wist not 
what to say: but the brandy helped him out.

"It strikes me, my dear, that religious devotion would be 
somewhat out of place to-night," said he. "Allowing that it is ever 
so beautiful, and ever so beneficial, were we to ride on the 
rigging of it at all times, would we not be constantly making a 
farce of it: It would be like reading the Bible and the jestbook, 
verse about, and would render the life of man a medley of 
absurdity and confusion."

But, against the cant of the bigot or the hypocrite, no reasoning 
can aught avail. If you would argue until the end of life, the 
infallible creature must alone be right. So it proved with the laird. 
One Scripture text followed another, not in the least connected, 
and one sentence of the profound Mr. Wringhim's sermons after 
another, proving the duty of family worship, till the laird lost 
patience, and tossing himself into bed, said carelessly that he 
would leave that duty upon her shoulders for one night.

The meek mind of Lady Dalcastle was somewhat disarranged by 
this sudden evolution. She felt that she was left rather in an 
awkward situation. However, to show her unconscionable spouse 
that she was resolved to hold fast her integrity, she kneeled down 
and prayed in terms so potent that she deemed she was sure of 
making an impression on him. She did so; for in a short time the 
laird began to utter a response so fervent that she was utterly 
astounded, and fairly driven from the chain of her orisons. He 
began, in truth, to sound a nasal bugle of no ordinary calibre--the 
notes being little inferior to those of a military trumpet. The lady 
tried to proceed, but every returning note from the bed burst on 
her ear with a louder twang, and a longer peal, till the concord of 
sweet sounds became so truly pathetic that the meek spirit of the 
dame was quite overcome; and, after shedding a flood of tears, 
she arose from her knees, and retired to the chimney-corner with 
her Bible in her lap, there to spend the hours in holy meditation 
till such time as the inebriated trumpeter should awaken to a 
sense of propriety.

The laird did not awake in any reasonable time; for, he being 
overcome with fatigue and wassail, his sleep became sounder, 
and his Morphean measures more intense. These varied a little in 
their structure; but the general run of the bars sounded something 
in this way: "Hic-hoc-wheew!" It was most profoundly ludicrous; 
and could not have missed exciting risibility in anyone save a 
pious, a disappointed, and humbled bride.

The good dame wept bitterly. She could not for her life go and 
awaken the monster, and request him to make room for her: but 
she retired somewhere, for the laird, on awaking next morning, 
found that he was still lying alone. His sleep had been of the 
deepest and most genuine sort; and, all the time that it lasted, he 
had never once thought of either wives, children, or sweethearts, 
save in the way of dreaming about them; but, as his
spirit began again by slow degrees to verge towards the 
boundaries of reason, it became lighter and more buoyant from 
the effects of deep repose, and his dreams partook of that 
buoyancy, yea, to a degree hardly expressible. He dreamed of the 
reel, the jig, the strathspey, and the corant; and the elasticity of 
his frame was such that he was bounding over the heads of 
maidens, and making his feet skimmer against the ceiling, 
enjoying, the while, the most ecstatic emotions. These grew too 
fervent for the shackles of the drowsy god to restrain. The nasal 
bugle ceased its prolonged sounds in one moment, and a sort of 
hectic laugh took its place. "Keep it going--play up, you devils!" 
cried the laird, without changing his position on the pillow. But 
this exertion to hold the fiddlers at their work fairly awakened the 
delighted dreamer, and, though he could not refrain from 
continuing, his laugh, beat length, by tracing out a regular chain 
of facts, came to be sensible of his real situation. "Rabina, where 
are you? What's become of you, my dear?" cried the laird. But 
there was no voice nor anyone that answered or regarded. He 
flung open the curtains, thinking to find her still on her knees, as 
he had seen her, but she was not there, either sleeping or waking. 
"Rabina! Mrs. Colwan!" shouted he, as loud as he could call, and 
then added in the same breath, "God save the king--I have lost my 
wife!"

He sprung up and opened the casement: the day-light was 
beginning to streak the east, for it was spring, and the nights were 
short, and the mornings very long. The laird half dressed himself 
in an instant, and strode through every room in the house, 
opening the windows as he went, and scrutinizing every bed and 
every corner. He came into the hall where the wedding festival 
had been held; and as he opened the various windowboards, 
loving couples flew off like hares surprised too late in the 
morning among the early braird. "Hoo-boo! Fie, be frightened!" 
cried the laird. "Fie, rin like fools, as if ye were caught in an ill-
turn!" His bride was not among them; so he was obliged to betake 
himself to further search. "She will be praying in some corner, 
poor woman," said he to himself. "It is an unlucky thing this 
praying. But, for my part, I fear I have behaved very ill; and I 
must endeavour to make amends."

The laird continued his search, and at length found his beloved in 
the same bed with her Glasgow cousin who had acted as 
bridesmaid. "You sly and malevolent imp," said the laird; "you 
have played me such a trick when I was fast asleep! I have not 
known a frolic so clever, and, at the same time, so severe. Come 
along, you baggage you!"

"Sir, I will let you know that I detest your principles and your 
person alike," said she. "It shall never be said, Sir, that my person 
was at the control of a heathenish man of Belial--a dangler among 
the daughters of women--a promiscuous dancer--and a player of 
unlawful games. Forgo your rudeness, Sir, I say, and depart away 
from my presence and that of my kinswoman.

"Come along, I say, my charming Rab. If you were the pink of all 
puritans, and the saint of all saints, you are my wife, and must do 
as I command you."

"Sir, I will sooner lay down my life than be subjected to your
godless will; therefore I say, desist, and begone with you."

But the laird regarded none of these testy sayings: he rolled her in 
a blanket, and bore her triumphantly away to his chamber, taking 
care to keep a fold or two of the blanket always rather near to her 
mouth, in case of any outrageous forthcoming of noise.

The next day at breakfast the bride was long in making her 
appearance. Her maid asked to see her; but George did not choose 
that anybody should see her but himself. He paid her several 
visits, and always turned the key as he came out. At length 
breakfast was served; and during the time of refreshment the laird 
tried to break several jokes; but it was remarked that they wanted 
their accustomed brilliancy, and that his nose was particularly red 
at the top.

Matters, without all doubt, had been very bad between the new-
married couple; for in the course of the day the lady deserted her 
quarters, and returned to her father's house in Glasgow, after 
having been a night on the road; stage-coaches and steam-boats 
having then no existence in that quarter.

Though Baillie Orde had acquiesced in his wife's asseveration 
regarding the likeness of their only daughter to her father, he 
never loved or admired her greatly; therefore this behaviour 
nothing astounded him. He questioned her strictly as to the 
grievous offence committed against her, and could discover 
nothing that warranted a procedure so fraught with disagreeable 
consequences. So, after mature deliberation, the baillie addressed 
her as follows:

"Aye, aye, Raby! An' sae I find that Dalcastle has actually refused 
to say prayers with you when you ordered him; an' has guidit you 
in a rude indelicate manner, outstepping the respect due to my 
daughter--as my daughter. But, wi' regard to what is due to his 
own wife, of that he's a better judge nor me. However, since he 
has behaved in that manner to MY DAUGHTER, I shall be 
revenged on him for aince; for I shall return the obligation to ane 
nearer to him: that is, I shall take pennyworths of his wife--an' let 
him lick at that."

"What do you mean, Sir?" said the astonished damsel.

"I mean to be revenged on that villain Dalcastle," said he, "for 
what he has done to my daughter. Come hither, Mrs. Colwan, you 
shall pay for this."

So saying, the baillie began to inflict corporal punishment on the 
runaway wife. His strokes were not indeed very deadly, but he 
made a mighty flourish in the infliction, pretending to be in a 
great rage only at the Laird of Dalcastle. "Villain that he is!" 
exclaimed he, 'I shall teach him to behave in such a manner to a 
child of mine, be she as she may; since I cannot get at himself, I 
shall lounder her that is nearest to him in life. Take you that, and 
that, Mrs. Colwan, for your husband's impertinence!"

The poor afflicted woman wept and prayed, but the baillie would 
not abate aught of his severity. After fuming and beating her with 
many stripes, far drawn, and lightly laid down, he took her up. to 
her chamber, five stories high, locked her in, and there he fed her 
on bread and water, all to be revenged on the presumptuous Laird 
of Dalcastle; but ever and anon, as the baillie came down the stair 
from carrying his daughter's meal, he said to himself: "I shall 
make the sight of the laird the blithest she ever saw in her life."

Lady Dalcastle got plenty of time to read, and pray, and meditate; 
but she was at a great loss for one to dispute with about religious 
tenets; for she found that, without this advantage, about which 
there was a perfect rage at that time, the reading and learning of 
Scripture texts, and sentences of intricate doctrine, availed her 
naught; so she was often driven to sit at her casement and look 
out for the approach of the heathenish Laird of Dalcastle.

That hero, after a considerable lapse of time, at length made his 
appearance. Matters were not hard to adjust; for his lady found 
that there was no refuge for her in her father's house; and so, after 
some sighs and tears, she accompanied her husband home. For all 
that had passed, things went on no better. She WOULD convert 
the laird in spite of his teeth: the laird would not be converted. 
She WOULD have the laird to say family prayers, both morning 
and evening: the laird would neither pray morning nor evening. 
He would not even sing psalms, and kneel beside her while she 
performed the exercise; neither would he converse at all times, 
and in all places, about the sacred mysteries of religion, although 
his lady took occasion to contradict flatly every assertion that he 
made, in order that she might spiritualize him by drawing him 
into argument.

The laird kept his temper a long while, but at length his patience 
wore out; he cut her short in all her futile attempts at 
spiritualization, and mocked at her wire-drawn degrees of faith, 
hope, and repentance. He also dared to doubt of the great 
standard doctrine of absolute predestination, which put the crown 
on the lady's Christian resentment. She declared her helpmate to 
be a limb of Antichrist, and one with whom no regenerated 
person could associate. She therefore bespoke a separate 
establishment, and, before the expiry of the first six months, the 
arrangements of the separation were amicably adjusted. The 
upper, or third, story of the old mansion-house was awarded to 
the lady for her residence. She had a separate door, a separate 
stair, a separate garden, and walks that in no instance intersected 
the laird's; so that one would have thought the separation 
complete. They had each their own parties, selected from their 
own sort of people; and, though the laird never once chafed 
himself about the lady's companies, it was not long before she 
began to intermeddle about some of his.

"Who is that fat bouncing dame that visits the laird so often, and 
always by herself?" said she to her maid Martha one day.

"Oh dear, mem, how can I ken? We're banished frae our 
acquaintances here, as weel as frae the sweet gospel ordinances."

"Find me out who that jolly dame is, Martha. You, who hold 
communion with the household of this ungodly man, can be at no 
loss to attain this information. I observe that she always casts her 
eye up toward our windows, both in coming and going; and I 
suspect that she seldom departs from the house emptyhanded."

That same evening Martha came with the information that this 
august visitor was a Miss Logan, an old an intimate acquaintance 
of the laird's, and a very worthy respectable lady, of good 
connections, whose parents had lost their patrimony in the civil 
wars.

"Ha! very well!" said the lady; "very well, Martha! But, 
nevertheless, go thou and watch this respectable lady's motions 
and behaviour the next time she comes to visit the laird--and the 
next after that. You will not, I see, lack opportunities."

Martha's information turned out of that nature that prayers were 
said in the uppermost story of Dalcastle house against the 
Canaanitish woman, every night and every morning; and great 
discontent prevailed there, even to anathemas and tears. Letter 
after letter was dispatched to Glasgow; and at length, to the lady's 
great consolation, the Rev. Mr. Wringhim arrived safely and 
devoutly in her elevated sanctuary. Marvellous was the 
conversation between these gifted people. Wringhim had held in 
his doctrines that there were eight different kinds of FAITH, all 
perfectly distinct in their operations and effects. But the lady, in 
her secluded state, had discovered another five, making twelve 
[sic] in all: the adjusting of the existence or fallacy of these five 
faiths served for a most enlightened discussion of nearly 
seventeen hours; in the course of which the two got warm in their 
arguments, always in proportion as they receded from nature, 
utility, and common sense. Wringhim at length got into unwonted 
fervour about some disputed point between one of these faiths 
and TRUST: when the lady, fearing that zeal was getting beyond 
its wonted barrier, broke in on his vehement asseverations with 
the following abrupt discomfiture: "But, Sir, as long as I 
remember, what is to be done with this case of open and avowed 
iniquity?"

The minister was struck dumb. He leaned him back on his chair, 
stroked his beard, hemmed--considered, and hemmed again, and 
then said. in an altered and softened tone: "Why, that is a 
secondary consideration; you mean the case between your 
husband and Miss Logan?"

"The same, Sir. I am scandalized at such intimacies going on 
under my nose. The sufferance of it is a great and crying evil."

"Evil, madam, may be either operative, or passive. To them it is 
an evil, but to us none. We have no more to do with the sins of 
the wicked and unconverted here than with those of an infidel 
Turk; for all earthly bonds and fellowships are absorbed and
swallowed up in the holy community of the Reformed Church. 
However, if it is your wish, I shall take him to task, and 
reprimand and humble him in such a manner that he shall be 
ashamed of his doings, and renounce such deeds for ever, out of 
mere self-respect, though all unsanctified the heart, as well as the 
deed, may be. To the wicked, all things are wicked; but to the 
just, all things are just and right."

"Ah, that is a sweet and comfortable saying, Mr. Wringhim! How 
delightful to think that a justified person can do no wrong! Who 
would not envy the liberty wherewith we are made free? Go to 
my husband, that poor unfortunate, blindfolded person, and open 
his eyes to his degenerate and sinful state; for well are you fitted 
to the task."

"Yea, I will go in unto him, and confound him. I will lay the 
strong holds of sin and Satan as flat before my face as the dung 
that is spread out to fatten the land."

"Master, there's a gentleman at the fore-door wants a private. 
word o' ye."

"Tell him I'm engaged: I can't see any gentleman to-night. But I 
shall attend on him to-morrow as soon as he pleases."

"'He's coming straight in, Sir. Stop a wee bit, Sir, my master is 
engaged. He cannot see you at present, Sir."

"Stand aside, thou Moabite! My mission admits of no delay. I 
come to save him from the jaws of destruction!"

"An that be the case, Sir, it maks a wide difference; an', as the 
danger may threaten us a', I fancy I may as weel let ye gang by as 
fight wi' ye, sin' ye seem sae intent on 't.--The man says he's 
comin' to save ye, an' canna stop, Sir. Here he is."

The laird was going to break out into a volley of wrath against 
Waters, his servant; but, before he got a word pronounced, the 
Rev. Mr. Wringhim had stepped inside the room, and Waters had 
retired, shutting the door behind him.

No introduction could be more mal-a-propos: it was impossible; 
for at that very moment the laird and Arabella Logan were both 
sitting on one seat, and both looking on one book, when the door 
opened. "What is it, Sir?" said the laird fiercely.

"A message of the greatest importance, Sir," said the divine, 
striding unceremoniously up to the chimney, turning his back to 
the fire, and his face to the culprits. "I think you should know me, 
Sir?" continued he, looking displeasedly at the laird, with his face 
half turned round.

"I think I should," returned the laird. "You are a Mr. How's--tey--
ca'--him, of Glasgow, who did me the worst turn ever I got done 
to me in my life. You gentry are always ready to do a man such a 
turn. Pray, Sir, did you ever do a good job for anyone to 
counterbalance that? For, if you have not, you ought to be--"

"Hold, Sir, I say! None of your profanity before me. If I do evil to 
anyone on such occasions, it is because he will have it so; 
therefore, the evil is not of my doing. I ask you, Sir, before God 
and this witness, I ask you, have you kept solemnly and inviolate 
the vows which I laid upon you that day? Answer me!"

"Has the partner whom you bound me to kept hers inviolate? 
Answer me that, Sir! None can better do so than you, Mr. How's--
tey--ca'--you."

"So, then, you confess your backslidings, and avow the 
profligacy of your life. And this person here is, I suppose, the 
partner of your iniquity--she whose beauty hath caused you to 
err! Stand up, both of you, till I rebuke you, and show you what 
you are in the eyes of God and man."

"In the first place, stand you still there, till I tell you what you are 
in the eyes of God and man. You are, Sir, a presumptuous, self-
conceited pedagogue, a stirrer up of strife and commotion in 
church, in state, in families, and communities. You are one, Sir, 
whose righteousness consists in splitting the doctrines of Calvin 
into thousands of undistinguishable films, and in setting up a 
system of justifying-grace against all breaches of all laws, moral 
or divine. In short, Sir, you are a mildew--a canker-worm
in the bosom of the Reformed Church, generating a disease of 
which she will never be purged, but by the shedding of blood. Go 
thou in peace, and do these abominations no more; but humble 
thyself, lest a worse reproof come upon thee."

Wringhim heard all this without flinching. He now and then 
twisted his mouth in disdain, treasuring up, meantime, his 
vengeance against the two aggressors; for he felt that he had them 
on the hip, and resolved to pour out his vengeance and 
indignation upon them. Sorry am I that the shackles of modern 
decorum restrain me from penning that famous rebuke; fragments 
of which have been attributed to every divine of old notoriety 
throughout Scotland. But 1 have it by heart; and a glorious morsel 
it is to put into the hands of certain incendiaries. The metaphors 
are so strong and so appalling that Miss Logan could only stand 
them a very short time; she was obliged to withdraw in confusion. 
The laird stood his ground with much ado, though his face was 
often crimsoned over with the hues of shame and anger. Several 
times he was on the point of turning the officious sycophant to 
the door; but good manners, and an inherent respect that lie 
entertained for the clergy, as the immediate servants of the 
Supreme Being, restrained him.

Wringhim, perceiving these symptoms of resentment, took them 
for marks of shame and contrition, and pushed his reproaches 
farther than ever divine ventured to do in a similar case. When he 
had finished, to prevent further discussion, he walked slowly and 
majestically out of the apartment, making his robes to swing 
behind him in a most magisterial manner; he being, without 
doubt, elated with his high conquest. He went to the upper story, 
and related to his metaphysical associate his wonderful success; 
how he had driven the dame from the house in tears and deep 
confusion, and left the backsliding laird in such a quandary of 
shame and repentance that he could neither articulate a word nor 
lift up his countenance. The dame thanked him most cordially, 
lauding his friendly zeal and powerful eloquence; and then the 
two again set keenly to the splitting of hairs, and making 
distinctions in religion where none existed.

They being both children of adoption, and secured from falling 
into snares, or anyway under the power of the wicked one, it was 
their custom, on each visit, to sit up a night in the same 
apartment, for the sake of sweet spiritual converse; but that time, 
in the course of the night, they differed so materially on a small 
point somewhere between justification and final election that the 
minister, in the heat of his zeal, sprung from his seat, paced the 
floor, and maintained his point with such ardour that Martha was 
alarmed, and, thinking they were going to fight, and that the 
minister would be a hard match for her mistress, she put on some 
clothes, and twice left her bed and stood listening at the back of 
the door, ready to burst in should need require it. Should anyone 
think this picture over-strained, I can assure him that it is taken 
from nature and from truth; but I will not likewise aver that the 
theologist was neither crazed nor inebriated. If the listener's 
words were to be relied on, there was no love, no accommodating 
principle manifested between the two, but a fiery burning zeal, 
relating to points of such minor importance that a true Christian 
would blush to hear them mentioned, and the infidel and profane 
make a handle of them to turn our religion to scorn.

Great was the dame's exultation at the triumph of her beloved 
pastor over her sinful neighbours in the lower parts of the house; 
and she boasted of it to Martha in high-sounding terms. But it 
was of short duration; for, in five weeks after that, Arabella 
Logan came to reside with the laird as his housekeeper, sitting at 
his table and carrying the keys as mistress-substitute of the 
mansion. The lady's grief and indignation were now raised to a 
higher pitch than ever; and she set every agent to work, with 
whom she had any power, to effect a separation between these 
two suspected ones. Remonstrance was of no avail: George 
laughed at them who tried such a course, and retained his
housekeeper, while the lady gave herself up to utter despair; for, 
though she would not consort with her husband herself, she could 
not endure that any other should do so.

But, to countervail this grievous offence, our saintly and afflicted 
dame, in due time, was safely delivered of a fine boy whom the 
laird acknowledged as his son and heir, and had him christened 
by his own name, and nursed in his own premises. He gave the 
nurse permission to take the boy to his mother's presence if ever 
she should desire to see him; but, strange as it may appear, she 
never once desired to see him from the day that he was born. The 
boy grew up, and was a healthful and happy child; and, in the 
course of another year, the lady presented him with a brother. A 
brother he certainly was, in the eye of the law, and it is more than 
probable that he was his brother in reality. But the laird thought 
otherwise; and, though he knew and acknowledged that he was 
obliged to support and provide for him, he refused to 
acknowledge him in other respects. He neither would 
countenance the banquet nor take the baptismal vows on him in 
the child's name; of course, the poor boy had to live and remain 
an alien from the visible church for a year and a day; at which 
time, Mr. Wringhim out of pity and kindness, took the lady 
herself as sponsor for the boy, and baptized him by the name of 
Robert Wringhim--that being the noted divine's own name.

George was brought up with his father, and educated partly at the 
parish school, and partly at home, by a tutor hired for the 
purpose. He was a generous and kind-hearted youth; always 
ready to oblige, and hardly ever dissatisfied with anybody. Robert 
was brought up with Mr. Wringhim, the laird paying a certain 
allowance for him yearly; and there the boy was early inured to 
all the sternness and severity of his pastor's arbitrary and 
unyielding creed. He was taught to pray twice every day, and 
seven times on Sabbath days; but he was only to pray for the 
elect, and, like Devil of old, doom all that were aliens from God 
to destruction. He had never, in that family into which he had 
been as it were adopted, heard aught but evil spoken of his 
reputed father and brother; consequently he held them in utter 
abhorrence, and prayed against them every day, often "that the 
old hoary sinner might be cut off in the full flush of his iniquity, 
and be carried quick into hell; and that the young stem of the 
corrupt trunk might also be taken from a world that he disgraced, 
but that his sins might be pardoned, because he knew no better."

Such were the tenets in which it would appear young Robert was 
bred. He was an acute boy, an excellent learner, had ardent and 
ungovernable passions, and, withal, a sternness of demeanour 
from which other boys shrunk. He was the best grammarian, the 
best reader, writer, and accountant in the various classes that he 
attended, and was fond of writing essays on controverted points 
of theology, for which he got prizes, and great praise from his 
guardian and mother. George was much behind him in scholastic 
acquirements, but greatly his superior in personal prowess, form, 
feature, and all that constitutes gentility in the deportment and 
appearance. The laird had often manifested to Miss Logan an 
earnest wish that the two young men should never meet, or at all 
events that they should be as little conversant as possible; and 
Miss Logan, who was as much attached to George as if he had 
been her own son, took every precaution, while he was a boy, that 
he should never meet with his brother; but, as they advanced 
towards manhood, this became impracticable. The lady was 
removed from her apartments in her husband's house to Glasgow, 
to her great content; and all to prevent the young laird being 
tainted with the company of her and her second son; for the laird 
had felt the effects of the principles they professed, and dreaded 
them more than persecution, fire, and sword. During all the 
dreadful times that had overpast, though the laird had been a 
moderate man, he had still leaned to the side of kingly 
prerogative, and had escaped confiscation and fines, without ever 
taking any active hand in suppressing the Covenanters. But, after 
experiencing a specimen of their tenets and manner in his wife, 
from a secret favourer of them and their doctrines, he grew 
alarmed at the prevalence of such stern and factious principles, 
now that there was no check or restraint upon them; and from that 
time he began to set himself against them, joining with the 
Cavalier party of that day in all their proceedings.

It so happened that, under the influence of the Earls of Seafield 
and Tullibardine, he was returned for a Member of Parliament in 
the famous session that sat at Edinburgh when the Duke of 
Queensberry was commissioner, and in which party spirit ran to 
such an extremity. The young laird went with his father to the 
court, and remained in town all the time that the session lasted; 
and, as all interested people of both factions flocked to the town 
at that period, so the important Mr. Wringhim was there among 
the rest, during the greater part of the time, blowing the coal of 
revolutionary principles with all his might, in every society to 
which he could obtain admission. He was a great favourite with 
some of the west country gentlemen of that faction, by reason of 
his unbending impudence. No opposition could for a moment 
cause him either to blush, or retract one item that he had 
advanced. Therefore the Duke of Argyle and his friends made 
such use of him as sportsmen often do of terriers, to start the 
game, and make a great yelping noise to let them know whither 
the chase is proceeding. They often did this out of sport, in order 
to tease their opponent; for of all pesterers that ever fastened on 
man he was the most insufferable: knowing that his coat 
protected him from manual chastisement, he spared no acrimony, 
and delighted in the chagrin and anger of those with whom he 
contended. But he was sometimes likewise of real use to the 
heads of the Presbyterian faction, and therefore was admitted to 
their tables, and of course conceived himself a very great man.

His ward accompanied him; and, very shortly after their arrival in 
Edinburgh, Robert, for the first time, met with the young laird his 
brother, in a match at tennis. The prowess and agility of the 
young squire drew forth the loudest plaudits of approval from his 
associates, and his own exertion alone carried the game every 
time on the one side, and that so far as all I along to count three 
for their one. The hero's name soon ran round the circle, and 
when his brother Robert, who was an onlooker, learned who it 
was that was gaining so much applause, he came and stood close 
beside him all the time that the game lasted, always now and then 
putting in a cutting remark by way of mockery.

George could not help perceiving him, not only on account of his 
impertinent remarks, but he, moreover, stood so near him that he 
several times impeded him in his rapid evolutions, and of course 
got himself shoved aside in no very ceremonious way. Instead of 
making him keep his distance, these rude shocks and pushes, 
accompanied sometimes with hasty curses, only made him cling 
the closer to this king of the game. He seemed determined to 
maintain his right to his place as an onlooker, as well as any of 
those engaged in the game, and, if they had tried him at an 
argument, he would have carried his point; or perhaps he wished 
to quarrel with this spark of his jealousy and aversion, and draw 
the attention of the gay crowd to himself by these means; for, like 
his guardian, he knew no other pleasure but what consisted in 
opposition. George took him for some impertinent student of 
divinity, rather set upon a joke than anything else. He perceived a 
lad with black clothes, and a methodistical face, whose 
countenance and eye he disliked exceedingly, several times in his 
way, and that was all the notice he took of him the first time they 
two met. But the next day, and every succeeding one, the same 
devilish-looking youth attended him as constantly as his shadow; 
was always in his way as with intention to impede him and ever 
and anon his deep and malignant eye met those of his elder 
brother with a glance so fierce that it sometimes startled him.

The very next time that George was engaged at tennis, he had
not struck the ball above twice till the same intrusive being was 
again in his way. The party played for considerable stakes that 
day, namely, a dinner and wine at the Black Bull tavern; and 
George, as the hero and head of his party, was much interested in 
its honour; consequently the sight of this moody and 
hellish-looking student affected him in no very pleasant manner. 
"Pray Sir, be so good as keep without the range of the ball", said 
he.

"Is there any law or enactment that can compel me to do so?" said 
the other, biting his lip with scorn.

"If there is not, they are here that shall compel you," returned 
George. "so, friend, I rede you to be on your guard."

As he said this, a flush of anger glowed in his handsome face and 
flashed from his sparkling blue eye; but it was a stranger to both, 
and momently took its departure. The black-coated youth set up 
his cap before, brought his heavy brows over his deep dark eyes, 
put his hands in the pockets of his black plush breeches, and 
stepped a little farther into the semicircle, immediately on his 
brother's right hand, than he had ever ventured to do before. 
There he set himself firm on his legs, and, with a face as demure 
as death, seemed determined to keep his ground. He pretended to 
he following the ball with his eyes; but every moment they were 
glancing aside at George. One of the competitors chanced to say 
rashly, in the moment of exultation, "That's a d--d fine blow, 
George!" On which the intruder took up the word, as 
characteristic of the competitors, and repeated it every stroke that 
was given, making such a ludicrous use of it that several of the 
onlookers were compelled to laugh immoderately; but the players 
were terribly nettled at it, as he really contrived, by dint of sliding 
in some canonical terms, to render the competitors and their game 
ridiculous.

But matters at length came to a crisis that put them beyond sport. 
George, in flying backward to gain the point at which the ball 
was going to light, came inadvertently so rudely in contact with 
this obstreperous interloper that lie not only overthrew him, but 
also got a grievous fall over his legs; and, as he arose, the other 
made a spurn at him with his foot, which, if it had hit to its aim, 
would undoubtedly have finished the course of the young laird of 
Dalcastle and Balgrennan. George, being irritated beyond 
measure, as may well be conceived, especially at the deadly 
stroke aimed at him, struck the assailant with his racket, rather 
slightly, but so that his mouth and nose gushed out blood; and, at 
the same time, he said, turning to his cronies: "Does any of you 
know who the infernal puppy is?"

"Do you know, Sir?" said one of the onlookers, a stranger, "the 
gentleman is your own brother, Sir--Mr. Robert Wringhim 
Colwan!"

"No, not Colwan, Sir," said Robert, putting his hands in his 
pockets, and setting himself still farther forward than before, "not 
a Colwan, Sir; henceforth I disclaim the name."

"No, certainly not," repeated George. "My mother's son you may. 
be--but not a Colwan! There you are right." Then, turning around 
to his informer, he said: "Mercy be about us, Sir! Is this the crazy 
minister's son from Glasgow?"

This question was put in the irritation of the moment, but it was 
too rude, and far too out of place, and no one deigned any answer 
to it. He felt the reproof, and felt it deeply; seeming anxious for 
some opportunity to make an acknowledgment, or some 
reparation.

In the meantime, young Wringhim was an object to all of the
uttermost disgust. The blood flowing from his mouth and nose
he took no pains to stem, neither did he so much as wipe it away;
so that it spread over all his cheeks, and breast, even off at his
toes. In that state did he take up his station in the middle of the
competitors; and he did not now keep his place, but ran about,
impeding everyone who attempted to make at the ball. They
loaded him with execrations, but it availed nothing; he seemed
courting persecution and buffetings, keeping steadfastly to his
old joke of damnation, and marring the game so completely
that, in spite of every effort on the part of the players, he forced 
them to stop their game and give it up. He was such a 
rueful-looking object, covered with blood, that none of them had 
the heart to kick him, although it appeared the only thing he 
wanted; and, as for George, he said not another word to him, 
either in anger or reproof.

When the game was fairly given up, and the party were washing 
their hands in the stone fount, some of them besought Robert 
Wringhim to wash himself; but he mocked at them, and said he 
was much better as he was. George, at length, came forward 
abashedly towards him, and said: "I have been greatly to blame, 
Robert, and am very sorry for what I have done. But, in the first 
instance, I erred through ignorance, not knowing you were my 
brother, which you certainly are; and, in the second, through a 
momentary irritation, for which I am ashamed. I pray you, 
therefore, to pardon me, and give me your hand."

As he said this, he held out his hand towards his polluted brother; 
but the froward predestinarian took not his from his breeches 
pocket, but lifting his foot, he gave his brother's hand a kick. 'I'll 
give you what will suit such a hand better than mine" said he, 
with a sneer. And then, turning lightly about, he added: Are there 
to be no more of these d---d fine blows, gentlemen? For shame, to 
give up such a profitable and edifying game!"

"This is too bad," said George. "But, since it is thus, I have the 
less to regret." And, having made this general remark, he took no 
more note of the uncouth aggressor. But the persecution of the 
latter terminated not on the play-ground: he ranked up among 
them, bloody and disgusting as he was, and, keeping close by his 
brother's side, he marched along with the party all the way to the 
Black Bull. Before they got there, a great number of boys and idle 
people had surrounded them, hooting and incommoding them 
exceedingly, so that they were glad to get into the inn; and the 
unaccountable monster actually tried to get in alongst with them, 
to make one of the party at dinner. But the innkeeper and his 
men, getting the hint, by force prevented him from entering, 
although he attempted it again and again, both by telling lies and 
offering a bribe. Finding he could not prevail, he set to exciting 
the mob at the door to acts of violence; in which he had like to 
have succeeded. The landlord had no other shift, at last, but to 
send privately for two officers, and have him carried to the guard-
house; and the hilarity and joy of the party of young gentlemen, 
for the evening, was quite spoiled by the inauspicious termination 
of their game.

The Rev. Robert Wringhim was now to send for, to release his 
beloved ward. The messenger found him at table, with a number 
of the leaders of the Whig faction, the Marquis of Annandale 
being in the chair; and, the prisoner's note being produced, 
Wringhim read it aloud, accompanying it with some explanatory 
remarks. The circumstances of the case being thus magnified and 
distorted, it excited the utmost abhorrence, both of the deed and 
the perpetrators, among the assembled faction. They declaimed 
against the act as an unnatural attempt on the character, and even 
the life, of an unfortunate brother, who had been expelled from 
his father's house. And, as party spirit was the order of the day, an 
attempt was made to lay the burden of it to that account. In short, 
the young culprit got some of the best blood of the land to enter 
as his securities, and was set at liberty. But, when Wringhim 
perceived the plight that he was in, he took him, as he was, and 
presented him to his honourable patrons. This raised the 
indignation against the young laird and his associates a thousand-
fold, which actually roused the party to temporary madness. They 
were, perhaps, a little excited by the wine and spirits they had 
swallowed; else a casual quarrel between two young men, at 
tennis, could not have driven them to such extremes. But certain 
it is that, from one at first arising to address the party on the 
atrocity of the offence, both in a moral and political point of 
view, on a sudden there were six on their feet, at the same time, 
expatiating on it; and, in a very short time thereafter, everyone in 
the room was up talking with the utmost vociferation, all on the 
same subject, and all taking the same side in the debate.

In the midst of this confusion, someone or other issued from the 
house, which was at the back of the Canongate, calling out: "A 
plot, a plot! Treason, treason! Down with the bloody incendiaries 
at the Black Bull!"

The concourse of people that were assembled in Edinburgh at that 
time was prodigious; and, as they were all actuated by political 
motives, they wanted only a ready-blown coal to set the mountain 
on fire. The evening being fine, and the streets thronged, the cry 
ran from mouth to mouth through the whole city. More than that, 
the mob that had of late been gathered to the door of the Black 
Bull had, by degrees, dispersed; but, they being young men, and 
idle vagrants, they had only spread themselves over the rest of the 
street to lounge in search of further amusement: consequently, a 
word was sufficient to send them back to their late rendezvous, 
where they had previously witnessed something they did not 
much approve of.

The master of the tavern was astonished at seeing the mob again 
assembling; and that with such hurry and noise. But, his inmates 
being all of the highest respectability, he judged himself sure of 
protection, or at least of indemnity. He had two large parties in 
his house at the time; the largest of which was of the 
Revolutionist faction. The other consisted of our young 
Tennis-players, and their associates, who were all of the Jacobite 
order; or, at all events, leaned to the Episcopal side. The largest 
party were in a front room; and the attack of the mob fell first on 
their windows, though rather with fear and caution. Jingle went 
one pane; then a loud hurrah; and that again was followed by a 
number of voices, endeavouring to restrain the indignation from 
venting itself in destroying the windows, and to turn it on the 
inmates. The Whigs, calling the landlord, inquired what the 
assault meant: he cunningly answered that he suspected it was 
some of the youths of the Cavalier, or High-Church party, 
exciting the mob against them. The party consisted mostly of 
young gentlemen, by that time in a key to engage in any row; 
and, at all events, to suffer nothing from the other party, against 
whom their passions were mightily inflamed.

The landlord, therefore, had no sooner given them the spirit-
rousing intelligence than everyone, as by instinct, swore his own
natural oath, and grasped his own natural weapon. A few of those
of the highest rank were armed with swords, which they boldly
drew; those of the subordinate orders immediately flew to such
weapons as the room, kitchen, and scullery afforded--such as
tongs, pokers, spits, racks, and shovels; and breathing vengeance
on the prelatic party, the children of Antichrist and the heirs of
d-n-t-n! the barterers of the liberties of their country, and
betrayers of the most sacred trust--thus elevated, and thus armed,
in the cause of right, justice, and liberty, our heroes rushed to the
street, and attacked the mob with such violence that they broke
the mass in a moment, and dispersed their thousands like chaff
before the wind. The other party of young Jacobites, who sat in
a room farther from the front, and were those against whom the
fury of the mob was meant to have been directed, knew nothing
of this second uproar, till the noise of the sally made by the
Whigs assailed their ears; being then informed that the mob had
attacked the house on account of the treatment they themselves
had given to a young gentleman of the adverse faction, and that
another jovial party had issued from the house in their defence,
and was now engaged in an unequal combat, the sparks likewise
flew, to the field to back their defenders with all their prowess,
without troubling their heads about who they were.

A mob is like a spring tide in an eastern storm, that retires only to 
return with more overwhelming fury. The crowd was taken by 
surprise when such a strong and well-armed party issued from the 
house with so great fury, laying all prostrate that came in their 
way. Those who were next to the door, and were, of course, 
the first whom the imminent danger assailed, rushed backwards 
among the crowd with their whole force. The Black Bull standing 
in a small square half-way between the High Street and the 
Cowgate, and the entrance to it being by two closes, into these the 
pressure outwards was simultaneous, and thousands were moved 
to an involuntary flight, they knew not why.

But the High Street of Edinburgh, which they soon reached, is a 
dangerous place in which to make an open attack upon a mob. 
And it appears that the entrances to the tavern had been 
somewhere near to the Cross, on the south side of the street; for 
the crowd fled with great expedition, both to the cast and west, 
and the conquerors, separating themselves as chance directed, 
pursued impetuously, wounding and maiming as they flew. But 
it so chanced that, before either of the wings had followed the 
flying squadrons of their enemies for the space of a hundred 
yards each way, the devil an enemy they had to pursue! the 
multitude had vanished like so many thousands of phantoms! 
What could our heroes do? Why, they faced about to return 
towards their citadel, the Black Bull. But that feat was not so 
easily, nor so readily accomplished as they divined. The 
unnumbered alleys on each side of the street had swallowed up 
the multitude in a few seconds; but from these they were busy 
reconnoitring; and  perceiving the deficiency in the number of 
their assailants, the rush from both sides of the street was as 
rapid, and as wonderful, as the disappearance of the crowd had 
been a few minutes before. Each close vomited out its levies, and 
these better armed with missiles than when they sought it for a 
temporary retreat. Woe then to our two columns of victorious 
Whigs! The mob actually closed around them as they would have 
swallowed them up; and, in the meanwhile, shower after shower 
of the most abominable weapons of offence were rained in upon 
them. If the gentlemen were irritated before, this inflamed them 
still further; but their danger was now so apparent they could not 
shut their eyes on it; therefore, both parties, as if actuated by the 
same spirit, made a desperate effort to join, and the greater part 
effected it; but some were knocked down, and others were 
separated from their friends, and blithe to become silent members 
of the mob.

The battle now raged immediately in front of the closes leading to 
the Black Bull; the small body of Whig gentlemen was hardly 
bested, and it is likely would have been overcome and trampled 
down every man, had they not been then and there joined by the 
young Cavaliers; who, fresh to arms, broke from the wynd, 
opened the head of the passage, laid about them manfully, and 
thus kept up the spirits of the exasperated Whigs, who were the 
men in fact that wrought the most deray among the populace.

The town-guard was now on the alert; and two companies of the 
Cameronian Regiment, with the Hon. Captain Douglas, rushed 
down from the Castle to the scene of action; but, for all the noise 
and hubbub that these caused in the street, the combat had 
become so close and inveterate that numbers of both sides were 
taken prisoners fighting hand to hand, and could scarcely be 
separated when the guardsmen and soldiers had them by the 
necks.

Great was the alarm and confusion that night in Edinburgh; for 
everyone concluded that it was a party scuffle, and, the two 
parties being so equal in power, the most serious consequences 
were anticipated. The agitation was so prevailing that every party 
in town, great and small, was broken up; and the lord-
commissioner thought proper to go to the Council Chamber 
himself, even at that late hour, accompanied by the sheriffs of 
Edinburgh and Linlithgow, with sundry noblemen besides, in 
order to learn something of the origin of the affray.

For a long time the court was completely puzzled. Every 
gentleman brought in exclaimed against the treatment he had 
received, in most bitter terms, blaming a mob set on him and his
friends by the adverse party, and matters looked extremely ill 
until at length they began to perceive that they were examining 
gentlemen of both parties, and that they had been doing so from 
the beginning, almost alternately, so equally had the prisoners 
been taken from both parties. Finally, it turned out that a few 
gentlemen, two-thirds of whom were strenuous Whigs 
themselves, had joined in mauling the whole Whig population of 
Edinburgh. The investigation disclosed nothing the effect of 
which was not ludicrous; and the Duke of Queensberry, whose 
aim was at that time to conciliate the two factions, tried all that he 
could to turn the whole fracas into a joke--an unlucky frolic, 
where no ill was meant on either side, and which yet had been 
productive of a great deal.

The greater part of the people went home satisfied; but not so
the Rev. Robert Wringhim. He did all that he could to inflame
both judges and populace against the young Cavaliers, especially
against the young Laird of Dalcastle, whom he represented as an
incendiary, set on by an unnatural parent to slander his mother,
and make away with a hapless and only brother; and, in truth,
that declaimer against all human merit had that sort of powerful,
homely, and bitter eloquence which seldom missed affecting his
hearers: the consequence at that time was that he made the 
unfortunate affair between the two brothers appear in extremely
bad colours, and the populace retired to their homes impressed
with no very favourable opinion of either the Laird of Dalcastle
or his son George, neither of whom were there present to speak
for themselves.

As for Wringhim himself, he went home to his lodgings, filled 
with gall and with spite against the young laird, whom he was 
made to believe the aggressor, and that intentionally. But most of 
all he was filled with indignation against the father, whom he 
held in abhorrence at all times, and blamed solely for this 
unmannerly attack made on his favourite ward, namesake, and 
adopted son; and for the public imputation of a crime to his own 
reverence in calling the lad his son, and thus charging him with a 
sin against which he was well known to have levelled all the 
arrows of church censure with unsparing might.

But, filled as his heart was with some portion of these bad 
feelings, to which all flesh is subject, he kept, nevertheless, the 
fear of the Lord always before his eyes so far as never to omit any 
of the external duties of religion, and farther than that man hath 
no power to pry. He lodged with the family of a Mr. Miller, 
whose lady was originally from Glasgow, and had been a hearer 
and, of course. a great admirer of Mr. Wringhim. In that family 
he made public worship every evening; and that night, in his 
petitions at a throne of grace, he prayed for so many vials of 
wrath to be poured on the head of some particular sinner that the 
hearers trembled, and stopped their ears. But that he might not 
proceed with so violent a measure, amounting to 
excommunication, without due scripture warrant, he began the 
exercise of the evening by singing the following verses, which it 
is a pity should ever have been admitted into a Christian 
psalmody, being so adverse to all its mild and benevolent 
principles:


Set thou the wicked over him,
And upon his right hand
Give thou his greatest enemy,
Even Satan, leave to stand.

And, when by thee he shall be judged, 
Let him remembered be;
And let his prayer be turned to sin 
When he shall call on thee.

Few be his days; and in his room 
His charge another take;
His children let be fatherless;
His wife a widow make:

Let God his father's wickedness
Still to remembrance call;
And never let his mother's sin
Be blotted out at all.

As he in cursing pleasure took 
So let it to him fall;
As he delighted not to bless,
So bless him not at all.

As cursing he like clothes put on,
Into his bowels so,
Like water, and into his bones 
Like oil, down let it go.


Young Wringhim only knew the full purport of this spiritual 
song; and went to his bed better satisfied than ever that his father 
and brother were castaways, reprobates, aliens from the Church 
and the true faith, and cursed in time and eternity.

The next day George and his companions met as usual--all who 
were not seriously wounded of them. But, as they strolled about 
the city, the rancorous eye and the finger of scorn was pointed 
against them. None of them was at first aware of the reason; but it 
threw a damp over their spirits and enjoyments, which they could 
not master. They went to take a forenoon game at their old play 
of tennis, not on a match, but by way of improving themselves; 
but they had not well taken their places till young Wringhim 
appeared in his old station, at his brother's right hand, with looks 
more demure and determined than ever. His lips were primmed 
so close that his mouth was hardly discernible, and his dark deep 
eye flashed gleams of holy indignation on the godless set, but 
particularly on his brother. His presence acted as a mildew on all 
social intercourse or enjoyment; the game was marred, and ended 
ere ever it was well begun. There were whisperings apart--the 
party separated, and, in order to shake off the blighting influence 
of this dogged persecutor, they entered sundry houses of their 
acquaintances, with an understanding that they were to meet on 
the Links for a game at cricket.

They did so; and, stripping off part of their clothes, they began 
that violent and spirited game. They had not played five minutes 
till Wringhim was stalking in the midst of them, and totally 
impeding the play. A cry arose from all corners of: "Oh, this will 
never do. Kick him out of the play-ground! Knock down the 
scoundrel; or bind him, and let him lie in peace."

"By no means," cried George. "It is evident he wants nothing 
else. Pray do not humour him so much as to touch him with either 
foot or finger." Then, turning to a friend, he said in a whisper: 
"Speak to him, Gordon; he surely will not refuse to let us have 
the ground to ourselves, if you request it of him."

Gordon went up to him, and requested of him, civilly, but 
ardently, "to retire to a certain distance, else none of them could 
or would be answerable, however sore he might be hurt."

He turned disdainfully on his heel, uttered a kind of pulpit hem! 
and then added, "I will take my chance of that; hurt me, any of 
you, at your peril."

The young gentlemen smiled, through spite and disdain of the 
dogged animal. Gordon followed him up, and tried to remonstrate 
with him; but he let him know that "it was his pleasure to be there 
at that time; and, unless he could demonstrate to him what 
superior right he and his party had to that ground, in preference to 
him, and to the exclusion of all others, he was determined to 
assert his right, and the rights of his fellow-citizens, by keeping 
possession of whatsoever part of that common field he chose."

"You are no gentleman, Sir," said Gordon.

"Are you one, Sir?" said the other.

"Yes, Sir. I will let you know that I am, by G--!"

"Then, thanks be to Him whose name you have profaned, I am 
none, If one of the party be a gentleman, I do hope in God am 
not!"

It was now apparent to them all that he was courting obloquy and 
manual chastisement from their hands, if  by any means he could 
provoke them to the deed; and, apprehensive that he had some 
sinister and deep-laid design in hunting after such a singular 
favour, they wisely restrained one another from inflicting the
punishment that each of them yearned to bestow, personally, and 
which he so well deserved.

But the unpopularity of the younger George Colwan could no 
longer be concealed from his associates. It was manifested 
wherever the populace were assembled; and his young and 
intimate friend, Adam Gordon, was obliged to warn him of the 
circumstance that he might not be surprised at the gentlemen of 
their acquaintance withdrawing themselves from his society, as 
they could not be seen with him without being insulted. George 
thanked him; and it was agreed between them that the former 
should keep himself retired during the daytime while he remained 
in Edinburgh, and that at night they should meet together, along 
with such of their companions as were disengaged.

George found it every day more and more necessary to adhere to 
this system of seclusion; for it was not alone the hisses of the 
boys and populace that pursued him--a fiend of more malignant 
aspect was ever at his elbow, in the form of his brother. To 
whatever place of amusement he betook himself, and however 
well he concealed his intentions of going there from all flesh 
living, there was his brother Wringhim also, and always within a 
few yards of him, generally about the same distance, and ever and 
anon darting looks at him that chilled his very soul. They were 
looks that cannot be described; but they were felt piercing to the 
bosom's deepest core. They affected even the onlookers in a very 
particular manner, for all whose eyes caught a glimpse of these 
hideous glances followed them to the object towards which they 
were darted: the gentlemanly and mild demeanour of that object 
generally calmed their startled apprehensions; for no one ever yet 
noted the glances of the young man's eye, in the black coat, at the 
face of his brother, who did not at first manifest strong symptoms 
of alarm.

George became utterly confounded; not only at the import of this 
persecution, but how in the world it came to pass that this 
unaccountable being knew all his motions, and every intention of 
his heart, as it were intuitively. On consulting his own previous 
feelings. and resolutions, he found that the circumstances of his 
going to such and such a place were often the most casual 
incidents in nature--the caprice of a moment had carried him there, 
and yet he had never sat or stood many minutes till there was the 
selfsame being, always in the same position with regard to 
himself, as regularly as the shadow is cast from the substance, or 
the ray of light from the opposing denser medium.

For instance, he remembered one day of setting out with the 
intention of going to attend divine worship in the High Church, 
and when, within a short space of its door, he was overtaken by 
young Kilpatrick of Closeburn, who was bound to the Grey-Friars 
to see his sweetheart, as he said: "and if you will go with me, 
Colwan," said he, "I will let you see her too, and then you will be 
just as far forward as I am."

George assented at once, and went; and, after taking his seat, he 
leaned his head forwards on the pew to repeat over to himself a 
short ejaculatory prayer, as had always been his custom on 
entering the house of God. When he had done, he lifted his eye 
naturally towards that point on his right hand where the fierce 
apparition of his brother had been wont to meet his view: there he 
was, in the same habit, form, demeanour, and precise point of 
distance, as usual! George again laid down his head, and his mind 
was so astounded that he had nearly fallen into a swoon. He tried 
shortly after to muster up courage to look at the speaker, at the 
congregation, and at Captain Kilpatrick's sweetheart in particular; 
but the fiendish glances of the young man in the black clothes 
were too appalling to be withstood--his eye caught them whether 
he was looking that way or not: at length his courage was fairly 
mastered, and he was obliged to look down during the remainder 
of the service.

By night or by day it was the same. In the gallery of the 
Parliament House, in the boxes of the play-house, in the church, 
in the assembly, in the streets, suburbs, and the fields; and every 
day, and every hour, from the first rencounter of the two, the 
attendance became more and more constant, more inexplicable, 
and altogether more alarming and insufferable, until at last 
George was fairly driven from society, and forced to spend his 
days in his and his father's lodgings with closed doors. Even 
there, he was constantly harassed with the idea that, the next time 
he lifted his eyes, he would to a certainty see that face, the most 
repulsive to all his feelings of aught the earth contained. The 
attendance of that brother was now become like the attendance of 
a demon on some devoted being that had sold himself to 
destruction; his approaches as undiscerned, and his looks as 
fraught with hideous malignity. It was seldom that he saw him 
either following him in the streets, or entering any house or 
church after him; he only appeared in his place, George wist not 
how, or whence; and, having sped so ill in his first friendly 
approaches, he had never spoken to his equivocal attendant a 
second time.

It came at length into George's head, as he was pondering, by 
himself, on the circumstances of this extraordinary attendance, 
that perhaps his brother had relented, and, though of so sullen and 
unaccommodating a temper that he would not acknowledge it, or 
beg a reconciliation, it might be for that very purpose that he 
followed his steps night and day in that extraordinary manner. "I 
cannot for my life see for what other purpose it can be," thought 
he. "He never offers to attempt my life; nor dares he, if he had the 
inclination; therefore, although his manner is peculiarly repulsive 
to me, I shall not have my mind burdened with the reflection that 
my own mother's son yearned for a reconciliation with me and 
was repulsed by my haughty and insolent behaviour. The next 
time he comes to my hand, I am resolved that I will accost him as 
one brother ought to address another, whatever it may cost me; 
and, if I am still flouted with disdain, then shall the blame rest 
with him."

After this generous resolution, it was a good while before his 
gratuitous attendant appeared at his side again; and George began 
to think that his visits were discontinued. The hope was a relief 
that could not be calculated; but still George had a feeling that it 
was too supreme to last. His enemy had been too pertinacious to 
abandon his design, whatever it was. He, however, began to 
indulge in a little more liberty, and for several days he enjoyed it 
with impunity.

George was, from infancy, of a stirring active disposition and 
could not endure confinement; and, having been of late much 
restrained in his youthful exercises by this singular persecutor, he 
grew uneasy under such restraint, and, one morning, chancing to 
awaken very early, he arose to make an excursion to the top of 
Arthur's Seat, to breathe the breeze of the dawning, and see the 
sun arise out of the eastern ocean. The morning was calm and 
serene; and as he walked down the south back of the Canongate, 
towards the Palace, the haze was so close around him that he 
could not see the houses on the opposite side of the way. As he 
passed the Lord-Commissioner's house, the guards were in 
attendance, who cautioned him not to go by the Palace, as all the 
gates would be shut and guarded for an hour to come, on which 
he went by the back of St. Anthony's gardens, and found his way 
into that little romantic glade adjoining to the saint's chapel and 
well. He was still involved in a blue haze, like a dense smoke, 
but yet in the midst of it the respiration was the most refreshing 
and delicious. The grass and the flowers were loaden with dew; 
and, on taking off his hat to wipe his forehead, he perceived that 
the black glossy fur of which his chaperon was wrought was all 
covered with a tissue of the most delicate silver--a fairy web, 
composed of little spheres, so minute that no eye could discern 
any of them; yet there they were shining in lovely millions. 
Afraid of defacing so beautiful and so delicate a garnish, he 
replaced his hat with the greatest caution, and went on his way 
light of heart.

As he approached the swire at the head of the dell--that little 
delightful verge from which in one moment the eastern limits and 
shores of Lothian arise on the view--as he approached it, I say, 
and a little space from the height, he beheld, to his astonishment, 
a bright halo in the cloud of haze, that rose in a semicircle over 
his head like a pale rainbow. He was struck motionless at the 
view of the lovely vision; for it so chanced that he had never seen 
the same appearance before, though common at early morn. But 
he soon perceived the cause of the phenomenon, and that it 
proceeded from the rays of the sun from a pure unclouded 
morning sky striking upon this dense vapour which refracted 
them. But, the better all the works of nature are understood, the 
more they will be ever admired. That was a scene that would 
have entranced the man of science with delight, but which the 
uninitiated and sordid man would have regarded less than the 
mole rearing up his hill in silence and in darkness.

George did admire this halo of glory, which still grew wider, and 
less defined, as he approached the surface, of the cloud. But, to 
his utter amazement and supreme delight, he found, on reaching 
the top of Arthur's Seat, that this sublunary rainbow, this 
terrestrial glory, was spread in its most vivid hues beneath his 
feet. Still he could not perceive the body of the sun, although the 
light behind him was dazzling; but the cloud of haze lying dense 
in that deep dell that separates the hill from the rocks of 
Salisbury, and the dull shadow of the hill mingling with that 
cloud made the dell a pit of darkness. On that shadowy cloud was 
the lovely rainbow formed, spreading itself on a horizontal plain, 
and having a slight and brilliant shade of all the colours of the 
heavenly bow, but all of them paler and less defined. But this 
terrestrial phenomenon of the early morn cannot be better 
delineated than by the name given of it by the shepherd boys, 
"The little wee ghost of the rainbow."

Such was the description of the morning, and the wild shades of 
the hill, that George gave to his father and Mr. Adam Gordon that 
same day on which he had witnessed them; and it is necessary 
that the reader should comprehend something of their nature to 
understand what follows.

He seated himself on the pinnacle of the rocky precipice, a little 
within the top of the hill to the westward, and, with a light and 
buoyant heart, viewed the beauties of the morning, and inhaled its 
salubrious breeze. "Here," thought he, "I can converse with nature 
without disturbance, and without being intruded on by any 
appalling or obnoxious visitor." The idea of his brother's dark and 
malevolent looks coming at that moment across his mind, he 
turned his eyes instinctively to the right, to the point where that 
unwelcome guest was wont to make his appearance. Gracious 
Heaven! What an apparition was there presented to his view! He 
saw, delineated in the cloud, the shoulders, arms, and features of 
a human being of the most dreadful aspect. The face was the face 
of his brother, but dilated to twenty times the natural size. Its dark 
eyes gleamed on him through the mist, while every furrow of its 
hideous brow frowned deep as the ravines on the brow of the hill. 
George started, and his hair stood up in bristles as he gazed on 
this horrible monster. He saw every feature and every line of the 
face distinctly as it gazed on him with an intensity that was hardly 
brookable. Its eyes were fixed on him, in the same manner as 
those of some carnivorous animal fixed on its prey; and yet there 
was fear and trembling in these unearthly features, as plainly 
depicted as murderous malice. The giant apparition seemed 
sometimes to be cowering down as in terror, so that nothing but 
his brow and eyes were seen; still these never turned one moment 
from their object--again it rose imperceptively up, and began to 
approach with great caution; and, as it neared, the dimensions of 
its form lessened, still continuing, however, far above the natural 
size.

George conceived it to be a spirit. He could conceive it to be 
nothing else; and he took it for some horrid demon by which he 
was haunted, that had assumed the features of his brother in
every lineament, but, in taking on itself the human form, had 
miscalculated dreadfully on the size, and presented itself thus to 
him in a blown-up, dilated frame of embodied air, exhaled from 
the caverns of death or the regions of devouring fire. He was 
further confirmed in the belief that it was a malignant spirit on 
perceiving that it approached him across the front of a precipice, 
where there was not footing for thing of mortal frame. still, what 
with terror and astonishment, he continued riveted to the spot, till 
it approached, as he deemed, to within two yards of him; and 
then, perceiving that it was setting itself to make a violent spring 
on him, he started to his feet and fled distractedly in the opposite 
direction, keeping his eye cast behind him lest he had been seized 
in that dangerous place. But the very first bolt that he made in his 
flight he came in contact with a real body of flesh and blood, and 
that with such violence that both went down among some 
scragged rocks, and George rolled over the other. The being 
called out "Murder"; and, rising, fled precipitately. George then 
perceived that it was his brother; and being confounded between 
the shadow and the substance, he knew not what he was doing or 
what he had done; and, there being only one natural way of 
retreat from the brink of the rock, he likewise arose and pursued 
the affrighted culprit with all his speed towards the top of the hill. 
Wringhim was braying out, "Murder! murder!" at which George, 
being disgusted, and his spirits all in a ferment from some hurried 
idea of intended harm, the moment he came up with the craven he 
seized him rudely by the shoulder, and clapped his hand on his 
mouth. "Murder, you beast!" said he; "what do you mean by 
roaring out murder in that way? Who the devil is murdering you, 
or offering to murder you?"

Wringhim forced his mouth from under his brother's hand, and 
roared with redoubled energy: "Eh! Egh! Murder! murder!" etc. 
George had felt resolute to put down this shocking alarm, lest 
someone might hear it and fly to the spot, or draw inferences 
widely different from the truth; and, perceiving the terror of this 
elect youth to be so great that expostulation was vain, he seized 
him by the mouth and nose with his left hand so strenuously that 
he sank his fingers into his cheeks. But, the poltroon still 
attempting to bray out, George gave him such a stunning blow 
with his fist on the left temple that he crumbled, as it were, to the 
ground, but more from the effects of terror than those of the blow. 
His nose, however, again gushed out blood, a system of defence 
which seemed as natural to him as that resorted to by the race of 
stinkards. He then raised himself on his knees and hams, and 
raising up his ghastly face, while the blood streamed over both 
ears, he besought his life of his brother, in the most abject 
whining manner, gaping and blubbering most piteously.

"Tell me then, Sir," said George, resolved to make the most of the 
wretch's terror--"tell me for what purpose it is that you
haunt my steps? Tell me plainly, and instantly, else I will throw
you from the verge of that precipice."

"Oh, I will never do it again! I will never do it again! Spare my 
life, dear, good brother! Spare my life! Sure I never did you any 
hurt."

"Swear to me, then, by the God that made you, that you will 
never henceforth follow after me to torment me with your hellish 
threatening looks; swear that you will never again come into my 
presence without being invited. Will you take an oath to this 
effect?"

"Oh yes! I will, I will!"

"But this is not all: you must tell me for what purpose you sought 
me out here this morning?"

"Oh, brother! For nothing but your good. I had nothing at heart 
but your unspeakable profit, and great and endless good."

"So, then, you indeed knew that I was here?"

"I was told so by a friend, but I did not believe him; a--a--at least 
I did not know that it was true till I saw you."

"Tell me this one thing, then, Robert, and all shall he forgotten 
and forgiven. Who was that friend?"

"You do not know him."

"How then does he know me?"

"I cannot tell."

"Was he here present with you to-day?"

"Yes; he was not far distant. He came to this hill with me."

"Where then is he now?"

"I cannot tell."

"Then, wretch, confess that the devil was that friend who told you 
I was here, and who came here with you. None else could 
possibly know of my being here."

"Ah! how little you know of him! Would you argue that there is 
neither man nor spirit endowed with so much foresight as to 
deduce natural conclusions from previous actions and incidents 
but the devil? Alas, brother! But why should I wonder at such 
abandoned notions and principles? It was fore-ordained that you 
should cherish them, and that they should be the ruin of your soul 
and body, before the world was framed. Be assured of this, 
however, that I had no aim of seeking you but your good!"

"Well, Robert, I will believe it. I am disposed to be hasty and 
passionate: it is a fault in my nature; but I never meant, or wished 
you evil; and God is my witness that I would as soon stretch out 
my hand to my own life, or my father's, as to yours." At these 
words, Wringhim uttered a hollow exulting laugh, put his hands 
in his pockets, and withdrew a space to his accustomed distance. 
George continued: "And now, once for all, I request that we may 
exchange forgiveness, and that we may part and remain friends."

"Would such a thing be expedient, think you? Or consistent with 
the glory of God? I doubt it."

"I can think of nothing that would be more so. Is it not consistent 
with every precept of the Gospel? Come, brother, say that our 
reconciliation is complete."

"Oh yes, certainly!. I tell you, brother, according to the flesh: it is 
just as complete as the lark's is with the adder, no more so, nor 
ever can. Reconciled, forsooth! To what would I be reconciled?"

As he said this, he strode indignantly away. From the moment 
that he heard his life was safe, he assumed his former insolence 
and revengeful looks--and never were they more dreadful than on 
parting with his brother that morning on the top of the hill. "Well, 
go thy way," said George; "some would despise, but I pity thee. If 
thou art not a limb of Satan, I never saw one."

The sun had now dispelled the vapours; and, the morning being 
lovely beyond description, George sat himself down on the top of 
the hill, and pondered deeply on the unaccountable incident that 
had befallen to him that morning. He could in no-wise 
comprehend it; but, taking it with other previous circumstances, 
he could not get quit of a conviction that he was haunted by some 
evil genius in the shape of his brother, as well as by that dark and 
mysterious wretch himself. In no other way could he account for 
the apparition he saw that morning on the face of the rock, nor for 
several sudden appearances of the same being, in places where 
there was no possibility of any foreknowledge that he himself 
was to be there, and as little that the same being, if he were flesh 
and blood like other men, could always start up in the same 
position with regard to him. He determined, therefore, on 
reaching home, to relate all that had happened, from beginning to 
end, to his father, asking his counsel and his assistance, although 
he knew full well that his father was not the fittest man in the 
world to solve such a problem. He was now involved in party 
politics, over head and ears; and, moreover, he could never hear 
the names of either of the Wringhims mentioned without getting 
into a quandary of disgust and anger; and all that he would deign 
to say of them was, to call them by all the opprobrious names he 
could invent.

It turned out as the young man from the first suggested: old 
Dalcastle would listen to nothing concerning them with any
patience. George complained that his brother harassed him with 
his presence at all times, and in all places. Old Dal asked why he 
did not kick the dog out of his presence whenever he felt him 
disagreeable? George said he seemed to have some demon for a 
familiar. Dal answered that he did not wonder a bit at that, for the 
young spark was the third in a direct line who had all been 
children of adultery; and it was well known that all such were 
born half-deils themselves, and nothing was more likely than that 
they should hold intercourse with their fellows. In the same style 
did he sympathize with all his son's late sufferings and 
perplexities.

In Mr. Adam Gordon, however, George found a friend who 
entered into all his feelings, and had seen and known everything 
about the matter. He tried to convince him that at all events there 
could be nothing supernatural in the circumstances; and that the 
vision he had seen on the rock, among the thick mist, was the 
shadow of his brother approaching behind him. George could not 
swallow this, for he had seen his own shadow on the cloud, and, 
instead of approaching to aught like his own figure, he perceived 
nothing but a halo of glory round a point of the cloud that was 
whither and purer than the rest. Gordon said, if he would go with 
him to a mountain of his father's, which he named, in 
Aberdeenshire, he would show him a giant spirit of the same 
dimensions, any morning at the rising of the sun, provided he 
shone on that spot. This statement excited George's curiosity 
exceedingly; and, being disgusted with some things about 
Edinburgh, and glad to get out of the way, he consented to go 
with Gordon to the Highlands for a space. The day was 
accordingly set for their departure, the old laird's assent obtained, 
and the two young sparks parted in a state of great impatience for 
their excursion.

One of them found out another engagement, however, the instant 
after this last was determined on. Young Wringhim went off the 
hill that morning, and home to his upright guardian again without 
washing the blood from his face and neck; and there he told a 
most woeful story indeed: how he had gone out to take a 
morning's walk on the hill, where he had encountered with his 
reprobate brother among the mist, who had knocked him down 
and very near murdered him; threatening dreadfully, and with 
horrid oaths, to throw him from the top of the cliff.

The wrath of the great divine was kindled beyond measure. He 
cursed the aggressor in the name of the Most High; and bound 
himself, by an oath, to cause that wicked one's transgressions 
return upon his own head sevenfold. But, before he engaged 
further in the business of vengeance, he kneeled with his adopted 
son, and committed the whole cause unto the Lord, whom he 
addressed as one coming breathing burning coals of juniper, and 
casting his lightnings before him, to destroy and root out all who 
had moved hand or tongue against the children of the promise. 
Thus did he arise confirmed, and go forth to certain conquest.

We cannot enter into the detail of the events that now occurred 
without forestalling a part of the narrative of one who knew all 
the circumstances--was deeply interested in them, and whose 
relation is of higher value than anything that can be retailed out of 
the stores of tradition and old registers; but, his narrative being 
different from these, it was judged expedient to give the account 
as thus publicly handed down to us. Suffice it that, before 
evening, George was apprehended, and lodged in jail, on a 
criminal charge of an assault and battery, to the shedding of 
blood, with the intent of committing fratricide. Then was the old 
laird in great consternation, and blamed himself for treating the 
thing so lightly, which seemed to have been gone about, from the 
beginning, so systematically, and with an intent which the villains 
were now going to realize, namely, to get the young laird 
disposed of; and then his brother, in spite of the old gentleman's 
teeth, would be laird himself.

Old Dal now set his whole interest to work among the noblemen 
and lawyers of his party. His son's case looked exceedingly ill, 
owing to the former assault before witnesses. and the unbecoming
expressions made use of by him on that occasion, as well as from 
the present assault, which George did not deny, and for which no 
moving cause or motive could be made to appear.

On his first declaration before the sheriff, matters looked no 
better: but then the sheriff was a Whig. It is well known how 
differently the people of the present day, in Scotland, view the 
cases of their own party-men and those of opposite political 
principles. But this day is nothing to that in such matters, 
although, God knows, they are still sometimes barefaced enough. 
It appeared, from all the witnesses in the first case, that the 
complainant was the first aggressor--that he refused to stand out 
of the way, though apprised of his danger; and, when his brother 
came against him inadvertently, he had aimed a blow at him with 
his foot, which, if it had taken effect, would have killed him. But 
as to the story of the apparition in fair day-light--the flying from 
the face of it--the running foul of his brother pursuing him, and 
knocking him down, why the judge smiled at the relation, and 
saying: "It was a very extraordinary story," he remanded George 
to prison, leaving the matter to the High Court of Justiciary.

When the case came before that court, matters took a different 
turn. The constant and sullen attendance of the one brother upon 
the other excited suspicions; and these were in some manner 
confirmed when the guards at Queensberry House deported that 
the prisoner went by them on his way to the hill that morning, 
about twenty minutes before the complainant, and, when the 
latter passed, he asked if such a young man had passed before 
him, describing the prisoner's appearance to them; and that, on 
being answered in the affirmative, he mended his pace and fell a-
running.

The Lord Justice, on hearing this, asked the prisoner if he had any 
suspicions that his brother had a design on his life.

He answered that all along, from the time of their first 
unfortunate meeting, his brother had dogged his steps so 
constantly, and so unaccountably, that he was convinced it was 
with some intent out of the ordinary course of events; and that if, 
as his lordship supposed, it was indeed his shadow that he had 
seen approaching him through the mist, then, from the cowering 
and cautious manner that it advanced, there was no little doubt 
that his brother's design had been to push him headlong from the 
cliff that morning.

A conversation then took place between the judge and the Lord 
Advocate; and, in the meantime, a bustle was seen in the hall; on 
which the doors were ordered to be guarded, and, behold, the 
precious Mr. R. Wringhim was taken into custody, trying to make 
his escape out of court. Finally it turned out that George was 
honourably acquitted, and young Wringhim bound over to keep 
the peace, with heavy penalties and securities.

That was a day of high exultation to George and his youthful 
associates, all of whom abhorred Wringhim; and, the evening 
being spent in great glee, it was agreed between Mr. Adam 
Gordon and George that their visit to the Highlands, though thus 
long delayed, was not to be abandoned; and though they had, 
through the machinations of an incendiary, lost the season of 
delight, they would still find plenty of sport in deer-shooting. 
Accordingly, the day was set a second time for their departure; 
and, on the day preceding that, all the party were invited by 
George to dine with him once more at the sign of the Black Bull 
of Norway. Everyone promised to attend, anticipating nothing but 
festivity and joy. Alas, what short-sighted improvident creatures 
we are, all of us; and how often does the evening cup of joy lead 
to sorrow in the morning!

The day arrived--the party of young noblemen and gentlemen 
met, and were as happy and jovial as men could be. George was 
never seen so brilliant, or so full of spirits; and exulting to see so 
many gallant young chiefs and gentlemen about him, who all 
gloried in the same principles of loyalty (perhaps this word 
should have been written disloyalty), he made speeches, gave 
toasts, and sung songs, all leaning slyly to the same side, until a 
very late hour. By that time he had pushed the bottle so long and 
so freely that its fumes had taken possession of every brain to 
such a degree that they held Dame Reason rather at the staff's 
end, overbearing all her counsels and expostulations; and it was 
imprudently proposed by a wild inebriated spark, and carried by a 
majority of voices, that the whole party should adjourn to a 
bagnio for the remainder of the night.

They did so; and it appears from what follows that the house,
to which they retired must have been somewhere on the opposite
side of the street to the Black Bull Inn, a little farther to the
eastward. They had not been an hour in that house till some
altercation chanced to arise between George Colwan and a Mr.
Drummond, the younger son of a nobleman of distinction. It
was perfectly casual, and no one thenceforward, to this day,
could ever tell what it was about, if it was not about the 
misunderstanding of some word or term that the one had uttered.
However it was, some high words passed between them; these
were followed by threats, and, in less than two minutes from the
commencement of the quarrel, Drummond left the house in
apparent displeasure, hinting to the other that they two should
settle that in a more convenient place.

The company looked at one another, for all was over before any 
of them knew such a thing was begun. "What the devil is the 
matter?" cried one. "What ails Drummond?" cried another. "Who 
has he quarrelled with?" asked a third.

"Don't know."--"Can't tell, on my life."--"He has quarrelled with 
his wine, I suppose, and is going to send it a challenge."

Such were the questions, and such the answers that passed in the 
jovial party, and the matter was no more thought of.

But in the course of a very short space, about the length which the 
ideas of the company were the next day at great variance, a sharp 
rap came to the door. it was opened by a female; but, there being 
a chain inside, she only saw one side of the person at the door. He 
appeared to be a young gentleman, in appearance like him who 
had lately left the house, and asked, in a low whispering voice, "if 
young Dalcastle was still in the house?" The woman did not 
know. "If he is," added he, "pray tell him to speak with me for a 
few minutes." The woman delivered the message before all the 
party, among whom there were then sundry courteous ladies of 
notable distinction, and George, on receiving it, instantly rose 
from the side of one of them, and said, in the hearing of them all, 
'I will bet a hundred merks that is Drummond."--"Don't go to 
quarrel with him, George," said one.--"Bring him in with you," 
said another. George stepped out; the door was again bolted, the 
chain drawn across, and the inadvertent party, left within, thought 
no more of the circumstance till the morning, that the report had 
spread over the city that a young gentleman had been slain, on a 
little washing-green at the side of the North Loch, and at the very 
bottom of the close where this thoughtless party had been 
assembled.

Several of them, on first hearing the report, basted to the dead-
room in the Guard-house, where the corpse had been deposited,
and soon discovered the body to be that of their friend and late
entertainer, George Colwan. Great were the consternation and
grief of all concerned, and, in particular, of his old father and
Miss Logan; for George had always been the sole hope and
darling of both, and the news of the event paralysed them so as
to render them incapable of all thought or exertion. The spirit
of the old laird was broken by the blow, and he descended at
once from a jolly, good-natured and active man to a mere
driveller, weeping over the body of his son, kissing his wound,
his lips, and his cold brow alternately; denouncing vengeance on
his murderers, and lamenting that he himself had not met the
cruel doom, so that the hope of his race might have been 
preserved. In short, finding that all further motive of action and
object of concern or of love, here below, were for ever removed
from him, he abandoned himself to despair, and threatened to go 
down to the grave with his son.

But, although he made no attempt to discover the murderers, the 
arm of justice was not idle; and, it being evident to all that the 
crime must infallibly be brought home to young Drummond, 
some of his friends sought him out, and compelled him, sorely 
against his will, to retire into concealment till the issue of the 
proof that should be led was made known. At the same time, he 
denied all knowledge of the incident with a resolution that 
astonished his intimate friends and relations, who to a man 
suspected him guilty. His father was not in Scotland, for I think it 
was said to me that this young man was second son to a John, 
Duke of Melfort, who lived abroad with the royal family of the 
Stuarts; but this young gentleman lived with the relations of his 
mother, one of whom, an uncle, was a Lord of Session: these, 
having thoroughly effected his concealment, went away, and 
listened to the evidence; and the examination of every new 
witness convinced them that their noble young relative was the 
slayer of his friend.

All the young gentlemen of the party were examined, save 
Drummond, who, when sent for, could not be found, which 
circumstance sorely confirmed the suspicions against him in the 
minds of judges and jurors, friends and enemies; and there is little 
doubt that the care of his relations in concealing him injured his 
character and his cause. The young gentlemen of whom the party 
was composed varied considerably with respect to the quarrel 
between him and the deceased. Some of them had neither heard 
nor noted it; others had, but not one of them could tell how it 
began. Some of them had heard the threat uttered by Drummond 
on leaving the house, and one only had noted him lay his hand on 
his sword. Not one of them could swear that it was Drummond 
who came to the door and desired to speak with the deceased, but 
the general impression on the minds of them all was to that effect; 
and one of the women swore that she heard the voice distinctly at 
the door, and every word that voice pronounced, and at the same 
time heard the deceased say that it was Drummond's.

On the other hand, there were some evidences on Drummond's 
part, which Lord Craigie, his uncle, had taken care to collect. He 
produced the sword which his nephew had worn that night, on 
which there was neither blood nor blemish; and, above all, he 
insisted on the evidence of a number of surgeons, who declared 
that both the wounds which the deceased had received had been 
given behind. One of these was below the left arm, and a slight 
one; the other was quite through the body, and both evidently 
inflicted with the same weapon, a two-edged sword, of the same 
dimensions as that worn by Drummond.

Upon the whole, there was a division in the court, but a
majority decided it. Drummond was pronounced guilty of the
murder; outlawed for not appearing, and a high reward offered
for his apprehension. It was with the greatest difficulty that he
escaped on board of a small trading vessel, which landed him in
Holland, and from thence, flying into Germany, he entered into
the service of the Emperor Charles VI. Many regretted that he
was not taken, and made to suffer the penalty due for such a
crime, and the melancholy incident became a pulpit theme over
a great part of Scotland, being held up as a proper warning to
youth to beware of such haunts of vice and depravity, the nurses
of all that is precipitate, immoral, and base, among mankind.

After the funeral of this promising and excellent young man, his 
father never more held up his head. Miss Logan, with all her art, 
could not get him to attend to any worldly thing, or to make any 
settlement whatsoever of his affairs, save making her over a 
present of what disposable funds he had about him. As to his 
estates, when they were mentioned to him, he wished them all in 
the bottom of the sea, and himself along with them. But, 
whenever she mentioned the circumstance of Thomas Drummond 
having been the murderer of his son, he shook his head, and once 
made the remark that "It was all a mistake, a gross and fatal error; 
but that God, who had permitted such a flagrant deed, would 
bring it to light in his own time and way." In a few weeks he 
followed his son to the grave, and the notorious Robert Wringhim 
took possession of his estates as the lawful son of the late laird, 
born in wedlock, and under his father's roof. The investiture was 
celebrated by prayer, singing of psalms, and religious disputation. 
The late guardian and adopted father, and the mother of the new 
laird, presided on the grand occasion, making a conspicuous 
figure in all the work of the day; and, though the youth himself 
indulged rather more freely in the bottle than he had ever been 
seen to do before, it was agreed by all present that there had never 
been a festivity so sanctified within the great hall of Dalcastle. 
Then, after due thanks returned, they parted rejoicing in spirit; 
which thanks, by the by, consisted wholly in telling the Almighty 
what he was; and informing, with very particular precision, what 
they were who addressed him; for Wringhim's whole system of 
popular declamation consisted, it seems, in this--to denounce all 
men and women to destruction, and then hold out hopes to his 
adherents that they were the chosen few, included in the 
promises, and who could never fall away. It would appear that 
this pharisaical doctrine is a very delicious one, and the most 
grateful of all others to the worst characters.

But the ways of heaven are altogether inscrutable, and soar as far 
above and beyond the works and the comprehensions of man as 
the sun, flaming in majesty, is above the tiny boy's evening 
rocket. It is the controller of Nature alone that can bring light out 
of darkness, and order out of confusion. Who is he that causeth 
the mole, from his secret path of darkness, to throw up the gem, 
the gold, and the precious ore? The same that from the mouths of 
babes and sucklings can extract the perfection of praise, and who 
can make the most abject of his creatures instrumental in bringing 
the most hidden truths to light.

Miss Logan had never lost the thought of her late master's 
prediction that Heaven would bring to light the truth concerning 
the untimely death of his son. She perceived that some strange 
conviction, too horrible for expression, preyed on his mind from 
the moment that the fatal news reached him to the last of his 
existence; and, in his last ravings, he uttered some incoherent 
words about justification by faith alone and absolute and eternal 
predestination having been the ruin of his house. These, to be 
sure, were the words of superannuation, and of the last and 
severest kind of it; but, for all that, they sunk deep into Miss 
Logan's soul, and at last she began to think with herself: "Is it 
possible the Wringhims, and the sophisticating wretch who is in 
conjunction with them, the mother of my late beautiful and 
amiable young master, can have effected his destruction? If so, I 
will spend my days, and my little patrimony, in endeavours to 
rake up and expose the unnatural deed."

In all her outgoings and incomings Mrs. Logan (as she was now 
styled) never lost sight of this one object. Every new 
disappointment only whetted her desire to fish up some 
particulars, concerning it; for she thought so long and so ardently 
upon it that by degrees it became settled in her mind as a sealed 
truth. And, as woman is always most jealous of her own sex in 
such matters, her suspicions were fixed on her greatest enemy, 
Mrs. Colwan, now the Lady Dowager of Dalcastle. All was wrapt 
in a chaos of confusion and darkness; but at last, by dint of a 
thousand sly and secret inquiries, Mrs. Logan found out where 
Lady Dalcastle had been on the night that the murder happened, 
and likewise what company she had kept, as well as some of the 
comers and goers; and she had hopes of having discovered a clue, 
which, if she could keep hold of the thread, would lead her 
through darkness to the light of truth.

Returning very late one evening from a convocation of family 
servants, which she had drawn together in order to fish something 
out of them, her maid having been in attendance on her all the 
evening, they found, on going home, that the house had been 
broken and a number of valuable articles stolen therefrom. Mrs. 
Logan had grown quite heartless before this stroke, having been 
altogether unsuccessful in her inquiries, and now she began to 
entertain some resolutions of giving up the fruitless search.

In a few days thereafter, she received intelligence that her clothes 
and plate were mostly recovered, and that she for one was bound 
over to prosecute the depredator, provided the articles turned out 
to be hers, as libelled in the indictment, and as a king's evidence 
had given out. She was likewise summoned, or requested, I know 
not which, being ignorant of these matters, to go as far as the 
town of Peebles in Tweedside, in order to survey these articles on 
such a day, and make affidavit to their identity before the Sheriff 
She went accordingly; but, on entering the town by the North 
Gate, she was accosted by a poor girl in tattered apparel, who 
with great earnestness inquired if her name was not Mrs. Logan? 
On being answered in the affirmative, she said that the 
unfortunate prisoner in the Tolbooth requested her, as she valued 
all that was dear to her in life, to go and see her before she 
appeared in court at the hour of cause, as she (the prisoner) had 
something of the greatest moment to impart to her. Mrs. Logan's 
curiosity was excited, and she followed the girl straight to the 
Tolbooth, who by the way said to her that she would find in the 
prisoner a woman of superior mind, who had gone through all the 
vicissitudes of life. "She has been very unfortunate, and I fear 
very wicked," added the poor thing, "but she is my mother, and 
God knows, with all her faults and failings, she has never been 
unkind to me. You, madam, have it in your power to save her; but 
she has wronged you, and therefore, if you will not do it for her 
sake, do it for mine, and the God of the fatherless will reward 
you."

Mrs. Logan answered her with a cast of the head, and a hem! and 
only remarked, that "the guilty must not always be suffered to 
escape, or what a world must we be doomed to live in!"

She was admitted to the prison, and found a tall emaciated figure, 
who appeared to have once possessed a sort of masculine beauty 
in no ordinary degree, but was now considerably advanced in 
years. She viewed Mrs. Logan with a stem, steady gaze, as if 
reading her features as a margin to her intellect; and when she 
addressed her it was not with that humility, and agonized fervour, 
which are natural for one in such circumstances to address to 
another who has the power of her life and death in her hands.

"I am deeply indebted to you for this timely visit, Mrs. Logan," 
said she. "It is not that I value life, or because I fear death, that I 
have sent for you so expressly. But the manner of the death that 
awaits me has something peculiarly revolting in it to a female 
mind. Good God! when I think of being hung up, a spectacle to a 
gazing, gaping multitude, with numbers of which I have had 
intimacies and connections, that would render the moment of 
parting so hideous, that, believe me, it rends to flinders a soul 
born for another sphere than that in which it has moved, had not 
the vile selfishness of a lordly fiend ruined all my prospects and 
all my hopes. Hear me then; for I do not ask your pity: I only ask 
of you to look to yourself, and behave with womanly prudence, if 
you deny this day that these goods are yours, there is no other 
evidence whatever against my life, and it is safe for the present. 
For, as for the word of the wretch who has betrayed me, it is of 
no avail; he has prevaricated so notoriously to save himself. If 
you deny them, you shall have them all again to the value of a 
mite, and more to the bargain. If you swear to the identity of 
them, the process will, one way and another, cost you the half of 
what they are worth."

"And what security have I for that?" said Mrs. Logan.

"You have none but my word," said the other proudly, "and that 
never yet was violated. If you cannot take that, 1 know the worst 
you can do. But I had forgot--I have a poor helpless child 
without, waiting and starving about the prison door. Surely it was 
of her that I wished to speak. This shameful death of mine will 
leave her in a deplorable state."

"The girl seems to have candour and strong affections," said Mrs. 
Logan. "I grievously mistake if such a child would not be a 
thousand times better without such a guardian and director."

"Then will you be so kind as to come to the Grass Market and see 
me put down?" said the prisoner. "I thought a woman would 
estimate a woman's and a mother's feelings, when such a dreadful 
throw was at stake, at least in part. But you are callous, and have 
never known any feelings but those of subordination to your old 
unnatural master. Alas, I have no cause of offence! I have 
wronged you; and justice must take its course. Will you forgive 
me before we part?"

Mrs. Logan hesitated, for her mind ran on something else. On 
which the other subjoined: "No, you will not forgive me, I see. 
But you will pray to God to forgive me? I know you will do that."

Mrs. Logan heard not this jeer, but, looking at the prisoner with 
an absent and stupid stare, she said: "Did you know my late 
master?"

"Ay, that I did, and never for any good," said she. "I knew the 
old and the young spark both, and was by when the latter was 
slain."

This careless sentence affected Mrs. Logan in a most peculiar 
manner. A shower of tears burst from her eyes ere it was done, 
and, when it was, she appeared like one bereaved of her mind. 
She first turned one way and then another, as if looking for 
something she had dropped. She seemed to think she had lost her 
eyes, instead of her tears, and at length, as by instinct, she tottered 
close up to the prisoner's face, and, looking wistfully and joyfully 
in it, said, with breathless earnestness: "Pray, mistress, what is 
your name?"

 "My name is Arabella Calvert," said the other. "Miss, mistress, 
or widow, as you choose, for I have been all the three, and that 
not once nor twice only. Ay, and something beyond all these. 
But, as for you, you have never been anything!"

"Ay, ay! and so you are Bell Calvert? Well, I thought so--I 
thought so," said Mrs. Logan; and, helping herself to a seat, she 
came and sat down dose by the prisoner's knee. "So you are 
indeed Bell Calvert, so called once. Well, of all the world you are 
the woman whom I have longed and travailed the most to see. 
But you were invisible; a being to be heard of, not seen."

"There have been days, madam," returned she, "when I was to be 
seen, and when there were few to be seen like me. But since that 
time there have indeed been days on which I was not to be seen. 
My crimes have been great, but my sufferings have been greater. 
So great that neither you nor the world can ever either know or 
conceive them. I hope they will be taken into account by the Most 
High. Mine have been crimes of utter desperation. But whom am 
I speaking to? You had better leave me to myself, mistress."

"Leave you to yourself? That I will be loth to do till you tell me 
where you were that night my young master was murdered."

"Where the devil would, I was! Will that suffice you? Ah, it was 
a vile action! A night to be remembered that was! Won't you be 
going? I want to trust my daughter with a commission."

"No, Mrs. Calvert, you and I part not till you have divulged that 
mystery to me."

"You must accompany me to the other world, then, for you shall 
not have it in this."

"If you refuse to answer me, I can have you before a tribunal, 
where you shall be sifted to the soul."

"Such miserable inanity! What care I for your threatenings of a 
tribunal? I who must soon stand before my last earthly one? What 
could the word of such a culprit avail? Or, if it could, where is the 
judge that could enforce it?"

"Did you not say that there was some mode of accommodating 
matters on that score?"

"Yes, I prayed you to grant me my life, which is in your power. 
The saving of it would not have cost you a plack, yet you refused 
to do it. The taking of it will cost you a great deal, and yet to that 
purpose you adhere. I can have no parley with such a spirit. I 
would not have my life in a present from its motions, nor would I 
exchange courtesies with its possessor."

"Indeed, Mrs. Calvert, since ever we met, I have been so busy 
thinking about who you might be that I know not what you have 
been proposing. I believe I meant to do what I could to save you 
But, once for all, tell me everything that you know concerning 
that amiable young gentleman's death, and here is my band there 
shall be nothing wanting that I can effect for you."

"No I despise all barter with such mean and selfish curiosity; and, 
as I believe that passion is stronger with you, than fear with me, 
we part on equal terms. Do your worst; and my secret shall go to 
the gallows and the grave with me."

Mrs. Logan was now greatly confounded, and after proffering in 
vain to concede everything she could ask in exchange, for the 
particulars relating to the murder, she became the suppliant in her 
turn. But the unaccountable culprit, exulting in her advantage. 
laughed her to scorn; and finally, in a paroxysm of pride and 
impatience, called in the jailor and had her expelled, ordering him 
in her hearing not to grant her admittance a second time, on any 
pretence.

Mrs. Logan was now hard put to it, and again driven almost to 
despair. She might have succeeded in the attainment of that she 
thirsted for most in life so easily had she known the character 
with which she had to deal. Had she known to have soothed her 
high and afflicted spirit: but that opportunity was past, and the 
hour of examination at hand. She once thought of going and 
claiming her articles, as she at first intended; but then, when she 
thought again of the Wringhims swaying it at Dalcastle, where 
she had been wont to hear them held in such contempt, if not 
abhorrence, and perhaps of holding it by the most diabolical 
means, she was withheld from marring the only chance that 
remained of having a glimpse into that mysterious affair.

Finally, she resolved not to answer to her name in the court, 
rather than to appear and assert a falsehood, which she might be 
called on to certify by oath. She did so; and heard the Sheriff give 
orders to the officers to make inquiry for Miss Logan from 
Edinburgh, at the various places of entertainment in town, and to 
expedite her arrival in court, as things of great value were in 
dependence. She also heard the man who had turned king's 
evidence against the prisoner examined for the second time, and 
sifted most cunningly. His answers gave anything but satisfaction 
to the Sheriff, though Mrs. Logan believed them to be mainly 
truth. But there were a few questions and answers that struck her 
above all others.

"How long is it since Mrs. Calvert and you became acquainted?"

"About a year and a half."

"State the precise time, if you please; the day, or night, according 
to your remembrance."

"It was on the morning of the 28th of February, 1705."

"What time of the morning?"

"Perhaps about one."

"So early as that? At what place did you meet then?"

"It was at the foot of one of the north wynds of Edinburgh." "Was 
it by appointment that you met?"

"No, it was not."

"For what purpose was it then?"

"For no purpose."

"How is it that you chance to remember the day and hour so 
minutely, if you met that woman, whom you have accused, 
merely by chance, and for no manner of purpose, as you must 
have met others that night, perhaps to the amount of hundreds, in 
the same way?"

"I have good cause to remember it, my lord."

"What was that cause?--No answer?--You don't choose to say 
what that cause was?"

"I am not at liberty to tell."

The Sheriff then descended to other particulars, all of which 
tended to prove that the fellow was an accomplished villain, and 
that the principal share of the atrocities had been committed by 
him. Indeed the Sheriff hinted that he suspected the only share 
Mrs. Calvert had in them was in being too much in his company, 
and too true to him. The case was remitted to the Court of 
Justiciary;  but Mrs. Logan had heard enough to convince her that 
the culprits first met at the very spot, and the very hour, on which 
George Colwan was slain; and she had no doubt that they were 
incendiaries set on by his mother, to forward her own and her 
darling son's way to opulence. Mrs. Logan was wrong, as will 
appear in the sequel; but her antipathy to Mrs. Colwan made her 
watch the event with all care. She never quitted Peebles as long 
as Bell Calvert remained there, and, when she was removed to 
Edinburgh, the other followed. When the trial came on, Mrs. 
Logan and her maid were again summoned as witnesses before 
the jury, and compelled by the prosecutor for the Crown to 
appear.

The maid was first called; and, when she came into the witness 
box, the anxious and hopeless looks of the prisoner were manifest 
to all. But the girl, whose name, she said, was Bessy Gillies, 
answered in so flippant and fearless a way that the auditors were 
much amused. After a number of routine questions, the depute-
advocate asked her if she was at home on the morning of the fifth 
of September last, when her mistress's house was robbed.

"Was I at hame, say ye? Na, faith-ye, lad! An' I had been at hame, 
there had been mair to dee. I wad hae raised sic a yelloch!"

"Where were you that morning?"

"Where was I, say you? I was in the house where my mistress 
was, sitting dozing an' half sleeping in the kitchen. I thought aye 
she would be setting out every minute, for twa hours."

"And, when you went home, what did you find?"

"What found we? Be my sooth, we found a broken lock, an' toom 
kists."

"Relate some of the particulars, if you please."

"Sir, the thieves didna stand upon particulars: they were halesale 
dealers in a' our best wares."

"I mean, what passed between your mistress and you on the 
occasion?"

"What passed, say ye? O, there wasna muckle: I was in a great 
passion, but she was dung doitrified a wee. When she gaed to put 
the key i' the door, up it flew to the fer wa'. 'Bless ye, jaud, what's 
the meaning o' this?' quo she. 'Ye hae left the door open, ye 
tawpie!' quo she. 'The ne'er o' that I did,' quo I, 'or may my shakel 
bane never turn another key.' When we got the candle lightit, a' 
the house was in a hoad-road. 'Bessy, my woman,' quo she, 'we 
are baith ruined and undone creatures.' 'The deil a bit,' quo I; 'that 
I deny positively. H'mh! to speak o' a lass o' my age being ruined 
and undone! I never had muckle except what was within a good 
jerkin, an' let the thief ruin me there wha can.

"Do you remember aught else that your mistress said on the 
occasion? Did you hear her blame any person?"

"O, she made a gread deal o' grumphing an' groaning about the 
misfortune, as she ca'd it, an' I think she said it was a part o' the 
ruin, wrought by the Ringans, or some sic name. 'They'll hae't a'! 
They'll hae't a'!' cried she, wringing her hands; 'a'! they'll hae' a', 
an' hell wi't, an' they'll get them baith.' 'Aweel, that's aye some 
satisfaction,' quo I."

"Whom did she mean by the Ringans, do you know?"

"I fancy they are some creatures that she has dreamed about,
for I think there canna be as ill folks living as she ca's them."

"Did you never hear say that the prisoner at the bar there, Mrs. 
Calvert, or Bell Calvert, was the robber of her house; or that she 
was one of the Ringans?"

"Never. Somebody tauld her lately that ane Bell Calvert robbed 
her house, but she disna believe it. Neither do I."

"What reasons have you for doubting it?"

"Because it was nae woman's fingers that broke up the bolts an' 
the locks that were torn open that night."

"Very pertinent, Bessy. Come then within the bar, and look, at 
these articles on the table. Did you ever see these silver spoons 
before?"

"I hae seen some very like them, and whaever has seen siller 
spoons has done the same."

"Can you swear you never saw them before?"

"Na, na, I wadna swear to ony siller spoons that ever war made, 
unless I had put a private mark on them wi' my ain hand, an' that's 
what I never did to ane."

"See, they are all marked with a C."

"Sae are a' the spoons in Argyle, an' the half o' them in Edinburgh 
I think. A C is a very common letter, an' so are a' the names that 
begin wi't. Lay them by, lay them by, an' gie the poor woman her 
spoons again. They are marked wi' her ain name, an' I hae little 
doubt they are hers, an' that she has seen better days."

"Ah, God bless her heart!" sighed the prisoner; and that blessing 
was echoed in the breathings of many a feeling breast.

"Did you ever see this gown before, think you?"

"I hae seen ane very like it."

"Could you not swear that gown was your mistress's once?"

"No, unless I saw her hae't on, an' kend that she had paid for't. I 
am very scrupulous about an oath. Like is an ill mark. Sae ill 
indeed that I wad hardly swear to anything."

"But you say that gown is very like one your mistress used to 
wear."

"I never said sic a thing. It is like one I hae seen her hae out airing 
on the hay raip i' the back green. It is very like ane I hae seen 
Mrs. Butler in the Grass Market wearing too: I rather think it is 
the same. Bless you, sir, I wadna swear to my ain forefinger, if it 
had been as lang out o' my sight an', brought in an' laid on that 
table."

"Perhaps you are not aware, girl, that this scrupulousness of yours 
is likely to thwart the purposes of justice, and bereave your 
mistress of property to the amount of a thousand merks." (From 
the Judge.)

"I canna help that, my lord: that's her look-out. For my part, I am 
resolved to keep a clear conscience, till I be married, at any rate."

"Look over these things and see if there is any one article among 
them which you can fix on as the property of your mistress."

"No ane o' them. sir, no ane o' them. An oath is an awfu' thing, 
especially when it is for life or death. Gie the poor woman her 
things again, an' let my mistress pick up the next she finds: that's 
my advice."

When Mrs. Logan came into the box, the prisoner groaned and 
laid down her head. But how she was astonished when she heard 
her deliver herself something to the following purport--That, 
whatever penalties she was doomed to abide, she was determined 
she would not bear witness against a woman's life, from a certain 
conviction that it could not be a woman who broke her house. "I 
have no doubt that I may find some of my own things there," 
added she, "but, if they were found in her possession, she has 
been made a tool, or the dupe, of an infernal set, who shall be 
nameless here. I believe she did not rob me, and for that reason I 
will have no hand in her condemnation."

The judge: "This is the most singular perversion I have ever 
witnessed. Mrs. Logan, I entertain strong suspicions that the 
prisoner, or her agents, have made some agreement with you on 
this matter to prevent the course of justice."

"So far from that, my lord, I went into the jail at Peebles to this 
woman, whom I had never seen before, and proffered to 
withdraw my part in the prosecution, as well as my evidence, 
provided she would tell me a few simple facts; but she spurned at 
my offer, and had me turned insolently out of the prison, with 
orders to the jailor never to admit me again on any pretence."

The prisoner's counsel, taking hold of this evidence, addressed 
the jury with great fluency; and, finally, the prosecution was 
withdrawn, and the prisoner dismissed from the bar, with a severe 
reprimand for her past conduct, and an exhortation to keep better 
company.

It was not many days till a caddy came with a large parcel to Mrs. 
Logan's house, which parcel he delivered into her hands, 
accompanied with a sealed note, containing an inventory of the 
articles, and a request to know if the unfortunate Arabella Calvert 
would be admitted to converse with Mrs. Logan.

Never was there a woman so much overjoyed as Mrs. Logan was 
at this message. She returned compliments. Would be most happy 
to see her; and no article of the parcel should be looked at, or 
touched, till her arrival. It was not long till she made her 
appearance, dressed in somewhat better style than she had yet 
seen her; delivered her over the greater part of the stolen 
property, besides many things that either never had belonged to 
Mrs. Logan or that she thought proper to deny in order that the 
other might retain them.

The tale that she told of her misfortunes was of the most 
distressing nature, and was enough to stir up all the tender, as 
well as abhorrent feelings in the bosom of humanity. She had 
suffered every deprivation in fame, fortune, and person. She had  
been imprisoned; she had been scourged, and branded as an 
impostor; and all on account of her resolute and unmoving 
fidelity and truth to several of the very worst of men, every one of 
whom had abandoned her to utter destitution and shame. But this 
story we cannot enter on at present, as it would perhaps mar the 
thread of our story, as much as it did the anxious anticipations of 
Mrs. Logan, who sat pining and longing for the relation that 
follows.

"Now I know, Mrs. Logan, that you are expecting a detail of the 
circumstances relating to the death of Mr. George Colwan; and, 
in gratitude for your unbounded generosity and disinterestedness, 
I will tell you all that I know, although, for causes that will 
appear obvious to you, I had determined never in life to divulge 
one circumstance of it. I can tell you, however, that you will be 
disappointed, for it was not the gentleman who was accused, 
found guilty, and would have suffered the utmost penalty of the 
law had he not made his escape. It was not he, I say, who slew 
your young master, nor had he any hand in it."

"I never thought he had. But, pray, how do you come to know 
this?"

"You shall hear. I had been abandoned in York by an artful and 
consummate fiend; and found guilty of being art and part 
concerned in the most heinous atrocities, and, in his place, 
suffered what I yet shudder to think of I was banished the county, 
begged my way with my poor outcast child up to Edinburgh, and 
was there obliged, for the second time in my life, to betake 
myself to the most degrading of all means to support two 
wretched lives. I hired a dress, and betook me, shivering, to the 
High Street, too well aware that my form and appearance would 
soon draw me suitors enow at that throng and intemperate time of 
the Parliament. On my very first stepping out to the street, a party 
of young gentlemen was passing. I heard by the noise they made, 
and the tenor of their speech, that they were more then mellow, 
and so I resolved to keep near them, in order, if possible, to make 
some of them my prey. But, just as one of them began to eye me, 
I was rudely thrust into a narrow close by one of the guardsmen. I 
had heard to what house the party was bound, for the men were 
talking exceedingly loud, and making no secret of it: so I hasted 
down the close, and round below to the one where their 
rendezvous was to be; but I was too late, they were all housed and 
the door bolted. I resolved to wait, thinking they could not all stay 
long; but I was perishing with famine, and was like to fall down. 
The moon shone as bright as day, and I perceived, by a sign at the 
bottom of the close, that there was a small tavern of a certain 
description up two stairs there. I went up and called, telling the 
mistress of the house my plan. She approved of it mainly, and 
offered me her best apartment, provided I could get one of these 
noble mates to accompany me. She abused Lucky Sudds, as she 
called her, at the inn where the party was, envying her huge 
profits, no doubt, and giving me afterwards something to drink 
for which I really felt exceedingly grateful in my need. I stepped 
downstairs in order to be on the alert. The moment that I reached 
the ground, the door of Lucky Sudds' house opened and shut, and 
down came the Honourable Thomas Drummond, with hasty and 
impassioned strides, his sword rattling at his heel. I accosted him 
in a soft and soothing tone. He was taken with my address; for he 
instantly stood still and gazed intently at me, then at the place, 
and then at me again. I beckoned him to follow me, which he did 
without further ceremony, and we soon found ourselves together 
in the best room of a house where everything was wretched. He 
still looked about him, and at me; but all this while he had never 
spoken a word. At length, I asked if he would take any 
refreshment? 'If you please,'  said he. I asked what he would have, 
but he only answered, 'Whatever you choose, madam.' If he was 
taken with my address, I was much more taken with his; for he 
was a complete gentleman, and a gentleman will ever act as one. 
At length, he began as follows:

"'I am utterly at a loss to account for this adventure, madam. It 
seems to me like enchantment, and I can hardly believe my 
senses. An English lady, I judge, and one, who from her manner 
and address should belong to the first class of society, in such a 
place as this, is indeed matter of wonder to me. At the foot of a 
close in Edinburgh! and at this time of the night! Surely it must 
have been no common reverse of fortune that reduced you to 
this?' I wept, or pretended to do so; on which he added, 'Pray, 
madam, take heart. Tell me what has befallen you; and if I can do 
anything for you, in restoring you to your country or your friends, 
you shall command my interest.' 

"I had great need of a friend then, and I thought now was the time 
to secure one. So I began and told him the moving tale I have told 
you. But I soon perceived that I had kept by the naked truth too 
unvarnishedly, and thereby quite overshot my mark. When he 
learned that he was sitting in a wretched corner of an irregular 
house, with a felon, who had so lately been scourged and 
banished as a swindler and impostor, his modest nature took the 
alarm, and he was shocked, instead of being moved with pity. His 
eye fixed on some of the casual stripes on my arm, and from that 
moment he became restless and impatient to be gone. I tried some 
gentle arts to retain him, but in vain; so, after paying both the 
landlady and me for pleasures he had neither tasted nor asked, he 
took his leave.

"I showed him downstairs; and, just as be turned the corner of the 
next land, a man came rushing violently by him; exchanged looks 
with him, and came running up to me. He appeared in great 
agitation, and was quite out of breath; and, taking my hand in his, 
we ran upstairs together without speaking, and were instantly in 
the apartment I had left, where a stoup of wine still stood 
untasted. 'Ah, this is fortunate!' said my new spark, and helped 
himself. In the meanwhile, as our apartment was a corner one, 
and looked both east and north, I ran to the eastern casement to 
look after Drummond. Now, note me well: I saw him going 
eastward in his tartans and bonnet, and the gilded hilt of his 
claymore glittering in the moon; and, at the very same time, I saw 
two men, the one in black, and the other likewise in tartans, 
coming towards the steps from the opposite bank, by the foot of 
the loch; and I saw Drummond and they eyeing each other as they 
passed. I kept view of him till he vanished towards Leith Wynd, 
and by that time the two strangers had come close up under our 
window. This is what I wish you to pay particular attention to. I 
had only lost sight of Drummond (who had given me his name 
and address) for the short space of time that we took in running 
up one pair of short stairs; and during that space he had halted a 
moment, for, when I got my eye on him again, he had not crossed 
the mouth of the next entry, nor proceeded above ten or twelve 
paces, and, at the same time, I saw the two men coming down the 
bank on the opposite side of the loch, at about three hundred 
paces' distance. Both he and they were distinctly in my view, and 
never within speech of each other, until he vanished into one of 
the wynds leading towards the bottom of the High Street, at 
which precise time the two strangers came below my window; so 
that it was quite dear he neither could be one of them nor have 
any communication with them.

"Yet, mark me again; for, of all things I have ever seen, this was 
the most singular. When I looked down at the two strangers, one 
of them was extremely like Drummond. So like was he that there 
was not one item in dress, form, feature, nor voice, by which I 
could distinguish the one from the other. I was certain it was not 
he, because I had seen the one going and the other approaching at 
the same time, and my impression at the moment was that I 
looked upon some spirit, or demon, in his likeness. I felt a 
chillness creep all round my heart, my knees tottered, and, 
withdrawing my head from the open casement that lay in the dark 
shade, I said to the man who was with me, 'Good God, what is 
this?'

"'What is it, my dear?' said he, as much alarmed as I was.

"'As I live, there stands an apparition!' said I.

"He was not so much afraid when he heard me say so, and, 
peeping cautiously out, he looked and listened awhile, and then, 
drawing back, he said in a whisper, 'They are both living men, 
and one of them is he I passed at the corner.'

"'That he is not,' said I, emphatically. 'To that I will make oath.'

"He smiled and shook his head, and then added, 'I never then saw 
a man before, whom I could not know again, particularly if he 
was the very last I had seen. But what matters it whether it be or 
not? As it is no concern of ours, let us sit down and enjoy 
ourselves.'

'But it does matter a very great deal with me, sir,' said I.
'Bless me, my head is giddy--my breath quite gone, and I feel as if 
I were surrounded with fiends. Who are you, sir?'

'You shall know that ere we two part, my love,'  said he. 'I cannot 
conceive why the return of this young gentleman to the spot he so 
lately left should discompose you. I suppose he got a glance of 
you as he passed, and has returned to look after you, and that is 
the whole secret of the matter.'

"'If you will be so civil as to walk out and join him then, it will 
oblige me hugely,' said I, 'for I never in my life experienced such 
boding apprehensions of evil company. I cannot conceive how 
you should come up here without asking my permission. Will it 
please you to be gone, sir?' I was within an ace of prevailing. He 
took out his purse--I need not say more--I was bribed to let him 
remain. Ah, had I kept my frail resolution of dismissing him at 
that moment, what a world of shame and misery had been evited! 
But that, though uppermost still in my mind, has nothing ado 
here.

"When I peeped over again, the two men were disputing in a 
whisper, the one of them in violent agitation and terror, and the 
other upbraiding him, and urging him on to some desperate act. 
At length I heard the young man in the Highland garb say 
indignantly, 'Hush, recreant! It is God's work which you are 
commissioned to execute, and it must be done. But, if you 
positively decline it, I will do it myself, and do you beware of the 
consequences.'

"'Oh, I will, I will!' cried the other in black clothes, in a wretched 
beseeching tone. 'You shall instruct me in this, as in all things 
else.'

"I thought all this while I was closely concealed from them, and 
wondered not a little when be in tartans gave me a sly nod, as 
much as to say, 'What do you think of this?' or, 'Take note of 
what you see,' or something to that effect; from which I perceived 
that, whatever he was about, he did not wish it to be kept a secret. 
For all that, I was impressed with a terror and anxiety that I could 
not overcome, but it only made me mark every event with the 
more intense curiosity. The Highlander, whom I still could not 
help regarding as the evil genius of Thomas Drummond, 
performed every action as with the quickness of thought. He 
concealed the youth in black in a narrow entry, a little to the 
westward of my windows, and, as he was leading him across the 
moonlight green by the shoulder, I perceived, for the first time, 
that both of them were armed with rapiers. He pushed him 
without resistance into the dark shaded close, made another signal 
to me, and hasted up the close to Lucky Sudds' door. The city and 
the morning were so still that I heard every word that was uttered, 
on putting my head out a little. He knocked at the door sharply, 
and, after waiting a considerable space, the bolt was drawn, and 
the door, as I conceived, edged up as far as the massy chain 
would let it. 'Is young Dalcastle still in the house?' said he 
sharply.

"I did not hear the answer, but I heard him say, shortly after, 'If 
he is, pray tell him to speak with me for a few minutes.' He then 
withdrew from the door, and came slowly down the close, in a 
lingering manner, looking oft behind him. Dalcastle came out; 
advanced a few steps after him, and then stood still, as if 
hesitating whether or not he should call out a friend to 
accompany him; and that instant the door behind him was closed, 
chained, and the iron bolt drawn; on hearing of which, he 
followed his adversary without further hesitation. As he passed 
below my window, I heard him say, 'I beseech you, Tom, let us 
do nothing in this matter rashly'; but I could not hear the answer 
of the other, who had turned the corner.

"I roused up my drowsy companion, who was leaning on the bed, 
and we both looked together from the north window. We were in 
the shade, but the moon shone full on the two young gentlemen. 
Young Dalcastle was visibly the worse of liquor, and, his back 
being turned towards us, he said something to the other which I 
could not make out, although he spoke a considerable time, and, 
from his tones and gestures, appeared to be reasoning.

"When he had done, the tall young man in the tartans drew his 
sword, and, his face being straight to us, we heard him say 
distinctly, 'No more words about it, George, if you please; but if 
you be a man, as I take you to be, draw your sword, and let us 
settle it here.'

"Dalcastle drew his sword, without changing his attitude; but
he spoke with more warmth, for we heard his words, 'Think you
that I fear you, Tom? Be assured, Sir, I would not fear ten of the
best of your name, at each other's backs: all that I want is to have
friends with us to see fair play, for, if you close with me, you are 
a dead man.'

"The other stormed at these words. 'You are a braggart, Sir,'
cried he, 'a wretch--a blot on the cheek of nature--a blight on
the Christian world--a reprobate--I'll have your soul, Sir. You
must play at tennis, and put down elect brethren in another world
to-morrow.' As he said this, he brandished his rapier, exciting
Dalcastle to offence. He gained his point. The latter, who had
previously drawn, advanced upon his vapouring and licentious
antagonist, and a fierce combat ensued. My companion was
delighted beyond measure, and I could not keep him from 
exclaiming, loud enough to have been heard, 'That's grand! That's
excellent!' For me, my heart quaked like an aspen. Young 
Dalcastle either had a decided advantage over his adversary, or 
else the other thought proper to let him have it; for he shifted, and
swore, and flitted from Dalcastle's thrusts like a shadow, uttering
ofttimes a sarcastic laugh, that seemed to provoke the other 
beyond all bearing. At one time, he would spring away to a great 
distance, then advance again on young Dalcastle with the 
swiftness of lightning. But that young hero always stood his 
ground, and repelled the attack: he never gave way, although they 
fought nearly twice round the bleaching green, which you know 
is not a very small one. At length they fought close up to the 
mouth of the dark entry, where the fellow in black stood all this 
while concealed, and then the combatant in tartans closed with 
his antagonist, or pretended to do so; but, the moment they began 
to grapple, he wheeled about, turning Colwan's back towards the 
entry, and then cried out, 'Ah, hell has it! My friend, my friend!'

"That moment the fellow in black rushed from his cover with his 
drawn rapier, and gave the brave young Dalcastle two deadly 
wounds in the back, as quick as arm could thrust, both of which I 
thought pierced through his body. He fell, and, rolling himself on 
his back, he perceived who it was that had slain him thus foully, 
and said, with a dying emphasis, which I never heard equalled, 
'oh, dog of hell, it is you who has done this!'

"He articulated some more, which I could not hear for other 
sounds; for, the moment that the man in black inflicted the deadly 
wound, my companion called out, 'That's unfair, you rip! That's 
damnable! to strike a brave fellow behind! One at a time, you 
cowards!' etc., to all which the unnatural fiend in the tartans 
answered with a loud exulting laugh; and then, taking the poor 
paralysed murderer by the bow of the arm, be hurried him in the 
dark entry once more, where I lost sight of them for ever."

Before this time Mrs. Logan had risen up; and, when the narrator 
had finished, she was standing with her arms stretched upwards at 
their full length, and her visage turned down, on which were 
portrayed the lines of the most absolute horror. "The dark 
suspicions of my late benefactor have been just, and his last 
prediction is fulfilled," cried she. "The murderer of the 
accomplished George Colwan has been his own brother, set on, 
there is little doubt, by her who bare them both, and her directing 
angel, the self-justified bigot. Aye, and yonder they sit, enjoying 
the luxuries so dearly purchased, with perfect impunity! If the 
Almighty do not hurl them down, blasted with shame and 
confusion, there is no hope of retribution in this life. And, by His 
might, I will be the agent to accomplish it! Why did the man not 
pursue the foul murderers? Why did he not raise the alarm, and 
call the watch?"

"He? The wretch! He durst not move from the shelter he had 
obtained. No, not for the soul of him. He was pursued for his life, 
at the moment when he first flew into my arms. But I did not 
know it;  no, I did not then know him. May the curse of heaven, 
and the blight of hell, settle on the detestable wretch! He pursue 
for the sake of justice! No; his efforts have all been for evil, but 
never for good. But I raised the alarm; miserable and degraded as 
I was, I pursued and raised the watch myself Have you not heard 
the name of Bell Calvert coupled with that hideous and 
mysterious affair?"

"Yes, I have. In secret often I have heard it. But how came it that 
you could never be found? How came it that you never appeared 
in defence of the Honourable Thomas Drummond; you, the only 
person who could have justified him?"

"I could not, for I then fell under the power and guidance of a 
wretch who durst not for the soul of him be brought forward in 
the affair. And, what was worse, his evidence would have 
overborne mine, for he would have sworn that the man who 
called out and fought Colwan was the same he met leaving my 
apartment, and there was an end of it. And, moreover, it is well 
known that this same man--this wretch of whom I speak, never 
mistook one man for another in his life, which makes the mystery 
of the likeness between this incendiary and Drummond the more 
extraordinary."

"If it was Drummond, after all that you have asserted, then are 
my surmises still wrong."

"There is nothing of which I can be more certain than that it was 
not Drummond. We have nothing on earth but our senses to 
depend upon. if these deceive us, what are we to do? I own I 
cannot account for it; nor ever shall be able to account for it as 
long as I live."

"Could you know the man in black, if you saw him again?"

"I think I could, if I saw him walk or run: his gait was very 
particular. He walked as if he had been flat-soled, and his legs 
made of steel, without any joints in his feet or ankles."

"The very same! The very same! The very same! Pray will you 
take a few days' journey into the country with me, to look at such 
a man?"

"You have preserved my life, and for you I will do anything. I 
will accompany you with pleasure: and I think I can say that I 
will know him, for his form left an impression on my heart not 
soon to be effaced. But of this I am sure that my unworthy 
companion will recognize him, and that he will be able to swear 
to his identity every day as long as he lives."

"Where is he? Where is he? Oh! Mrs. Calvert, where is he?"

"Where is he? He is the wretch whom you heard giving me up to 
the death; who, after experiencing every mark of affection that a 
poor ruined being could confer, and after committing a thousand 
atrocities of which she was ignorant, became an informer to save 
his diabolical life, and attempted to offer up mine as a sacrifice 
for all. We will go by ourselves first, and I will tell you if it 
is necessary to send any farther." 

The two dames, the very next morning, dressed themselves like 
country goodwives, and, hiring two stout ponies furnished with 
pillions, they took their journey westward, and the second 
evening after leaving Edinburgh they arrived at the village about 
two miles below Dalcastle, where they alighted. But Mrs. Logan, 
being anxious to have Mrs. Calvert's judgment, without either 
hint or preparation, took care not to mention that they were so 
near to the end of their journey. In conformity with this plan, she 
said, after they had sat a while: "Heigh-ho, but I am weary! What, 
suppose we should rest a day here before we proceed farther on 
our journey?"

Mrs. Calvert was leaning on the casement and looking out when 
her companion addressed these words to her, and by far too much 
engaged to return any answer, for her eyes were riveted on two 
young men who approached from the farther end of the village; 
and at length, turning round her head, she said, with the most 
intense interest, "Proceed farther on our journey, did you say? 
That we need not do; for, as I live, here comes the very man!"

Mrs. Logan ran to the window, and, behold, there was indeed 
Robert Wringhim Colwan (now the Laird of Dalcastle) coming 
forward almost below their window, walking arm in arm with 
another young man; and, as the two passed, the latter looked up 
and made a sly signal to the two dames, biting his lip, winking 
with his left eye, and nodding his head. Mrs. Calvert was 
astonished at this recognizance, the young man's former 
companion having made exactly such another signal on the night 
of the duel, by the light of the moon; and it struck her, moreover, 
that she had somewhere seen this young man's face before. She 
looked after him, and he winked over his shoulder to her; but she 
was prevented from returning his salute by her companion, who 
uttered a loud cry, between a groan and shriek, and fell down on 
the floor with a rumble like a wall that had suddenly been 
undermined. She had fainted quite away, and required all her 
companion's attention during the remainder of the evening, for 
she had scarcely ever well recovered out of one fit before she fell 
into another, and in the short intervals she raved like one 
distracted or in a dream. After falling into a sound sleep by night. 
she recovered her equanimity, and the two began to converse 
seriously on what they had seen. Mrs. Calvert averred that the 
young man who passed next to the window was the very man 
who stabbed George Colwan in the back, and she said she was 
willing to take her oath on it at any time when required, and was 
certain, if the wretch Ridsley saw him, that he would make oath 
to the same purport, for that his walk was so peculiar no one of 
common discernment could mistake it.

Mrs. Logan was in great agitation, and said: "It is what I have 
suspected all along, and what I am sure my late master and 
benefactor was persuaded of, and the horror of such an idea cut 
short his days. That wretch, Mrs. Calvert, is the born brother of 
him he murdered, sons of the same mother they were, whether or 
not of the same father, the Lord only knows. But, Oh, Mrs. 
Calvert, that is not the main thing that has discomposed me, and 
shaken my nerves to pieces at this time. Who do you think the 
young man was who walked in his company to-night?"

"I cannot for my life recollect, but am convinced I have seen the 
same fine form and face before."

"And did not he seem to know us, Mrs. Calvert? You who are 
able to recollect things as they happened, did he not seem to 
recollect us, and make signs to that effect?"

"He did, indeed, and apparently with great good humour."

"Oh, Mrs Calvert, hold me, else I shall fall into hysterics again! 
Who is he? Who is he? Tell me who you suppose he is, for I 
cannot say my own thought."

"On my life, I cannot remember."

"Did you note the appearance of the young gentleman you saw 
slain that night? Do you recollect aught of the appearance of my 
young master, George Colwan?"

Mrs. Calvert sat silent, and stared the other mildly in the face. 
Their looks encountered, and there was an unearthly amazement 
that gleamed from each, which, meeting together, caught real fire, 
and returned the flame to their heated imaginations, till the two 
associates became like two statues, with their hands spread, their 
eyes fixed, and their chops fallen down upon their bosoms. An 
old woman who kept the lodging-house, having been called in 
before when Mrs. Logan was faintish, chanced to enter at this 
crisis with some cordial; and, seeing the state of her lodgers, she 
caught the infection, and fell into the same rigid and statue-like 
appearance. No scene more striking was ever exhibited; and if 
Mrs. Calvert had not resumed strength of mind to speak, and 
break the spell, it is impossible to say how long it might have 
continued. "It is he, I believe," said she, uttering the words as it 
were inwardly. "It can be none other but he. But, no, it is 
impossible! I saw him stabbed through and through the heart; I 
saw him roll backward on the green in his own blood, utter his 
last words, and groan away his soul. Yet, if it is not he, who can it 
be?"

"It is he!" cried Mrs. Logan, hysterically.

"Yes, yes, it is he!" cried the landlady, in unison.

"It is who?" said Mrs. Calvert. "Whom do you mean, mistress?"

"Oh, I don't know! I don't know! I was affrighted."

"Hold your peace then till you recover your senses, and tell me, if 
you can, who that young gentleman is who keeps company with 
the new Laird of Dalcastle?"

"Oh, it is he! It is he!" screamed Mrs. Logan, wringing her hands.

"Oh, it is he! It is he!" cried the landlady, wringing hers.

Mrs. Calvert turned the latter gently and civilly out of the 
apartment, observing that there seemed to be some infection in 
the air of the room, and she would be wise for herself to keep out 
of it.

The two dames had a restless and hideous night. Sleep came not 
to their relief, for their conversation was wholly about the dead, 
who seemed to be alive, and their minds were wandering and 
groping in a chaos of mystery. "Did you attend to his corpse, and 
know that he positively died and was buried?" said Mrs. Calvert.

"Oh, yes, from the moment that his fair but mangled corpse was 
brought home, I attended it till that when it was screwed in the 
coffin. I washed the long stripes of blood from his lifeless form, 
on both sides of the body. I bathed the livid wound that passed 
through his generous and gentle heart. There was one through the 
flesh of his left side too, which had bled most outwardly of them 
all. I bathed them, and bandaged them up with wax and perfumed 
ointment, but still the blood oozed through all, so that when he 
was laid in the coffin he was like one newly murdered. My brave, 
my generous young master. He was always as a son to me, and no 
son was ever more kind or more respectful to a mother. But he 
was butchered--he was cut off from the earth ere he had well 
reached to manhood--most barbarously and unfairly slain. And 
how is it, how can it be, that we again see him here, walking arm 
in arm with his murderer?"

"The thing cannot be, Mrs. Logan. It is a phantasy of our 
disturbed imaginations, therefore let us compose ourselves till we 
investigate this matter farther."

"It cannot be in nature, that is quite clear," said Mrs. Logan. "Yet 
how it should be that I should think so--I who knew and nursed 
him from his infancy--there lies the paradox. As you said once 
before, we have nothing but our senses to depend on, and, if you 
and I believe that we see a person, why, we do see him. Whose 
word, or whose reasoning can convince us against our own 
senses? We will disguise ourselves as poor women selling a few 
country wares, and we will go up to the Hall, and see what is to 
see, and hear what we can hear, for this is a weighty business in 
which we are engaged, namely, to turn the vengeance of the law 
upon an unnatural monster; and we will further learn, if we can, 
who this is that accompanies him."

Mrs. Calvert acquiesced, and the two dames took their way to 
Dalcastle, with baskets well furnished with trifles. They did not 
take the common path from the village, but went about, and 
approached the mansion by a different way. But it seemed as if 
some overruling power ordered it that they should miss no chance 
of attaining the information they wanted. For ere ever they came 
within half a mile of Dalcastle they perceived the two youths 
coming as to meet them, on the same path. The road leading 
from Dalcastle towards the north-east, as all the country knows, 
goes along a dark bank of brush-wood called the Bogle-heuch. It 
was by this track that the two women were going, and, when they 
perceived the two gentlemen meeting them, they turned back, 
and, the moment they were out of their sight, they concealed 
themselves in a thicket close by the road. They did this because 
Mrs. Logan was terrified for being discovered, and because they 
wished to reconnoitre without being seen. Mrs. Calvert now 
charged her, whatever she saw, or whatever she heard, to put on a 
resolution, and support it, for if she fainted there and was 
discovered, what was to become of her!

The two young men came on, in earnest and vehement 
conversation; but the subject they were on was a terrible one, and 
hardly fit to be repeated in the face of a Christian community. 
Wringhim was disputing the boundlessness of the true Christian's 
freedom, and expressing doubts that, chosen as he knew he was 
from all eternity, still it might be possible for him to commit acts 
that would exclude him from the limits of the covenant. The other 
argued, with mighty fluency, that the thing was utterly 
impossible, and altogether inconsistent with eternal 
predestination. The arguments of the latter prevailed, and the 
laird was driven to sullen silence. But, to the women's utter 
surprise, as the conquering disputant passed, he made a signal of 
recognizance through the brambles to them, as formerly, and, that 
he might expose his associate fully, and in his true colours, he led 
him back, wards and forwards by the women more than twenty 
times, making him to confess both the crimes that he had done 
and those he had in contemplation. At length he said to him: 
"Assuredly I saw some strolling vagrant women on this walk, my 
dear friend: I wish we could find them, for there is little doubt 
that they are concealed here in your woods."

"I wish we could find them," answered Wringhim. "We would 
have fine sport maltreating and abusing them."

"That we should, that we should! Now tell me, Robert, if you 
found a malevolent woman, the latent enemy of your prosperity, 
lurking in these woods to betray you, what would you inflict on 
her?"

"I would tear her to pieces with my dogs, and feed them with her 
flesh. Oh, my dear friend, there is an old strumpet who lived with 
my unnatural father, whom I hold in such utter detestation that I 
stand constantly in dread of her, and would sacrifice the half of 
my estate to shed her blood!"

"What will you give me if I will put her in your power, and give 
you a fair and genuine excuse for making away with her; one for 
which you shall answer at the bar, here or hereafter?"

"I should like to see the vile hag put down. She is in possession of 
the family plate, that is mine by right, as well as a thousand 
valuable relics, and great riches besides, all of which the old 
profligate gifted shamefully away. And it is said, besides all 
these, that she has sworn my destruction."

"She has, she has. But I see not how she can accomplish that, 
seeing the deed was done so suddenly, and in the silence of the 
night."

"It was said there were some onlookers. But where shall we find 
that disgraceful Miss Logan?"

"I will show you her by and by. But will you then consent to the 
other meritorious deed? Come, be a man, and throw away 
scruples."

"If you can convince me that the promise is binding I will."

"Then step this way, till I give you a piece of information."

They walked a little way out of hearing, but went not out of sight; 
therefore, though the women were in a terrible quandary, they 
durst not stir, for they had some hopes that this extraordinary 
person was on a mission of the same sort with themselves, knew 
of them, and was going to make use of their testimony. Mrs. 
Logan was several times on the point of falling into a swoon, so 
much did the appearance of the young man impress her, until her 
associate covered her face that she might listen without 
embarrassment. But this latter dialogue roused different feelings 
within them; namely, those arising from imminent personal 
danger. They saw his waggish associate point out the place of 
their concealment to Wringhim, who came towards them, out of 
curiosity to see what his friend meant by what he believed to be a 
joke, manifestly without crediting it in the least degree. When he 
came running away, the other called after him: "If she is too hard 
for you, call to me." As he said this, he hasted out of sight, in the 
contrary direction, apparently much delighted with the joke.

Wringhim came rushing through the thicket impetuously, to the 
very spot where Mrs. Logan lay squatted. She held the wrapping 
close about her head, but he tore it off and discovered her. "The 
curse of God be on thee!" said he. "What fiend has brought thee 
here, and for what purpose art thou come? But, whatever has 
brought thee, I have thee!" and with that he seized her by the 
throat. The two women, when they heard what jeopardy they 
were in from such a wretch, had squatted among the underwood 
at a small distance from each other, so that he had never observed 
Mrs. Calvert; but, no sooner had he seized her benefactor, than, 
like a wild cat, she sprung out of the thicket, and had both hands 
fixed at his throat, one of them twisted in his stock, in a 
twinkling. She brought him back-over among the brushwood, and 
the two, fixing on him like two harpies, mastered him with case. 
Then indeed was he woefully beset. He deemed for a while that 
his friend was at his back, and, turning his bloodshot eyes 
towards the path, he attempted to call; but there was no friend 
there, and the women cut short his cries by another twist of his 
stock. "Now, gallant and rightful Laird of Dalcastle," said Mrs. 
Logan, "what hast thou to say for thyself? Lay thy account to dree 
the weird thou hast so well earned. Now shalt thou suffer due 
penance for murdering thy brave and only brother."

"Thou liest, thou hag of the pit! I touched not my brother's life."

"I saw thee do it with these eyes that now look thee in the face; 
ay, when his back was to thee, too, and while he was hotly 
engaged with thy friend," said Mrs. Calvert.

"I heard thee confess it again and again this same hour," said Mrs. 
Logan.

"Ay, and so did I," said her companion. "Murder will out, though 
the Almighty should lend hearing to the ears of the willow, and 
speech to the seven tongues of the woodriff."

"You are liars and witches!" said he, foaming with rage, "and 
creatures fitted from the beginning for eternal destruction. I'll 
have your bones and your blood sacrificed on your cursed altars! 
O Gil-Martin! Gil-Martin! Where art thou now? Here, here is the 
proper food for blessed vengeance! Hilloa!"

There was no friend, no Gil-Martin there to hear or assist him: he 
was in the two women's mercy, but they used it with moderation. 
They mocked, they tormented, and they threatened him; but, 
finally, after putting him in great terror, they bound his hands 
behind his back, and his feet fast with long straps of garters 
which they chanced to have in their baskets, to prevent him from 
pursuing them till they were out of his reach. As they left him, 
which they did in the middle of the path, Mrs. Calvert said: "We 
could easily put an end to thy sinful life, but our hands shall be 
free of thy blood. Nevertheless thou art still in our power, and the 
vengeance of thy country shall overtake thee, thou mean and 
cowardly murderer, ay, and that more suddenly than thou art 
aware!"

The women posted to Edinburgh; and as they put themselves 
under the protection of an English merchant, who was journeying 
thither with twenty horses laden, and armed servants, so they had 
scarcely any conversation on the road. When they arrived at Mrs. 
Logan's house, then they spoke of what they had seen and heard, 
and agreed that they had sufficient proof to condemn young 
Wringhim, who they thought richly deserved the severest doom 
of the law.

"I never in my life saw any human being," said Mrs. Calvert, 
whom I thought so like a fiend. If a demon could inherit flesh and 
blood, that youth is precisely such a being as I could conceive 
that demon to be. The depth and the malignity of his eye is 
hideous. His breath is like the airs from a charnel house, and his 
flesh seems fading from his bones, as if the worm that never dies 
were gnawing it away already."

"He was always repulsive, and every way repulsive," said the 
other, "but be is now indeed altered greatly to the worse. While 
we were hand-fasting him, I felt his body to be feeble and 
emaciated; but yet I know him to be so puffed up with spiritual 
pride that I believe he weens every one of his actions justified 
before God, and, instead of having stings of conscience for these, 
he takes great merit to himself in having effected them. Still my 
thoughts are less about him than the extraordinary being who 
accompanies him. He does everything with so much ease and 
indifference, so much velocity and effect, that all bespeak him an 
adept in wickedness. The likeness to my late hapless young 
master is so striking that I can hardly believe it to be a chance 
model; and I think he imitates him in everything, for some 
purpose or some effect on his sinful associate. Do you know that 
he is so like in every lineament, look, and gesture, that, against 
the, clearest light of reason, I cannot in my mind separate the one 
from the other, and have a certain indefinable expression on my 
mind that they are one and the same being, or that the one was a 
prototype of the other."

"If there is an earthly crime," said Mrs. Calvert, "for the due 
punishment of which the Almighty may be supposed to subvert 
the order of nature, it is fratricide. But tell me, dear friend, did 
you remark to what the subtile and hellish villain was 
endeavouring to prompt the assassin?"

"No, I could not comprehend it. My senses were altogether so 
bewildered that I thought they had combined to deceive me, and I 
gave them no credit."

"Then bear me: I am almost certain he was using every 
persuasion to induce him to make away with his mother; and I 
likewise conceive that I heard the incendiary give his consent!"

"This is dreadful. Let us speak and think no more about it, till we 
see the issue. In the meantime, let us do that which is our 
bounden duty--go and divulge all that we know relating to this 
foul murder."

Accordingly the two women went to Sir Thomas Wallace of 
Craigie, the Lord justice Clerk (who was, I think, either uncle or 
grandfather to young Drummond, who was outlawed and obliged 
to fly his country on account of Colwan's death), and to that 
gentleman they related every circumstance of what they had seen 
and heard. He examined Calvert very minutely, and seemed 
deeply interested in her evidence--said he knew she was relating 
the truth, and, in testimony of it, brought a letter of young 
Drummond's from his desk, wherein that young gentleman, after 
protesting his innocence in the most forcible terms, confessed 
having been with such a woman in such a house, after leaving the 
company of his friends; and that, on going home, Sir Thomas's 
servant had let him in, in the dark, and from these circumstances 
he found it impossible to prove an alibi. He begged of his 
relative, if ever an opportunity offered, to do his endeavour to 
clear up that mystery, and remove the horrid stigma from his 
name in his country, and among his kin, of having stabbed a 
friend behind his back.

Lord Craigie, therefore, directed the two women to the proper 
authorities, and, after hearing their evidence there, it was judged 
proper to apprehend the present Laird of Dalcastle, and bring him 
to his trial. But, before that, they sent the prisoner in the 
Tolbooth, he who had seen the whole transaction along with Mrs. 
Calvert, to take a view of Wringhim privately; and, his 
discrimination being so well known as to be proverbial all over 
the land, they determined secretly to be ruled by his report. They 
accordingly sent him on a pretended mission of legality to 
Dalcastle, with orders to see and speak with the proprietor, 
without giving him a hint what was wanted. On his return, they 
examined him, and he told them that he found all things at the 
place in utter confusion and dismay; that the lady of the place was 
missing, and could not be found, dead or alive. On being asked if 
he had ever seen the proprietor before, he looked astounded and 
unwilling to answer. But it came out that he had; and that he had 
once seen him kill a man on such a spot at such an hour.

Officers were then dispatched, without delay, to apprehend the 
monster, and bring him to justice. On these going to the mansion, 
and inquiring for him, they were told he was at home; on which 
they stationed guards, and searched all the premises, but he was 
not to be found. It was in vain that they overturned beds, raised 
floors, and broke open closets: Robert Wringhim Colwan was lost 
once and for ever. His mother also was lost; and strong suspicions 
attached to some of the farmers and house servants to whom she 
was obnoxious, relating to her disappearance.

The Honourable Thomas Drummond became a distinguished 
officer in the Austrian service, and died in the memorable year 
for Scotland, 1715; and this is all with which history, justiciary 
records, and tradition, furnish me relating to these matters.

I have now the pleasure of presenting my readers with an original 
document of a most singular nature, and preserved for their 
perusal in a still more singular manner. I offer no remarks on it, 
and make as few additions to it, leaving everyone to judge for 
himself. We have heard much of the rage of fanaticism in former 
days, but nothing to this.




The Private Memoirs and
Confessions of a Sinner
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF



PRIVATE MEMOIRS AND CONFESSIONS OF A SINNER


My life has been a life of trouble and turmoil of change and 
vicissitude; of anger and exultation; of sorrow and of vengeance. 
My sorrows have all been for a slighted gospel, and my 
vengeance has been wreaked on its adversaries. Therefore, in the 
might of Heaven, I will sit down and write: I will let the wicked 
of this world know what I have done in the faith of the promises, 
and justification by grace, that they may read and tremble, and 
bless their gods of silver and gold that the minister of Heaven was 
removed from their sphere before their blood was mingled with 
their sacrifices.

I was born an outcast in the world, in which I was destined to act 
so conspicuous a part. My mother was a burning and a shining 
light, in the community of Scottish worthies, and in the days of 
her virginity had suffered much in the persecution of the saints. 
But it so pleased Heaven that, as a trial of her faith, she was 
married to one of the wicked; a man all over spotted with the 
leprosy of sin. As well might they have conjoined fire and water 
together, in hopes that they would consort and amalgamate, as 
purity and corruption: She fled from his embraces the first night 
after their marriage, and from that time forth his iniquities so 
galled her upright heart that she quitted his society altogether, 
keeping her own apartments in the same house with him.

I was the second son of this unhappy marriage, and, ere ever I 
was born, my father according to the flesh disclaimed all relation 
or connection with me, and all interest in me, save what the law 
compelled him to take, which was to grant me a scanty 
maintenance; and had it not been for a faithful minister of the 
gospel, my mother's early instructor, I should have remained an 
outcast from the church visible. He took pity on me, admitting me 
not only into that, but into the bosom of his own household and 
ministry also, and to him am I indebted, under Heaven, for the 
high conceptions and glorious discernment between good and 
evil, right and wrong, which I attained even at an early age. It was 
he who directed my studies aright, both in the learning of the 
ancient fathers and the doctrines of the reformed church, and 
designed me for his assistant and successor in the holy office. I 
missed no opportunity of perfecting myself particularly in all the 
minute points of theology in which my reverend father and 
mother took great delight; but at length I acquired so much skill 
that I astonished my teachers, and made them gaze at one 
another. I remember that it was the custom, in my patron's house, 
to ask questions of the Single Catechism round every Sabbath 
night. He asked the first, my mother the second, and so on, 
everyone saying the question asked and then asking the next. It 
fell to my mother to ask Effectual Calling at me. I said the answer 
with propriety and emphasis. "Now, madam," added I, my 
question to you is: What is Ineffectual Calling?"

"Ineffectual Calling? There is no such thing, Robert," said she.

"But there is, madam," said I, and that answer proves how much 
you say these fundamental precepts by rote, and without any 
consideration. Ineffectual Calling is the outward call of the gospel 
without any effect on the hearts of unregenerated and impenitent 
sinners. Have not all these the same calls, warnings, doctrines, 
and reproofs, that we have? And is not this ineffectual Calling? 
Has not Ardinferry the same? Has not Patrick M'Lure the same? 
Has not the Laird of Dalcastle and his reprobate heir the same? 
And will any tell me that this is not Ineffectual Calling?"

"What a wonderful boy he is!" said my mother.

"I'm feared he turn out to be a conceited gowk," said old Barnet, 
the minister's man.

"No," said my pastor, and father (as I shall henceforth 
denominate him). "No, Barnet, he is a wonderful boy; and no 
marvel, for I have prayed for these talents to be bestowed on him 
from his infancy: and do you think that Heaven would refuse a 
prayer so disinterested? No, it is impossible. But my dread is, 
madam," continued he, turning to my mother, "that he is yet in 
the bond of iniquity."

"God forbid!" said my mother.

"I have struggled with the Almighty long and hard," continued 
he; "but have as yet no certain token of acceptance in his behalf, I 
have indeed fought a hard fight, but have been repulsed by him 
who hath seldom refused my request; although I cited his own 
words against him, and endeavoured to hold him at his promise, 
he hath so many turnings in the supremacy of his power, that I 
have been rejected. How dreadful is it to think of our darling 
being still without the pale of the covenant! But I have vowed a 
vow, and in that there is hope."

My heart quaked with terror when I thought of being still living 
in a state of reprobation, subjected to the awful issues of death, 
judgment, and eternal misery, by the slightest accident or 
casualty; and I set about the duty of prayer myself with the 
utmost earnestness. I prayed three times every day, and seven 
times on the Sabbath; but, the more frequently and fervently that I 
prayed, I sinned still the more. About this time, and for a long 
period afterwards, amounting to several years, I lived in a 
hopeless and deplorable state of mind; for I said to myself, "If my 
name is not written in the book of life from all eternity, it is in 
vain for me to presume that either vows or prayers of mine, or 
those of all mankind combined, can ever procure its insertion 
now." I had come under many vows, most solemnly taken, every 
one of which I had broken; and I saw with the intensity of 
juvenile grief that there was no hope for me. I went on sinning 
every hour, and all the while most strenuously warring against 
sin, and repenting of every one transgression as soon after the 
commission of it as I got leisure to think. But, oh, what a 
wretched state this unregenerated state is, in which every effort 
after righteousness only aggravates our offences! I found it vanity 
to contend; for, after communing with my heart, the conclusion 
was as follows: "If I could repent me of all my sins, and shed 
tears of blood for them, still have I not a load of original 
transgression pressing on me that is enough to crush me to the 
lowest hell. I may be angry with my first parents for having 
sinned, but how I shall repent me of their sin is beyond what I am 
able to comprehend."

Still, in those days of depravity and corruption, I had some of 
those principles implanted in my mind which were afterwards to 
spring up with such amazing fertility among the heroes of the 
faith and the promises. In particular, I felt great indignation 
against all the wicked of this world, and often wished for the 
means of ridding it of such a noxious burden. I liked John Barnet, 
my reverend father's serving-man, extremely ill; but, from a 
supposition that he might be one of the justified, I refrained from 
doing him any injury. He gave always his word against me, and 
when we were by ourselves, in the barn or the fields, he rated me 
with such severity for my faults that my heart could brook it no 
longer. He discovered some notorious lies that I had framed, and 
taxed me with them in such a manner that I could in no wise get 
off. My cheek burnt, with offence, rather than shame; and he, 
thinking he had got the mastery of me, exulted over me most 
unmercifully, telling me I was a selfish and conceited blackguard, 
who made great pretences towards religious devotion to cloak a 
disposition tainted with deceit, and that it would not much 
astonish him if I brought myself to the gallows.

I gathered some courage from his over-severity, and answered
him as follows: "Who made thee a judge of the actions or 
dispositions of the Almighty's creatures--thou who art a worm 
and no man in his sight? How it befits thee to deal out judgments and
anathemas! Hath he not made one vessel to honour, and another 
to dishonour, as in the case with myself and thee? Hath he not 
builded his stories in the heavens, and laid the foundations 
thereof in the earth, and how can a being like thee judge between 
good and evil, that are both subjected to the workings of his hand; 
or of the opposing principles in the soul of man, correcting, 
modifying, and refining one another?"

I said this with that strong display of fervour for which I was 
remarkable at my years, and expected old Barnet to be utterly 
confounded; but he only shook his head, and, with the most 
provoking grin, said: "There he goes! Sickan sublime and 
ridiculous sophistry I never heard come out of another mouth but 
ane. There needs nae aiths to be sworn afore the session wha is 
your father, young goodman. I ne'er, for my part, saw a son sac 
like a dad, sin' my een first opened." With that he went away, 
saying with an ill-natured wince: "You made to honour and me to 
dishonour! Dirty bow-kail thing that thou be'st!"

"I will have the old rascal on the hip for this, if I live," thought I. 
So I went and asked my mother if John was a righteous man. She 
could not tell, but supposed he was, and therefore I got no 
encouragement from her. I went next to my reverend father, and 
inquired his opinion, expecting as little from that quarter. He 
knew the elect as it were by instinct, and could have told you of 
all those in his own, and some neighbouring parishes, who were 
born within the boundaries of the covenant of promise, and who 
were not.

"I keep a good deal in company with your servant, old Barnet, 
father," said I.

"You do, boy, you do, I see," said he.

"I wish I may not keep too much in his company," said I, "not 
knowing what kind of society I am in. Is John a good man, 
father?"

"Why, boy, he is but so so. A morally good man John is, but very 
little of the leaven of true righteousness, which is faith, within. I 
am afraid old Barnet, with all his stock of morality, will be a 
castaway."

My heart was greatly cheered by this remark; and I sighed very 
deeply, and hung my head to one side. The worthy father 
observed me, and inquired the cause, when I answered as follows: 
"How dreadful the thought, that I have been going daily in 
company and fellowship with one whose name is written on the 
red-letter side of the book of life; whose body and soul have 
been, from all eternity, consigned over to everlasting destruction, 
and to whom the blood of the atonement can never, never reach! 
Father, this is an awful thing, and beyond my comprehension."

"While we are in the world, we must mix with the inhabitants 
thereof," said he; "and the stains which adhere to us by reason of 
this mixture, which is unavoidable, shall all be washed away. It is 
our duty, however, to shun the society of wicked men as much as 
possible, lest we partake of their sins, and become sharers with 
them in punishment. John, however, is morally a good man, and 
may yet get a cast of grace."

"I always thought him a good man till to-day," said I, "when he 
threw out some reflections on your character, so horrible that I 
quake to think of the wickedness and malevolence of his heart. 
He was rating me very impertinently for some supposed fault, 
which had no being save in his own jealous brain, when I 
attempted to reason him out of his belief in the spirit of calm 
Christian argument. But how do you think he answered me? He 
did so, sir, by twisting his mouth at me, and remarking that such 
sublime and ridiculous sophistry never came out of another 
mouth but one (meaning yours) and that no oath before a kirk 
session was necessary to prove who was my dad, for that he had 
never seen a son so like a father as I was like mine."

"He durst not for his soul's salvation, and for his daily bread, 
which he values much more, say such a word, boy; therefore, take 
care what you assert," said my reverend father.

"He said these very words, and will not deny them, sir," said I.

My reverend father turned about in great wrath and indignation, 
and went away in search of John, but I kept out of the way, and 
listened at a back window; for John was dressing the plot of 
ground behind the house; and I hope it was no sin in me that I did 
rejoice in the dialogue which took place, it being the victory of 
righteousness over error.

"Well, John, this is a fine day for your delving work."

"Ay, it's a tolerable day, sir."

"Are you thankful in heart, John, for such temporal mercies as 
these?"

"Aw doubt we're a' ower little thankfu', sir, baith for temporal an' 
speeritual mercies; but it isna aye the maist thankfu' heart that 
maks the greatest fraze wi' the tongue."

"I hope there is nothing personal under that remark, John?"

"Gin the bannet fits ony body's head, they're unco welcome to it, 
sir, for me."

"John, I do not approve of these innuendoes. You have an arch 
malicious manner. of vending your aphorisms, which the men of 
the world are too apt to read the wrong way, for your dark hints 
are sure to have one very bad meaning."

"Hout na, sir, it's only bad folks that think sac. They find ma bits 
o' gibes come hame to their hearts wi' a kind o' yerk, an' that gars 
them wince."

"That saying is ten times worse than the other, John; it is a 
manifest insult: it is just telling me to my face that you think me a 
bad man."

"A body canna help his thoughts, sir."

"No, but a man's thoughts are generally formed from observation. 
Now I should like to know, even from the mouth of a 
misbeliever, what part of my conduct warrants such a 
conclusion."

"Nae particular pairt, sir; I draw a' my conclusions frae the haill o' 
a man's character, an' I'm no that aften far wrong."

"Well, John, and what sort of general character do you suppose 
mine to be?"

"Yours is a Scripture character, sir, an' I'll prove it."

"I hope so, John. Well, which of the Scripture characters do you 
think approximates nearest to my own?"

"Guess, sir, guess; I wish to lead a proof."

"Why, if it be an Old Testament character, I hope it is 
Melchizedek, for at all events you cannot deny there is one point 
of resemblance: I, like him, am a preacher of righteousness. If it 
be a New Testament character, I suppose you mean the Apostle 
of the Gentiles, of whom I am an unworthy representative."

"Na, na, sir, better nor that still, an' fer closer is the resemblance. 
When ye bring me to the point, I maun speak. Ye are the just 
Pharisee, sir, that gaed up wi' the poor publican to pray in the 
Temple; an' ye're acting the very same pairt at this time, an' 
saying i'  your heart, 'God, I thank thee that I am not as other men 
are, an' in nae way like this poor misbelieving unregenerate 
sinner, John Barnet.'" 

"I hope I may say so indeed."

"There now! I tauld you how it was! But, d'ye hear, maister. Here 
stands the poor sinner, John Barnet, your beadle an' servantman, 
wha wadna change chances wi' you in the neist world, nor 
consciences in this, for ten times a' that you possess--your 
justification by faith an' awthegither."

"You are extremely audacious and impertinent, John; but the 
language of reprobation cannot affect me: I came only to ask you 
one question, which I desire you to answer candidly. Did you 
ever say to anyone that I was the boy Robert's natural father?"

"Hout na, sir! Ha-ha-ha! Aih, fie, na, sir! I durst-na say that for 
my life. I doubt the black stool, an' the sack gown, or maybe the 
juggs wad hae been my portion had I said sic a thing as that. 
Hout, hout! Fie, fie! Unco-like doings thae for a Melchizedek or a 
Saint Paul!"

"John, you are a profane old man, and I desire that you will not 
presume to break your jests on me. Tell me, dare you say, or dare 
you think, that I am the natural father of that boy?"

"Ye canna hinder me to think whatever I like, sir, nor can I hinder 
mysel."

"But did you ever say to anyone that he resembled me, and 
fathered himself well enough?"

"I hae said mony a time that he resembled you, sir. Naebody can 
mistake that."

"But, John, there are many natural reasons for such likenesses, 
besides that of consanguinity. They depend much on the thoughts 
and affections of the mother; and it is probable that the mother of 
this boy, being deserted by her worthless husband, having turned 
her thoughts on me, as likely to be her protector, may have 
caused this striking resemblance."

"Ay, it may be, sir. I coudna say."

"I have known a lady, John, who was delivered of a blackamoor 
child, merely from the circumstance of having got a start by the 
sudden entrance of her negro servant, and not being able to forget 
him for several hours."

"It may be, sir; but I ken this--an' I had been the laird, I wadna 
hae ta'en that story in."

"So, then, John, you positively think, from a casual likeness, that 
this boy is my son?"

"Man's thoughts are vanity, sir; they come unasked, an' gang 
away without a dismissal, an' he canna' help them. I'm neither 
gaun to say that I think he's your son, nor that I think he's no your 
son: sae ye needna pose me nae mair about it."

"Hear then my determination, John. If you do not promise to me, 
in faith and honour, that you never will say, or insinuate such a 
thing again in your life, as that that boy is my natural son, I will 
take the keys of the church from you, and dismiss you from my 
service."

John pulled out the keys, and dashed them on the gravel at the 
reverend minister's feet. "There are the keys o' your kirk, sir! I 
hae never had muckle mense o' them sin' ye entered the door o't. I 
hae carried them this three and thretty year, but they hae aye been 
like to burn a hole i' my pouch sin' ever they were turned for your 
admittance. Tak them again, an' gie them to wha you will, and 
muckle gude may he get o' them. Auld John may dee a beggar in 
a hay barn, or at the back of a dike, but he sall aye be master o' 
his ain thoughts an' gie them vent or no, as he likes."

He left the manse that day, and I rejoiced in the riddance; for I 
disdained to be kept so much under by one who was in bond of 
iniquity, and of whom there seemed no hope, as he rejoiced in his 
frowardness, and refused to submit to that faithful teacher, his 
master.

It was about this time that my reverend father preached a sermon, 
one sentence of which affected me most disagreeably. It was to 
the purport that every unrepented sin was productive of a new sin 
with each breath that a man drew; and every one of these new 
sins added to the catalogue in the same manner. I was utterly 
confounded at the multitude of my transgressions; for I was 
sensible that there were great numbers of sins of which I had 
never been able thoroughly to repent, and these momentary ones, 
by moderate calculation, had, I saw. long ago, amounted to a 
hundred and fifty thousand in the minute, and I saw no end to the 
series of repentances to which I had subjected myself. A life-time 
was nothing to enable me to accomplish the sum, and then being, 
for anything I was certain of, in my state of nature, and the grace 
of repentance withheld from me--what was I to do, or what was 
to become of me? In the meantime, I went on sinning without 
measure; but I was still more troubled about the multitude than 
the magnitude of my transgressions, and the small minute ones 
puzzled me more than those that were more heinous, as the latter 
had generally some good effects in the way of punishing wicked 
men, froward boys, and deceitful women; and I rejoiced, even 
then in my early youth, at being used as a scourge in the hand of 
the Lord; another Jehu, a Cyrus, or a Nebuchadnezzar.

On the whole, I remember that I got into great confusion relating 
to my sins and repentances, and knew neither where to begin nor 
how to proceed, and often had great fears that I was wholly 
without Christ, and that I would find God a consuming fire to me. 
I could not help running into new sins continually; but then I was 
mercifully dealt with, for I was often made to repent of them 
most heartily, by reason of bodily chastisements received on 
these delinquencies being discovered. I was particularly prone to 
lying, and I cannot but admire the mercy that has freely forgiven 
me all these juvenile sins. Now that I know them all to be blotted 
out, and that I am an accepted person, I may the more freely 
confess them: the truth is, that one lie always paved the way for 
another, from hour to hour, from day to day, and from year to 
year; so that I found myself constantly involved in a labyrinth of 
deceit, from which it was impossible to extricate myself. If I 
knew a person to be a godly one, I could almost have kissed his 
feet; but, against the carnal portion of mankind, I set my face 
continually. I esteemed the true ministers of the gospel; but the 
prelatic party, and the preachers up of good works I abhorred, and 
to this hour I account them the worst and most heinous of all 
transgressors.

There was only one boy at Mr. Witch's class who kept always the 
upper hand of me in every part of education. I strove against him 
from year to year, but it was all in vain; for he was a very wicked 
boy, and I was convinced he had dealings with the Devil. Indeed, 
it was believed all over the country that his mother was a witch; 
and I was at length convinced, that it was no human ingenuity 
that beat me with so much ease in the Latin, after I had often sat 
up a whole night with my reverend father, studying my lesson in 
all its bearings. I often read as well and sometimes better than he; 
but, the moment Mr. Wilson began to examine us, my opponent 
popped up above me. I determined (as I knew him for a wicked 
person, and one of the Devil's handfasted children) to be 
revenged on him, and to humble him by some means or other. 
Accordingly I lost no opportunity of setting the master against 
him, and succeeded several times in getting him severely beaten 
for faults of which he was innocent. I can hardly describe the joy 
that it gave to my heart to see a wicked creature suffering, for, 
though he deserved it not for one thing, he richly deserved it for 
others. This may be by some people accounted a great sin in me; 
but I deny it, for I did it as a duty, and what a man or boy does for 
the right will never be put into the sum of his transgressions.

This boy, whose name was M'Gill, was, at all his leisure hours,
engaged in drawing profane pictures of beasts, men, women,
houses, and trees, and, in short, of all things that his eye 
encountered. These profane things the master often smiled at, and
admired; therefore I began privately to try my hand likewise. I
had scarcely tried above once to draw the figure of a man, ere I
conceived that I had hit the very features of Mr. Wilson. They
were so particular that they could not be easily mistaken, and I
was so tickled and pleased with the droll likeness that I had
drawn that I laughed immoderately at it. I tried no other figure
but this; and I tried it in every situation in which a man and a
schoolmaster could be placed. I often wrought for hours together
at this likeness, nor was it long before I made myself so much
master of the outline that I could have drawn it in any situation
whatever, almost off hand. I then took M'Gill's account book of
algebra home with me, and at my leisure put down a number
of gross caricatures of Mr. Wilson here and there, several of them
in situations notoriously ludicrous. I waited the discovery of this
treasure with great impatience; but the book, chancing to be one
that M'Gill was not using, I saw it might be long enough before
I enjoyed the consummation of my grand scheme: therefore,
with all the ingenuity I was master of, I brought it before our
dominie's eye. But never shall I forget the rage that gleamed
in the tyrant's phiz! I was actually terrified to look at him, and
trembled at his voice. M'Gill was called upon, and examined 
relating to the obnoxious figures. He denied flatly that any of 
them were of his doing. But the master inquiring at him whose 
they were, he could not tell, but affirmed it to be some trick. Mr. 
Wilson at one time began, as I thought, to hesitate; but the 
evidence was so strong against M'Gill that at length his solemn 
asseverations of innocence only proved an aggravation of his 
crime. There was not one in the school who had ever been known 
to draw a figure but himself, and on him fell the whole weight of 
the tyrant's vengeance. It was dreadful; and I was once in hopes 
that he would not leave life in the culprit. He, however, left the 
school for several months, refusing to return to be subjected to 
punishment for the faults of others, and I stood king of the class.

Matters, were at last made up between M'Gill's parents and the 
schoolmaster, but by that time I had got the start of him, and 
never in my life did I exert myself so much as to keep the 
mastery. It was in vain; the powers of enchantment prevailed, and 
I was again turned down with the tear in my eye. I could think of 
no amends but one, and, being driven to desperation, I put it in 
practice. I told a lie of him. I came boldly up to the master, and 
told him that M'Gill had in my hearing cursed him in a most 
shocking manner, and called him vile names. He called M'Gill, 
and charged him with the crime, and the proud young coxcomb 
was so stunned at the atrocity of the charge that his face grew as 
red as crimson, and the words stuck in his throat as he feebly 
denied it. His guilt was manifest, and he was again flogged most 
nobly and dismissed the school for ever in disgrace, as a most 
incorrigible vagabond.

This was a great victory gained, and I rejoiced and exulted 
exceedingly in it. It had, however, very nigh cost me my life; for 
I not long thereafter I encountered M'Gill in the fields, on which 
he came up and challenged me for a liar, daring me to fight him. I 
refused, and said that I looked on him as quite below my notice; 
but he would not quit me, and finally told me that he should 
either lick me, or I should lick him, as he had no other means of 
being revenged on such a scoundrel. I tried to intimidate him, but 
it would not do; and I believe I would have given all that I had in 
the world to be quit of him. He at length went so far as first to 
kick me, and then strike me on the face; and, being both older and 
stronger than he, I thought it scarcely became me to take such 
insults patiently. I was, nevertheless, well aware that the devilish 
powers of his mother would finally prevail; and either the dread 
of this, or the inward consciousness of having wronged him, 
certainly unnerved my arm, for I fought wretchedly, and was 
soon wholly overcome. I was so sore defeated that I kneeled and 
was going to beg his pardon; but another thought struck me 
momentarily, and I threw myself on my face, and inwardly 
begged aid from heaven; at the same time I felt as if assured that 
my prayer was heard, and would be answered. While I was in this 
humble attitude, the villain kicked me with his foot and cursed 
me; and I, being newly encouraged, arose and encountered him 
once more. We had not fought long at this second turn before I 
saw a man hastening towards us; on which I uttered a shout of 
joy, and laid on valiantly; but my very next look assured me that 
the man was old John Barnet, whom I had likewise wronged all 
that was in my power, and between these two wicked persons I 
expected anything but justice. My arm was again enfeebled, and 
that of my adversary prevailed. I was knocked down and mauled 
most grievously, and, while the ruffian was kicking and cuffing 
me at his will and pleasure, up came old John Barnet, breathless 
with running, and, at one blow with his open hand, levelled my 
opponent with the earth. "Tak ye that, maister!" said John, "to 
learn ye better breeding. Hout awa, man! An ye will fight, fight 
fair. Gude sauf us, ir ye a gentleman's brood, that ye will kick an' 
cuff a lad when he's down?"

When I heard this kind and unexpected interference, I began once 
more to value myself on my courage, and, springing up, I made at 
my adversary; but John, without saying a word, bit his lip, and 
seizing me by the neck threw me down. M'Gill begged of him to 
stand and see fair play, and suffer us to finish the battle; for, 
added he. "he is a liar, and a scoundrel, and deserves ten times 
more than I can give him."

"I ken he's a' that ye say, an' mair, my man," quoth John. "But am 
I sure that ye're no as bad, an' waur? It says nae muckle for ony o' 
ye to be tearing like tikes at one anither here."

John cocked his cudgel and stood between us, threatening to 
knock the one dead who first offered to lift his hand against the 
other; but, perceiving no disposition in any of us to separate, he 
drove me home before him like a bullock, and keeping close 
guard behind me, lest M'Gill had followed. I felt greatly indebted 
to John, yet I complained of his interference to my mother, and 
the old officious sinner got no thanks for his pains.

As I am writing only from recollection, so I remember of nothing 
farther in these early days, in the least worthy of being recorded. 
That I was a great, a transcendent sinner, I confess. But still I had 
hopes of forgiveness, because I never sinned from principle, but 
accident; and then I always tried to repent of these sins by the 
slump, for individually it was impossible; and, though not always 
successful in my endeavours, I could not help that, the grace of 
repentance being withheld from me, I regarded myself as in no 
degree accountable for the failure. Moreover, there were many of 
the most deadly sins into which I never fell, for I dreaded those 
mentioned in the Revelations as excluding sins, so that I guarded 
against them continually. In particular, I brought myself to 
despise, if not to abhor, the beauty of women, looking on it as the 
greatest snare to which mankind was subjected, and though 
young men and maidens, and even old women (my mother 
among the rest), taxed me with being an unnatural wretch, I 
gloried in my acquisition; and, to this day, am thankful for having 
escaped the most dangerous of all snares.

I kept myself also free of the sins of idolatry and misbelief, both 
of a deadly nature; and, upon the whole, I think I had not then 
broken, that is, absolutely broken, above four out of the ten 
commandments; but, for all that, I had more sense than to regard 
either my good works, or my evil deeds, as in the smallest degree 
influencing the eternal decrees of God concerning me, either with 
regard to my acceptance or reprobation. I depended entirely on 
the bounty of free grace, holding all the righteousness of man as 
filthy rags, and believing in the momentous and magnificent truth 
that, the more heavily loaden with transgressions, the more 
welcome was the believer at the throne of grace. And I have 
reason to believe that it was this dependence and this belief that at 
last ensured my acceptance there.

I come now to the most important period of my existence--the 
period that has modelled my character, and influenced every 
action of my life--without which, this detail of my actions would 
have been as a tale that hath been told--a monotonous farrago--an 
uninteresting harangue--in short, a thing of nothing. Whereas, lo! 
it must now be a relation of great and terrible actions, done in the 
might, and by the commission of heaven. Amen.

Like the sinful king of Israel, I had been walking softly before the 
Lord for a season. I had been humbled for my transgressions, and, 
as far as I recollect, sorry on account of their numbers and 
heinousness. My reverend father had been, moreover, examining 
me every day regarding the state of my soul, and my answers 
sometimes appeared to give him satisfaction, and sometimes not. 
As for my mother, she would harp on the subject of my faith for 
ever; yet, though I knew her to be a Christian, I confess that I 
always despised her motley instructions, nor had I any great 
regard for her person. If this was a crime in me, I never could 
help it. I confess it freely, and believe it was a judgment from 
heaven inflicted on her for some sin of former days, and that I 
had no power to have acted otherwise towards her than I did.

In this frame of mind was I when my reverend father one 
morning arose from his seat, and, meeting me as I entered the 
room, he embraced me, and welcomed me into the community of 
the just upon earth. I was struck speechless, and could make no 
answer save by looks of surprise. My mother also came to me, 
kissed, and wept over me; and, after showering unnumbered 
blessings on my head, she also welcomed me into the society of 
the just made perfect. Then each of them took me by a hand, and 
my reverend father explained to me how he had wrestled with 
God, as the patriarch of old had done, not for a night, but for days 
and years, and that in bitterness and anguish of spirit, on my 
account; but, that he had at last prevailed, and had now gained the 
long and earnestly desired assurance of my acceptance with the 
Almighty, in and through the merits and sufferings of his Son. 
That I was now a justified person, adopted among the number of 
God's children--my name written in the Lamb's book of life, and 
that no by-past transgression, nor any future act of my own, or of 
other men, could be instrumental in altering the decree. "All the 
powers of darkness," added he, "shall never be able to pluck you 
again out of your Redeemer's hand. And now, my son, be strong 
and steadfast in the truth. Set your face against sin, and sinful 
men, and resist even to blood, as many of the faithful of this land 
have done, and your reward shall be double. I am assured of your 
acceptance by the word and spirit of Him who cannot err, and 
your sanctification and repentance unto life will follow in due 
course. Rejoice and be thankful, for you are plucked as a brand 
out of the burning, and now your redemption is sealed and sure."

I wept for joy to be thus assured of my freedom from all sin, and 
of the impossibility of my ever again falling away from my new 
state. I bounded away into the fields and the woods, to pour out 
my spirit in prayer before the Almighty for his kindness to me: 
my whole frame seemed to be renewed; every nerve was buoyant 
with new life; I felt as if I could have flown in the air, or leaped 
over the tops of the trees. An exaltation of spirit lifted me, as it 
were, far above the earth and the sinful creatures crawling  on its 
surface; and I deemed myself as an eagle among the children of 
men, soaring on high, and looking down with pity and contempt 
on the grovelling creatures below.

As I thus wended my way, I beheld a young man of a mysterious 
appearance coming towards me. I tried to shun him, being bent 
on my own contemplations; but he cast himself in my way, so 
that I could not well avoid him; and, more than that, I felt a sort 
of invisible power that drew me towards him, something like the 
force of enchantment, which I could not resist. As we approached 
each other, our eyes met and I can never describe the strange 
sensations that thrilled through my whole frame at that 
impressive moment; a moment to me fraught with the most 
tremendous consequences; the beginning of a series of adventures 
which has puzzled myself, and will puzzle the world when I am 
no more in it. That time will now soon arrive, sooner than anyone 
can devise who knows not the tumult of my thoughts and the 
labour of my spirit; and when it hath come and passed over, when 
my flesh and my bones are decayed, and my soul has passed to its 
everlasting home, then shall the sons of men ponder on the events 
of my life; wonder and tremble, and tremble and wonder how 
such things should be.

That strange youth and I approached each other in silence, and 
slowly, with our eyes fixed on each other's eyes. We approached 
till not more than a yard intervened between us, and then stood 
still and gazed, measuring each other from head to foot. What 
was my astonishment on perceiving that he was the same being as 
myself! The clothes were the same to the smallest item. The form 
was the same; the apparent age; the colour of the hair; the eyes; 
and, as far as recollection could serve me from viewing my own 
features in a glass, the features too were the very same. I 
conceived at first that I saw a vision, and that my guardian angel 
had appeared to me at this important era of my life; but this 
singular being read my thoughts in my looks, anticipating the 
very words that I was going to utter.

"You think I am your brother," said he; or that I am your second 
self. I am indeed your brother, not according to the flesh, but in 
my belief of the same truths, and my assurance in the same mode 
of redemption, than which I hold nothing so great or so glorious 
on earth."

"Then you are an associate well adapted to my present state," said 
I. "For this time is a time of great rejoicing in spirit to me. I am 
on my way to return thanks to the Most High for my redemption 
from the bonds of sin and misery. If you will join with me heart 
and hand in youthful thanksgiving, then shall we two go and 
worship together; but, if not, go your way, and I shall go mine."

"Ah, you little know with how much pleasure I will accompany 
you, and join with you in your elevated devotions," said he 
fervently. "Your state is a state to be envied indeed; but I have 
been advised of it, and am come to be a humble disciple of yours; 
to be initiated into the true way of salvation by conversing with 
you, and perhaps of being assisted by your prayers."

My spiritual pride being greatly elevated by this address, I began 
to assume the preceptor, and questioned this extraordinary youth 
with regard to his religious principles, telling him plainly, if he 
was one who expected acceptance with God at all, on account of 
good works, that I would hold no communion with him. He 
renounced these at once, with the greatest vehemence, and 
declared his acquiescence in my faith. I asked if he believed in 
the eternal and irrevocable decrees of God, regarding the 
salvation and condemnation of all mankind? He answered that he 
did so: aye, what would signify all things else that he believed, if 
he did not believe in that? We then went on to commune about all 
our points of belief; and in everything that I suggested he 
acquiesced, and, as I thought that day, often carried them to 
extremes, so that I had a secret dread he was advancing 
blasphemies. He had such a way with him, and paid such a 
deference to all my opinions, that I was quite captivated, and, at 
the same time, I stood in a sort of awe of him, which I could not 
account for, and several times was seized with an involuntary 
inclination to escape from his presence by making a sudden 
retreat. But he seemed constantly to anticipate my thoughts, and 
was sure to divert my purpose by some turn in the conversation 
that particularly interested me. He took care to dwell much on the 
theme of the impossibility of those ever falling away who were 
once accepted and received into covenant with God, for he 
seemed to know that in that confidence, and that trust, my whole 
hopes were centred.

We moved about from one place to another, until the day was 
wholly spent. My mind had all the while been kept in a state of 
agitation resembling the motion of a whirlpool, and, when we 
came to separate, I then discovered that the purpose for which I 
had sought the fields had been neglected, and that I had been 
diverted from the worship of God by attending to the quibbles 
and dogmas of this singular and unaccountable being, who 
seemed to have more knowledge and information than all the 
persons I had ever known put together.

We parted with expressions of mutual regret, and when I left him 
I felt a deliverance, but at the same time a certain consciousness 
that I was not thus to get free of him, but that he was like to be an 
acquaintance that was to stick to me for good or for evil. I was 
astonished at his acuteness and knowledge about everything; but, 
as for his likeness to me, that was quite unaccountable. He was 
the same person in every respect, but yet he was not always so; 
for I observed several times, when we were speaking of certain 
divines and their tenets, that his face assumed something of the 
appearance of theirs; and it struck me that, by setting his features 
to the mould of other people's, he entered at once into their 
conceptions and feelings. I had been greatly flattered, and greatly 
interested by his conversation; whether I had been the better for it 
or the worse, I could not tell. I had been diverted from returning 
thanks to my gracious Maker for his great kindness to me, and came 
home as I went away, but not with the same buoyancy and lightness of 
heart.  Well may I remember the day in which I was first received into 
the number, and made an heir to all the privileges of the children 
of God, and on which I first met this mysterious associate, who 
from that day forth contrived to wind himself into all my affairs, 
both spiritual and temporal, to this day on which I am writing the 
account of it. It was on the 25th day of March, 1704, when I had 
just entered the eighteenth year of my age. Whether it behoves 
me to bless God for the events of that day, or to deplore them, has 
been hid from my discernment, though I have inquired into it 
with fear and trembling; and I have now lost all hopes of ever 
discovering the true import of these events until that day when 
my accounts are to make up and reckon for in another world.

When I came home, I went straight into the parlour, where my 
mother was sitting by herself. She started to her feet, and uttered 
a smothered scream. "What ails you, Robert?" cried she. "My 
dear son, what is the matter with you?"

"Do you see anything the matter with me?" said I. "It appears that 
the ailment is with yourself and either in your crazed head or your 
dim eyes, for there is nothing the matter with me."

"Ah, Robert, you are ill!" cried she. "You are very ill, my dear 
boy; you are quite changed; your very voice and manner are 
changed. Ah, Jane, haste you up to the study, and tell Mr. 
Wringhim to come here on the instant and speak to Robert."

"I beseech you, woman, to restrain yourself," said I. "If you suffer 
your frenzy to run away with your judgment in this manner, I will 
leave the house. What do you mean? I tell you, there is nothing 
ails me: I never was better."

She screamed, and ran between me and the door, to bar my 
retreat: in the meantime my reverend father entered, and I have 
not forgot how he gazed, through his glasses, first at my mother, 
and then at me. I imagined that his eyes burnt like candles, and 
was afraid of him, which I suppose made my looks more unstable 
than they would otherwise have been.

"What is all this for?" said he. "Mistress! Robert! What is the 
matter here?"

"Oh, sir, our boy!" cried my mother; "our dear boy, Mr. 
Wringhim! Look at him, and speak to him: he is either dying or 
translated, sir!"

He looked at me with a countenance of great alarm; mumbling 
some sentences to himself, and then taking me by the arm, as if to 
feel my pulse, he said, with a faltering voice: "Something has 
indeed befallen you, either in body or mind, boy, for you are 
transformed, since the morning, that I could not have known you 
for the same person. Have you met with any accident?"

"No."

"Have you seen anything out of the ordinary course of nature?"

"No."

"Then, Satan, I fear, has been busy with you, tempting you in no 
ordinary degree at this momentous crisis of your life?"

My mind turned on my associate for the day, and the idea that he 
might be an agent of the Devil had such an effect on me that I 
could make no answer.

"I see how it is," said he; "you are troubled in spirit, and I have no 
doubt that the enemy of our salvation has been busy with you. 
Tell me this, has he overcome you, or has he not?"

"He has not, my dear father," said I. "in the strength of the Lord, I 
hope I have withstood him. But indeed, if he has been busy with 
me, I knew it not. I have been conversant this day with one 
stranger only, whom I took rather for an angel of light."

"It is one of the Devil's most profound wiles to appear like one," 
said my mother.

"Woman, hold thy peace!" said my reverend father. "Thou 
pretendest to teach what thou knowest not. Tell me this, boy: did 
this stranger, with whom you met, adhere to the religious 
principles in which I have educated you?"

"Yes, to every one of them in their fullest latitude," said I.

"Then he was no agent of the Wicked One with whom you held 
converse," said he: "for that is the doctrine that was made to 
overturn the principalities and powers, the might and dominion of 
the kingdom of darkness. Let us pray."

After spending about a quarter of an hour in solemn and sublime 
thanksgiving, this saintly man and minister of Christ Jesus, gave 
out that the day following should be kept by the family as a day 
of solemn thanksgiving, and spent in prayer and praise, on 
account of the calling and election of one of its members; or 
rather for the election of that individual being revealed on earth, 
as well as confirmed in Heaven.

The next day was with me a day of holy exultation. It was begun 
by my reverend father laying his hands upon my head and 
blessing me, and then dedicating me to the Lord in the most 
awful and impressive manner. It was in no common way that he 
exercised this profound rite, for it was done with all the zeal and 
enthusiasm of a devotee to the true cause, and a champion on the 
side he had espoused. He used these remarkable words, which I 
have still treasured up in my heart: "I give him unto Thee only, to 
Thee wholly, and to Thee for ever. I dedicate him unto Thee, 
soul, body, and spirit. Not as the wicked of this world, or the 
hirelings of a Church profanely called by Thy name, do I dedicate 
this Thy servant to Thee: Not in words and form, learned by rote, 
and dictated by the limbs of Antichrist, but, Lord, I give him into 
Thy hand, as a captain putteth a sword into the hand of his 
sovereign, wherewith to lay waste his enemies. May he be a two-
edged weapon in Thy hand and a spear coming out of Thy mouth, 
to destroy, and overcome, and pass over; and may the enemies of 
Thy Church fall down before him, and be as dung to fat the 
land!"

From the moment, I conceived it decreed, not that I should be a 
minister of the gospel, but a champion of it, to cut off the enemies 
of the Lord from the face of the earth; and I rejoiced in the 
commission, finding it more congenial to my nature to be cutting 
sinners off with the sword than to be haranguing them from the 
pulpit, striving to produce an effect which God, by his act of 
absolute predestination, had for ever rendered impracticable. The 
more I pondered on these things the more I saw of the folly and 
inconsistency of ministers in spending their lives striving and 
remonstrating with sinners in order to induce them to do that 
which they had it not in their power to do. Seeing that God had 
from all eternity decided the fate of every individual that was to 
be born of woman, how vain was it in man to endeavour to save 
those whom their Maker had, by an unchangeable decree, 
doomed to destruction. I could not disbelieve the doctrine which 
the best of men had taught me, and towards which he made the 
whole of the Scriptures to bear, and yet it made the economy of 
the Christian world appear to me as an absolute contradiction. 
How much more wise would it be, thought I, to begin and cut 
sinners off with the sword! For till that is effected, the saints can 
never inherit the earth in peace. Should I be honoured as an 
instrument to begin this great work of purification, I should 
rejoice in it. But, then, where had I the means, or under what 
direction was I to begin? There was one thing clear, I was now 
the Lord's and it behoved me to bestir myself in His service. Oh 
that I had an host at my command, then would I be as a devouring 
fire among the workers of iniquity!

Full of these great ideas, I hurried through the city, and sought 
again the private path through the field and wood of Finnieston, 
in which my reverend preceptor had the privilege of walking for 
study, and to which he had a key that was always at my 
command. Near one of the stiles, I perceived a young man sitting 
in a devout posture, reading a Bible. He rose, lifted his hat, and 
made an obeisance to me, which I returned and walked on. I had 
not well crossed the stile till it struck me I knew the face of the 
youth and that he was some intimate acquaintance, to whom I 
ought to have spoken. I walked on, and returned, and walked on 
again, trying to recollect who he was; but for my life I could not. 
There was, however, a fascination in his look and manner that 
drew me back towards him in spite of myself, and I resolved to 
go to him, if it were merely to speak and see who he was.

I came up to him and addressed him, but he was so intent on his 
book that, though I spoke, he lifted not his eyes. I looked on the 
book also, and still it seemed a Bible, having columns, chapters, 
and verses; but it was in a language of which I was wholly 
ignorant, and all intersected with red lines and verses. A sensation 
resembling a stroke of electricity came over me, on first casting 
my eyes on that mysterious book, and I stood motionless. He 
looked up, smiled, closed his book, and put it in his bosom. "You 
seem strangely affected, dear sir, by looking at my book," said he 
mildly.

"In the name of God, what book is that?" said I. "Is it a Bible?"

"It is my Bible, sir," said he, "but I will cease reading it, for I am 
glad to see you. Pray, is not this a day for holy festivity with 
you?"

I stared in his face, but made no answer, for my senses were 
bewildered.

"Do you not know me?" said he. "You appear to be somehow at a 
loss. Had not you and I some sweet communion and fellowship 
yesterday?"

"I beg your pardon, sir," said I. "But, surely, if you are the young 
gentleman with whom I spent the hours yesterday, you have the 
chameleon art of changing your appearance; I never could have 
recognized you."

"My countenance changes with my studies and sensations," said 
he. It is a natural peculiarity in me, over which I have not full 
control. If I contemplate a man's features seriously, mine own 
gradually assume the very same appearance and character. And 
what is more, by contemplating a face minutely, I not only attain 
the same likeness but, with the likeness, I attain the very same 
ideas as well as the same mode of arranging them, so that, you 
see, by looking at a person attentively, I by degrees assume his 
likeness, and by assuming his likeness I attain to the possession 
of his most secret thoughts. This, I say, is a peculiarity in my 
nature, a gift of the God that made me; but, whether or not given 
me for a blessing, He knows Himself, and so do I. At all events, I 
have this privilege, I can never be mistaken of a character in 
whom I am interested."

"It is a rare qualification," replied I, "and I would give worlds to 
possess it. Then, it appears that it is needless to dissemble with 
you, since you can at any time extract our most secret thoughts 
from our bosoms. You already know my natural character?"

"Yes," said he, "and it is that which attaches me to you. By 
assuming your likeness yesterday, I became acquainted with your 
character, and was no less astonished at the profundity and range 
of your thoughts than at the heroic magnanimity with which these 
were combined. And now, in addition to these, you are dedicated 
to the great work of the Lord; for which reasons I have resolved 
to attach myself as closely to you as possible, and to render you 
all the service of which my poor abilities are capable."

I confess that I was greatly flattered by these compliments paid to 
my abilities by a youth of such superior qualifications; by one 
who, with a modesty and affability rare at his age, combined a 
height of genius and knowledge almost above human 
comprehension. Nevertheless, I began to assume a certain 
superiority of demeanour towards him, as judging it incumbent 
on me to do so, in order to keep up his idea of my exalted 
character. We conversed again till the day was near a close; and 
the things that he strove most to inculcate on my mind were the 
infallibility of the elect, and the preordination of all things that 
come to pass. I pretended to controvert the first of these, for the 
purpose of showing him the extent of my argumentative powers, 
and said that "indubitably there were degrees of sinning which 
would induce the Almighty to throw off the very elect." But 
behold my hitherto humble and modest companion took up the 
argument with such warmth that he put me not only to silence but 
to absolute shame.

"Why, sir," said he, "by vending such an insinuation, you put     
discredit on the great atonement, in which you trust. Is there not 
enough of merit in the blood of Jesus to save thousands of 
worlds, if it was for these worlds that he died? Now, when you 
know, as you do (and as every one of the elect may know of 
himself) that this Saviour died for you, namely and particularly, 
dare you say that there is not enough of merit in His great 
atonement to annihilate all your sins, let them be as heinous and 
atrocious as they may? And, moreover, do you not acknowledge 
that God hath pre-ordained and decreed whatsoever comes to 
pass? Then, how is it that you should deem it in your power to 
eschew one action of your life, whether good or evil? Depend on 
it, the advice of the great preacher is genuine: 'What thine hand 
findeth to do, do it with all thy might, for none of us knows what 
a day may bring forth.' That is, none of us knows what is pre-
ordained, but whatever it is pre-ordained we must do, and none of 
these things will be laid to our charge."

I could hardly believe that these sayings were genuine or 
orthodox; but I soon felt that, instead of being a humble disciple 
of mine, this new acquaintance was to be my guide and director, 
and all under the humble guise of one stooping at my feet to learn 
the right. He said that he saw I was ordained to perform some 
great action for the cause of Jesus and His Church, and he 
earnestly coveted being a partaker with me; but he besought of 
me never to think it possible for me to fall from the truth, or the 
favour of Him who had chosen me, else that misbelief would 
baulk every good work to which I set my face.

There was something so flattering in all this that I could not resist 
it. Still, when he took leave of me, I felt it as a great relief; and 
yet, before the morrow, I wearied and was impatient to see him 
again. We carried on our fellowship from day to day, and all the 
while I knew not who he was, and still my mother and reverend 
father kept insisting that I was an altered youth, changed in my 
appearance, my manners, and my whole conduct; yet something 
always prevented me from telling them more about my new 
acquaintance than I had done on the first day we met. I rejoiced in 
him, was proud of him, and soon could not live without him; yet, 
though resolved every day to disclose the whole story of my 
connection with him, I had it not in my power. Something always 
prevented me, till at length I thought no more of it, but resolved 
to enjoy his fascinating company in private, and by all means to 
keep my own with him. The resolution was vain: I set a bold face 
to it, but my powers were inadequate to the task; my adherent, 
with all the suavity imaginable, was sure to carry his point. I 
sometimes fumed, and sometimes shed tears at being obliged to 
yield to proposals against which I had at first felt every reasoning 
power of my soul rise in opposition; but for all that he never 
faded in carrying conviction along with him in effect, for he 
either forced me to acquiesce in his measures, and assent to the 
truth of his positions, or he put me so completely down that I had 
not a word left to advance against them.

After weeks, and I may say months of intimacy, I observed, 
somewhat to my amazement, that we had never once prayed 
together; and, more than that, that he had constantly led my 
attentions away from that duty, causing me to neglect it wholly. I 
thought this a bad mark of a man seemingly so much set on 
inculcating certain important points of religion, and resolved next 
day to put him to the test, and request him to perform that sacred 
duty in name of us both. He objected boldly; saying there were 
very few people indeed with whom he could join in prayer, and 
he made a point of never doing it, as he was sure they were to ask 
many things of which he disapproved, and that, if he were to 
officiate himself, he was as certain to allude to many things that 
came not within the range of their faith. He disapproved of prayer 
altogether in the manner it was generally gone about, he said. 
Man made it merely a selfish concern, and was constantly 
employed asking, asking, for everything. Whereas it became all 
God's creatures to be content with their lot, and only to kneel 
before him in order to thank him for such benefits as he saw meet 
to bestow. In short, he argued with such energy that before we 
parted I acquiesced, as usual, in his position, and never 
mentioned prayer to him any more.

Having been so frequently seen in his company, several people 
happened to mention the circumstance to my mother and 
reverend father; but at the same time had all described him 
differently. At length, they began to examine me with respect to 
the company I kept, as I absented myself from home day after 
day. I told them I kept company only with one young gentleman, 
whose whole manner of thinking on religious subjects I found so 
congenial with my own that I could not live out of his society. 
My mother began to lay down some of her old hackneyed rules of 
faith, but I turned from hearing her with disgust; for, after the 
energy of my new friend's reasoning, hers appeared so tame I 
could not endure it. And I confess with shame that my reverend 
preceptor's religious dissertations began, about this time, to lose 
their relish very much, and by degrees became exceedingly 
tiresome to my ear. They were so inferior, in strength and 
sublimity, to the most common observations of my young friend 
that in drawing a comparison the former appeared as nothing. He, 
however, examined me about many things relating to my 
companion, in all of which I satisfied him, save in one: I could 
neither tell him who my friend was, what was his name, nor of 
whom he was descended; and I wondered at myself how I had 
never once adverted to such a thing for all the time we had been 
intimate.

I inquired the next day what his name was; as I said I was often at 
a loss for it, when talking with him. He replied that there was no 
occasion for any one friend ever naming another, when their 
society was held in private, as ours was; for his part he had never 
once named me since we first met, and never intended to do so, 
unless by my own request. "But if you cannot converse without 
naming me, you may call me Gil for the present," added he, "and 
if I think proper to take another name at any future period, it shall 
be with your approbation."

"Gil!" said I. "Have you no name but Gil? Or which of your 
names is it? Your Christian or surname?"

"Oh, you must have a surname too, must you!" replied he. "Very 
well, you may call me Gil-Martin. It is not my Christian name; 
but it is a name which may serve your turn."

"This is very strange!" said I. "Are you ashamed of your parents 
that you refuse to give your real name?"

"I have no parents save one, whom I do not acknowledge," said 
he proudly. "Therefore, pray drop that subject, for it is a 
disagreeable one. I am a being of a very peculiar temper, for, 
though I have servants and subjects more than I can number, yet, 
to gratify a certain whim, I have left them, and retired to this city, 
and, for all the society it contains, you see I have attached myself 
only to you. This is a secret, and I tell you only in friendship, 
therefore pray let it remain one, and say not another word about 
the matter."

I assented, and said no more concerning it; for it instantly struck 
me that this was no other than the Czar Peter of Russia, having 
heard that he had been travelling through Europe in disguise, and 
I cannot say that I had not thenceforward great and mighty hopes 
of high preferment, as a defender and avenger of the oppressed 
Christian Church, under the influence of this great potentate. He 
had hinted as much already, as that it was more honourable, and 
of more avail to put down the wicked with the sword than try to 
reform them, and I thought myself quite justified in supposing 
that he intended me for some great employment, that he had thus 
selected me for his companion out of all the rest in Scotland, and 
even pretended to learn the great truths of religion from my 
mouth. From that time I felt disposed to yield to such a great 
prince's suggestions without hesitation.

Nothing ever astonished me so much as the uncommon powers 
with which he seemed invested. In our walk one day, we met with 
a Mr. Blanchard, who was reckoned a worthy, pious divine, but 
quite of the moral cast, who joined us; and we three walked on, 
and rested together in the fields. My companion did not seem to 
like him, but, nevertheless, regarded him frequently with deep 
attention, and there were several times, while he seemed 
contemplating him, and trying to find out his thoughts, that his 
face became so like Mr. Blanchard's that it was impossible to 
have distinguished the one from the other. The antipathy between 
the two was mutual, and discovered itself quite palpably in a 
short time. When my companion the prince was gone, Mr. 
Blanchard asked me anent him, and I told him that he was a 
stranger in the city, but a very uncommon and great personage. 
Mr. Blanchard's answer to me was as follows: "I never saw 
anybody I disliked so much in my life, Mr. Robert; and if it be 
true that he is a stranger here, which I doubt, believe me he is 
come for no good."

"Do you not perceive what mighty powers of mind he is 
possessed of?" said I, "and also how clear and unhesitating he is 
on some of the most interesting points of divinity?"

"It is for his great mental faculties that I dread him," said he. "It is 
incalculable what evil such a person as he may do, if so disposed. 
There is a sublimity in his ideas, with which there is to me a 
mixture of terror; and, when he talks of religion, he does it as one 
that rather dreads its truths than reverences them. He, indeed, 
pretends great strictness of orthodoxy regarding some of the 
points of doctrine embraced by the reformed church; but you do 
not seem to perceive that both you and he are carrying these 
points to a dangerous extremity. Religion is a sublime and 
glorious thing, the bonds of society on earth, and the connector of 
humanity with the Divine nature; but there is nothing so 
dangerous to man as the wresting of any of its principles, or 
forcing them beyond their due bounds: this is of all others the 
readiest way to destruction. Neither is there anything so easily 
done. There is not an error into which a man can fall which he 
may not press Scripture into his service as proof of the probity of, 
and though your boasted theologian shunned the full discussion 
of the subject before me, while you pressed it, I can easily see 
that both you and he are carrying your ideas of absolute 
predestination, and its concomitant appendages, to an extent that 
overthrows all religion and revelation together; or, at least, 
jumbles them into a chaos, out of which human capacity can 
never select what is good. Believe me, Mr. Robert, the less you 
associate with that illustrious stranger the better, for it appears to 
me that your creed and his carries damnation on the very front of 
it."

I was rather stunned at this; but pretended to smile with disdain, 
and said it did not become youth to control age; and, as I knew 
our principles differed fundamentally, it behoved us to drop the 
subject. He, however, would not drop it, but took both my 
principles and me fearfully to task, for Blanchard was an eloquent 
and powerful-minded old man; and, before we parted, I believe I 
promised to drop my new acquaintance, and was all but resolved 
to do it.

As well might I have laid my account with shunning the light of 
day. He was constant to me as my shadow, and by degrees he 
acquired such an ascendency over me that I never was happy out 
of his company, nor greatly so in it. When I repeated to him all 
that Mr. Blanchard had said, his countenance kindled with 
indignation and rage; and then by degrees his eyes sunk inward, 
his brow lowered, so that I was awed, and withdrew my eyes 
from looking at him. A while afterwards as I was addressing him, 
I chanced to look him again in the face, and the sight of him 
made me start violently. He had made himself so like Mr. 
Blanchard that I actually believed I had been addressing that 
gentleman, and that I had done so in some absence of mind that I 
could not account for. Instead of being amused at the quandary I 
was in, he seemed offended: indeed, he never was truly amused 
with anything. And he then asked me sullenly, if I conceived such 
personages as he to have no other endowments than common 
mortals?

I said I never conceived that princes or potentates had any greater 
share of endowments than other men, and frequently not so much. 
He shook his head, and bade me think over the subject again; and 
there was an end of it. I certainly felt every day the more disposed 
to acknowledge such a superiority in him; and, from all that I 
could gather, I had now no doubt that he was Peter of Russia. 
Everything combined to warrant the supposition, and, of course, I 
resolved to act in conformity with the discovery I had made.

For several days the subject of Mr. Blanchard's doubts and 
doctrines formed the theme of our discourse. My friend 
deprecated them most devoutly; and then again he would deplore 
them, and lament the great evil that such a man might do among 
the human race. I joined with him in allowing the evil in its 
fullest latitude; and, at length, after he thought he had fully 
prepared my nature for such a trial of its powers and abilities, he 
proposed calmly that we two should make away with Mr. 
Blanchard. I was so shocked that my bosom became as it were a 
void, and the beatings of my heart sounded loud and hollow in it; 
my breath cut, and my tongue and palate became dry and 
speechless. He mocked at my cowardice, and began a-reasoning 
on the matter with such powerful eloquence that, before we 
parted, I felt fully convinced that it was my bounden duty to slay 
Mr. Blanchard; but my will was far, very far from consenting to 
the deed.

I spent the following night without sleep, or nearly so; and the 
next morning, by the time the sun arose, I was again abroad, and 
in the company of my illustrious friend. The same subject was 
resumed, and again he reasoned to the following purport: That 
supposing me placed at the head of any army of Christian 
soldiers, all bent on putting down the enemies of the Church, 
would I have any hesitation in destroying and rooting out these 
enemies? None, surely. Well then, when I saw and was convinced 
that here was an individual who was doing more detriment to the 
Church of Christ on earth than tens of thousands of such warriors 
were capable of doing, was it not my duty to cut him off, and 
save the elect? "He who would be a champion in the cause of 
Christ and His Church, my brave young friend," added he, "must 
begin early, and no man can calculate to what an illustrious 
eminence small beginnings may lead. If the man Blanchard is 
worthy, he is only changing his situation for a better one; and, if 
unworthy, it is better that one fall than that a thousand souls 
perish. Let us be up and doing in our vocations. For me, my 
resolution is taken; I have but one great aim in this world, and I 
never for a moment lose sight of it."

I was obliged to admit the force of his reasoning; for, though I 
cannot from memory repeat his words, his eloquence was of that 
overpowering nature that the subtilty of other men sunk before it; 
and there is also little doubt that the assurance I had that these 
words were spoken by a great potentate who could raise me to the 
highest eminence (provided that I entered into his extensive and 
decisive measures) assisted mightily in dispelling my youthful 
scruples and qualms of conscience; and I thought moreover that, 
having such a powerful back friend to support me, I hardly 
needed to be afraid of the consequences. I consented! But begged 
a little time to think of it. He said the less one thought of a duty 
the better; and we parted.

But the most singular instance of this wonderful man's power 
over my mind was that he had as complete influence over me by 
night as by day. All my dreams corresponded exactly with his 
suggestions; and, when he was absent from me, still his 
arguments sunk deeper in my heart than even when he was 
present. I dreamed that night of a great triumph obtained, and, 
though the whole scene was but dimly and confusedly defined in 
my vision, yet the overthrow and death of Mr. Blanchard was the 
first step by which I attained the eminent station I occupied. 
Thus, by dreaming of the event by night, and discoursing of it by 
day, it soon became so familiar to my mind that I almost 
conceived it as done. It was resolved on: which was the first and 
greatest victory gained; for there was no difficulty in finding 
opportunities enow of cutting off a man who, every good day, 
was to be found walking by himself in private grounds. I went 
and heard him preach for two days, and in fact I held his tenets 
scarcely short of blasphemy; they were such as I had never heard 
before, and his congregation, which was numerous, were turning 
up their ears and drinking in his doctrines with the utmost delight; 
for Oh they suited their carnal natures and self-sufficiency to a 
hair! He was actually holding it forth, as a fact, that "it was every 
man's own blame if he was not saved!" What horrible 
misconstruction! And then be was alleging, and trying to prove 
from nature and reason, that no man ever was guilty of a sinful 
action who might not have declined it had he so chosen! 
"Wretched controvertist!" thought I to myself an hundred times, 
"shall not the sword of the Lord be moved from its place of peace 
for such presumptuous, absurd testimonies as these!"

When I began to tell the prince about these false doctrines, to my 
astonishment I found that he had been in the church himself, and 
had every argument that the old divine had used verbatim; and he 
remarked on them with great concern that these were not the 
tenets that corresponded with his views in society, and that he had 
agents in every city, and every land, exerting their powers to put 
them down. I asked, with great simplicity: "Are all your subjects 
Christians, prince?"

"All my European subjects are, or deem themselves so," returned 
he; "and they are the most faithful and true subjects I have."

Who could doubt, after this, that he was the Czar of Russia? I 
have nevertheless had reasons to doubt of his identity since that 
period, and which of my conjectures is right I believe the God of 
Heaven only knows, for I do not. I shall go on to write such 
things as I remember, and, if anyone shall ever take the trouble to 
read over these confessions, such a one will judge for himself. It 
will be observed that, since ever I fell in with this extraordinary 
person, I have written about him only, and I must continue to do 
so to the end of this memoir, as I have performed no great or 
interesting action in which he had not a principal share.

He came to me one day and said: "We must not linger thus in 
executing what we have resolved on. We have much before our 
hands to perform for the benefit of mankind, both civil as well as 
religious. Let us do what we have to do here, and then we must 
wend our way to other cities, and perhaps to other countries. Mr. 
Blanchard is to hold forth in the high church of Paisley on 
Sunday next, on some particularly great occasion: this must be 
defeated; he must not go there. As he will be busy arranging his 
discourses, we may expect him to be walking by himself in 
Finnieston Dell the greater part of Friday and Saturday. Let us go 
and cut him off. What is the life of a man more than the life of a 
lamb, or any guiltless animal? It is not half so much, especially 
when we consider the immensity of the mischief this old fellow is 
working among our fellow-creatures. Can there be any doubt that 
it is the duty of one consecrated to God to cut off such a 
mildew?"

"I fear me, great sovereign," said I, "that your ideas of retribution 
are too sanguine, and too arbitrary for the laws of this country. I 
dispute not that your motives are great and high; but have you 
debated the consequences, and settled the result?"

"I have," returned be, "and hold myself amenable for the action to 
the laws of God and of equity; as to the enactments of men, I 
despise them. Fain would I see the weapon of the Lord of Hosts 
begin the work of vengeance that awaits it to do!"

I could not help thinking that I perceived a little derision of 
countenance on his face as he said this, nevertheless I sunk dumb 
before such a man, aroused myself to the task, seeing he would 
not have it deferred. I approved of it in theory, but my spirit stood 
aloof from the practice. I saw and was convinced that the elect of 
God would be happier, and purer, were the wicked and 
unbelievers all cut off from troubling and misleading them, but if 
it had not been the instigations of this illustrious stranger, I 
should never have presumed to begin so great a work myself. 
Yet, though he often aroused my zeal to the highest pitch, still my 
heart at times shrunk from the shedding of life-blood, and it was 
only at the earnest and unceasing instigations of my enlightened 
and voluntary patron that I at length put my hand to the 
conclusive work. After I said all that I could say, and all had been 
overborne (I remember my actions and words as well as it had 
been yesterday), I turned round hesitatingly, and looked up to 
Heaven for direction; but there was a dimness come over my eyes 
that I could not see. The appearance was as if there had been a 
veil drawn over me, so nigh that I put up my hand to feel it; and 
then Gil-Martin (as this great sovereign was pleased to have 
himself called) frowned, and asked me what I was grasping at. I 
knew not what to say, but answered, with fear and shame: "I have 
no weapons, not one; nor know I where any are to be found."

"The God whom thou servest will provide these," said he, "if thou 
provest worthy of the trust committed to thee."

I looked again up into the cloudy veil that covered us and thought 
I beheld golden weapons of every description let down in it, but 
all with their points towards me. I kneeled, And was going to 
stretch out my hand to take one, when my patron seized me, as I 
thought, by the clothes, and dragged me away with as much ease 
as I had been a lamb, saying, with a joyful and elevated voice: 
"Come, my friend, let us depart: thou art dreaming--thou art 
dreaming. Rouse up all the energies of thy exalted mind, for thou 
art an highly favoured one; and doubt thou not that He whom 
thou servest, will be ever at thy right and left hand, to direct and 
assist thee."

These words, but particularly the vision I had seen, of the golden 
weapons descending out of Heaven, inflamed my zeal to that 
height that I was as one beside himself; which my parents 
perceived that night, and made some motions towards confining 
me to my room. I joined in the family prayers, and then I 
afterwards sung a psalm and prayed by myself; and I had good 
reasons for believing that that small oblation of praise and prayer 
was not turned to sin. But there are strange things, and 
unaccountable agencies in nature: He only who dwells between 
the Cherubim can unriddle them, and to Him the honour must 
redound for ever. Amen.

I felt greatly strengthened and encouraged that night, and the next 
morning I ran to meet my companion, out of whose eye I had 
now no life. He rejoiced at seeing me so forward in the great 
work of reformation by blood, and said many things to raise my 
hopes of future fame and glory; and then producing two pistols of 
pure beaten gold, he held them out and proffered me the choice of 
one, saying: "See what thy master hath provided thee!" I took one 
of them eagerly, for I perceived at once that they were two of the 
very weapons that were let down from Heaven in the cloudy veil, 
the dim tapestry of the firmament; and I said to myself. "Surely 
this is the will of the Lord."

The little splendid and enchanting piece was so perfect, so 
complete, and so ready for executing the will of the donor, that I 
now longed to use it in his service. I loaded it with my own hand, 
as Gil-Martin did the other, and we took our stations behind a 
bush of hawthorn and bramble on the verge of the wood, and 
almost close to the walk. My patron was so acute in all his 
calculations that he never mistook an event. We had not taken our 
stand above a minute and a half till old Mr. Blanchard appeared, 
coming slowly on the path. When we saw this, we cowered down. 
and leaned each of us a knee upon the ground, pointing the pistols 
through the bush, with an aim so steady that it was impossible to 
miss our victim.

He came deliberately on, pausing at times so long that we 
dreaded he was going to turn. Gil-Martin dreaded it, and I said I 
did, but wished in my heart that he might. He, however, came 
onward, and I will never forget the manner in which he came! 
No, I don't believe I ever can forget it, either in the narrow 
bounds of time or the ages of eternity! He was a broadly, 
ill-shaped man, of a rude exterior, and a little bent with age; his 
hands were clasped behind his back and below his coat, and he 
walked with a slow swinging air that was very peculiar. When he 
paused and looked abroad on nature, the act was highly 
impressive: he seemed conscious of being all alone, and 
conversant only with God and the elements of his creation. Never 
was there such a picture of human inadvertency! a man 
approaching step by step to the one that was to hurl him out of 
one existence into another with as much ease and indifference as 
the ox goeth to the stall. Hideous vision, wilt thou not be gone 
from my mental sight! if not, let me bear with thee as I can!

When he came straight opposite to the muzzles of our pieces, Gil-
Martin called out "Eh!" with a short quick sound. The old man, 
without starting, turned his face and breast towards us, and 
looked into the wood, but looked over our heads.

"Now!" whispered my companion, and fired. But my hand 
refused the office, for I was not at that moment sure about 
becoming an assassin in the cause of Christ and His Church. I 
thought I heard a sweet voice behind me, whispering to me to 
beware, and I was going to look round, when my companion 
exclaimed: "Coward, we are ruined!"

I had no time for an alternative: Gil-Martin's ball had not taken 
effect, which was altogether wonderful, as the old man's breast 
was within a few yards of him. "Hilloa!" cried Blanchard, "what 
is that for, you dog!" and with that he came forward to look over 
the bush. I hesitated, as I said, and attempted to look behind me; 
but there was no time: the next step discovered two assassins 
lying in covert, waiting for blood. "Coward, we are ruined!" cried 
my indignant friend; and that moment my piece was discharged. 
The effect was as might have been expected: the old man first 
stumbled to one side, and then fell on his back. We kept our 
places, and I perceived my companion's eyes gleaming with an 
unnatural joy. The wounded man raised himself from the bank to 
a sitting posture, and I beheld his eyes swimming; he however 
appeared sensible, for we heard him saying in a low and rattling 
voice: "Alas, alas! whom have I offended, that they should have 
been driven to an act like this! Come forth and shew yourselves, 
that I may either forgive you before I die, or curse you in the 
name of the Lord." He then fell a-groping with both hands on the 
ground, as if feeling for something he had lost manifestly in the 
agonies of death; and, with a solemn and interrupted prayer for 
forgiveness, he breathed his last.

I had become rigid as a statue, whereas my associate appeared to 
be elevated above measure. "Arise, thou faint-hearted one, and let 
us be going," said he. "Thou hast done well for once; but 
wherefore hesitate in such a cause? This is but a small beginning 
of so great a work as that of purging the Christian world. But the 
first victim is a worthy one, and more of such lights must be 
extinguished immediately."

We touched not our victim, nor anything pertaining to him, for 
fear of staining our hands with his blood; and the firing having 
brought three men within view, who were hasting towards the 
spot, my undaunted companion took both the pistols, and went 
forward as with intent to meet them, bidding me shift for myself. 
I ran off in a contrary direction, till I came to the foot of the 
Pearman Sike, and then, running up the hollow of that, I appeared 
on the top of the bank as if I had been another man brought in 
view by hearing the shots in such a place. I had a full view of a 
part of what passed, though not of all. I saw my companion going 
straight to meet the men, apparently with a pistol in every hand, 
waving in a careless manner. They seemed not quite clear of 
meeting with him, and so he went straight on, and passed 
between them. They looked after him, and came onwards; but, 
when they came to the old man lying stretched in his blood, then 
they turned and pursued my companion, though not so quickly as 
they might have done; and I understand that from the first they 
saw no more of him.

Great was the confusion that day in Glasgow. The most popular 
of all their preachers of morality was (what they called) murdered 
in cold blood, and a strict and extensive search was made for the 
assassin. Neither of the accomplices was found, however, that is 
certain, nor was either of them so much as suspected; but another 
man was apprehended under circumstances that warranted 
suspicion. This was one of the things that I witnessed in my life, 
which I never understood, and it surely was one of my patron's 
most dexterous tricks, for I must still say, what I have thought 
from the beginning, that like him there never was a man created. 
The young man who was taken up was a preacher; and it was 
proved that he had purchased fire-arms in town, and gone out 
with them that morning. But the far greatest mystery of the whole 
was that two of the men, out of the three who met my companion, 
swore that that unfortunate preacher was the man whom they met 
with a pistol in each hand, fresh from the death of the old divine. 
The poor fellow made a confused speech himself, which there is 
not the least doubt was quite true; but it was laughed to scorn, and 
an expression of horror ran through both the hearers and jury. I 
heard the whole trial, and so did Gil-Martin; but we left the 
journeyman preacher to his fate, and from that time forth I have 
had no faith in the justice of criminal trials. If once a man is 
prejudiced on one side, he will swear anything in support of such 
prejudice. I tried to expostulate with my mysterious friend on the 
horrid injustice of suffering this young man to die for our act, but 
the prince exulted in it more than the other, and said the latter was 
the most dangerous man of the two.

The alarm in and about Glasgow was prodigious. The country 
being divided into two political parties, the court and the country 
party, the former held meetings, issued proclamations, and 
offered rewards, ascribing all to the violence of party spirit, and 
deprecating the infernal measures of their opponents. I did not 
understand their political differences; but it was easy to see that 
the true Gospel preachers joined all on one side, and the 
upholders of pure morality and a blameless life on the other, so 
that this division proved a test to us, and it was forthwith resolved 
that we two should pick out some of the leading men of this 
unsaintly and heterodox cabal, and cut them off one by one, as 
occasion should suit.

Now, the ice being broke, I felt considerable zeal in our great 
work, but pretended much more; and we might soon have 
kidnapped them all through the ingenuity of my patron, had not 
our next attempt miscarried, by some awkwardness or mistake of 
mine. The consequence was that he was discovered fairly, and 
very nigh seized. I also was seen, and suspected so far that my 
reverend father, my mother, and myself were examined privately. 
I denied all knowledge of the matter; and they held it in such a 
ridiculous light, and their conviction of the complete 
groundlessness of the suspicion was so perfect, that their 
testimony prevailed, and the affair was hushed. I was obliged, 
however, to walk circumspectly, and saw my companion the 
prince very seldom, who was prowling about every day, quite 
unconcerned about his safety. He was every day a new man, 
however, and needed not to be alarmed at any danger; for such a 
facility had he in disguising himself that, if it had not been for a 
password which we had between us, for the purposes of 
recognition, I never could have known him myself.

It so happened that my reverend father was called to Edinburgh 
about this time, to assist with his counsel in settling the national 
affairs. At my earnest request I was permitted to accompany him, 
at which both my associate and I rejoiced, as we were now about 
to move in a new and extensive field. All this time I never knew 
where my illustrious friend resided. He never once invited me to 
call on him at his lodgings, nor did he ever come to our house, 
which made me sometimes to suspect that, if any of our great 
efforts in the cause of true religion were discovered, he intended 
leaving me in the lurch. Consequently, when we met in 
Edinburgh (for we travelled not in company), I proposed to go 
with him to look for lodgings, telling him at the same time what a 
blessed religious family my reverend instructor and I were settled 
in. He said he rejoiced at it, but he made a rule of never lodging 
in any particular house, but took these daily, or hourly, as he 
found it convenient, and that be never was at a loss in any 
circumstance.

"What a mighty trouble you put yourself to, great sovereign!" 
said I, "and all, it would appear, for the purpose of seeing and 
knowing more and more of the human race."

"I never go but where I have some great purpose to serve," 
returned he, "either in the advancement of my own power and 
dominion or in thwarting my enemies."

"With all due deference to your great comprehension, my 
illustrious friend," said I, "it strikes me that you can accomplish 
very little either the one way or the other here, in the humble and 
private capacity you are pleased to occupy."

"It is your own innate modesty that prompts such a remark," said 
he. "Do you think the gaining of you to my service is not an 
attainment worthy of being envied by the greatest potentate in 
Christendom? Before I had missed such a prize as the attainment 
of your services, I would have travelled over one half of the 
habitable globe."--I bowed with great humility, but at the same 
time how could I but feel proud and highly flattered? He 
continued: "Believe me, my dear friend, for such a prize I account 
no effort too high. For a man who is not only dedicated to the 
King of Heaven in the most solemn manner, soul, body, and 
spirit, but also chosen of him from the beginning, justified, 
sanctified, and received into a communion that never shall be 
broken, and from which no act of his shall ever remove him--the 
possession of such a man, I tell you, is worth kingdoms; because, 
every deed that he performs, he does it with perfect safety to 
himself and honour to me."--I bowed again, lifting my hat, and he 
went on.-- "I am now going to put his courage in the cause he has 
espoused to a severe test--to a trial at which common nature 
would revolt, but he who is dedicated to be the sword of the Lord 
must raise himself above common humanity. You have a father 
and a brother according to the flesh: what do you know of them?"

"I am sorry to say I know nothing good," said I. "They are 
reprobates, castaways, beings devoted to the Wicked One, and, 
like him, workers of every species of iniquity with greediness."

"They must both fall!" said he, with a sigh and melancholy look. 
"It is decreed in the councils above that they must both fall by 
your hand."

"The God of Heaven forbid it!" said I. "They are enemies to 
Christ and His Church, that I know and believe; but they shall 
live and die in their iniquity for me, and reap their guerdon when 
their time cometh. There my hand shall not strike."

"The feeling is natural, and amiable," said he. "But you must 
think again. Whether are the bonds of carnal nature or the bonds 
and vows of the Lord strongest?"

"I will not reason with you on this head, mighty potentate," said I, 
"for whenever I do so it is but to be put down. I shall only, 
express my determination not to take vengeance out of the Lord's 
hand in this instance. It availeth not. These are men that have the 
mark of the beast in their foreheads and right hands; they are lost 
beings themselves, but have no influence over others. Let them 
perish in their sins; for they shall not be meddled with by me."

"How preposterously you talk, my dear friend!" said he. "These 
people are your greatest enemies; they would rejoice to see you 
annihilated. And, now that you have taken up the Lord's cause of 
being avenged on His enemies, wherefore spare those that are 
your own as well as His? Besides, you ought to consider what 
great advantages would be derived to the cause of righteousness 
and truth were the estate and riches of that opulent house in your 
possession, rather than in that of such as oppose the truth and all 
manner of holiness."

This was a portion of the consequence of following my illustrious 
adviser's summary mode of procedure that had never entered into 
my calculation. I disclaimed all idea of being influenced by it; 
however, I cannot but say that the desire of being enabled to do 
so much good, by the possession of these bad men's riches, made 
some impression on my heart, and I said I would consider of the 
matter. I did consider it, and that right seriously as well as 
frequently; and there was scarcely an hour in the day on which 
my resolves were not animated by my great friend, till at length I 
began to have a longing desire to kill my brother, in particular. 
Should any man ever read this scroll, he will wonder at this 
confession, and deem it savage and unnatural. So it appeared to 
me at first, but a constant thinking of an event changes every one 
of its features. I have done all for the best, and as I was prompted, 
by one who knew right and wrong much better than I did. I had a 
desire to slay him, it is true, and such a desire too as a thirsty man 
has to drink; but, at the same time, this longing desire was 
mingled with a certain terror, as if I had dreaded that the drink for 
which I longed was mixed with deadly poison. My mind was so 
much weakened, or rather softened about this time, that my faith 
began a little to give way, and I doubted most presumptuously of 
the least tangible of all Christian tenets, namely, of the 
infallibility of the elect. I hardly comprehended the great work I 
had begun, and doubted of my own infallibility, or that of any 
created being. But I was brought over again by the unwearied 
diligence of my friend to repent of my backsliding, and view once 
more the superiority of the Almighty's counsels in its fullest 
latitude. Amen.

I prayed very much in secret about this time, and that with great 
fervour of spirit, as well as humility; and my satisfaction at 
finding all my requests granted is not to be expressed.

My illustrious friend still continuing to sound in my ears the 
imperious duty to which I was called, of making away with my 
sinful relations, and quoting many parallel actions out of the 
Scriptures, and the writings of the holy fathers, of the pleasure the 
Lord took in such as executed his vengeance on the wicked, I was 
obliged to acquiesce in his measures, though with certain 
limitations. It was not easy to answer his arguments, and yet I 
was afraid that he soon perceived a leaning to his will on my part. 
"If the acts of Jehu, in rooting out the whole house of his master, 
were ordered and approved-of by the Lord," said he, "would it 
not have been more praiseworthy if one of Ahab's own sons had 
stood up for the cause of the God of Israel, and rooted out the 
sinners and their idols out of the land?"

"It would certainly," said I. "To our duty to God all other duties 
must yield."

"Go thou then and do likewise," said he. "Thou are called to a 
high vocation; to cleanse the sanctuary of thy God in this thy 
native land by the shedding of blood; go thou then like a ruling 
energy, a master spirit of desolation in the dwellings of the 
wicked, and high shall be your reward both here and hereafter."

My heart now panted with eagerness to look my brother in the 
face. On which my companion, who was never out of the way, 
conducted me to a small square in the suburbs of the city, where 
there were a number of young noblemen and gentlemen playing 
at a vain, idle, and sinful game, at which there was much of the 
language of the accursed going on; and among these blasphemers 
he instantly pointed out my brother to me. I was fired with 
indignation at seeing him in such company, and so employed; and 
I placed myself close beside him to watch all his motions, listen 
to his words, and draw inferences from what I saw and heard. In 
what a sink of sin was he wallowing! I resolved to take him to 
task, and, if he refused to be admonished, to inflict on him some 
condign punishment; and, knowing that my illustrious friend and 
director was looking on, I resolved to show some spirit. 
Accordingly, I waited until I heard him profane his Maker's name 
three times, and then, my spiritual indignation being roused 
above all restraint, I went up and kicked him. Yes, I went boldly 
up and struck him with my foot, and meant to have given him a 
more severe blow than it was my fortune to inflict. It had, 
however, the effect of rousing up his corrupt nature to quarrelling 
and strife, instead of taking the chastisement of the Lord in 
humility and meekness. He ran furiously against me in the choler 
that is always inspired by the wicked one; but I overthrew him, 
by reason of impeding the natural and rapid progress of his 
unholy feet running to destruction. I also fell slightly; but his fall 
proved a severe one, he arose in wrath, and struck me with the 
mall which he held in his hand, until my blood flowed copiously; 
and from that moment I vowed his destruction in my heart. But I 
chanced to have no weapon at that time, nor any means of 
inflicting due punishment on the caitiff, which would not have 
been returned double on my head by him and his graceless 
associates. I mixed among them at the suggestion of my friend, 
and, following them to their den of voluptuousness and sin, I 
strove to be admitted among them, in hopes of finding some 
means of accomplishing my great purpose, while I found myself 
moved by the spirit within me so to do. But I was not only 
debarred, but, by the machinations of my wicked brother and his 
associates, cast into prison. 

I was not sorry at being thus honoured to suffer in the cause of 
righteousness, and at the hands of sinful men; and, as soon as I 
was alone, I betook myself to prayer, deprecating the long-
suffering of God towards such horrid sinners. My jailer came to 
me, and insulted me. He was a rude unprincipled fellow, 
partaking of the loose and carnal manners of the age; but I 
remembered of having read, in the Cloud of Witnesses, of such 
men formerly having been converted by the imprisoned saints; so 
I set myself, with all my heart, to bring about this man's 
repentance and reformation.

"Fat the deil are ye yoolling an' praying that gate for, man?" said 
he, coming angrily in. "I thought the days o' praying prisoners 
had been a' ower. We hath rowth o' them aince; an' they were the 
poorest an' the blackest bargains that ever poor jailers saw. Gie 
up your crooning, or I'll pit you to an in-by place, where ye sall 
get plenty o't."

"Friend," said I, "I am making my appeal at the bar where all 
human actions are seen and judged, and where you shall not be 
forgot, sinful as you are. Go in peace, and let me be."

"Hae ye naebody nearer-hand hame to mak your appeal to, man?" 
said he. "Because an ye hae-na, I dread you an' me may be unco 
weel acquaintit by an' by."

I then opened up the mysteries of religion to him in a clear and 
perspicuous manner, but particularly the great doctrine of the 
election of grace; and then I added: "Now, friend, you must tell 
me if you pertain to this chosen number. It is in every man's 
power to ascertain this, and it is every man's duty to do it."

"An' fat the better wad you be for the kenning o' this, man?" said 
he.

"Because, if you are one of my brethren, I will take you into 
sweet communion and fellowship," returned I. "But, if you 
belong to the unregenerate, I have a commission to slay you."

"The deil you hae, callant!" said he, gaping and laughing. "An', 
pray now, fa was it, that gae you siccan a braw commission?"

"My commission is sealed by the signet above", said I, "and that I 
will let you and all sinners know. I am dedicated to it by the most 
solemn vows and engagements. I am the sword of the Lord, and 
Famine and Pestilence are my sisters. Woe then to the wicked of 
this land, for they must fall down dead together, that the Church 
may be purified!"

"Oo, foo, foo! I see how it is," said he. "Yours is a very braw 
commission, but you will have the small opportunity of carrying 
it through here. Take my advising, and write a bit of a letter to 
your friends, and I will send it, for this is no place for such a great 
man. If you cannot steady your hand to write, as I see you have 
been at your great work, a word of a mouth may do; for I do 
assure you this is not the place at all, of any in the world, for your 
operations."

The man apparently thought I was deranged in my intellect. He 
could not swallow such great truths at the first morsel. So I took 
his advice, and sent a line to my reverend father, who was not 
long in coming, and great was the jailer's wonderment when he 
saw all the great Christian noblemen of the land sign my bond of 
freedom.

My reverend father took this matter greatly to heart, and bestirred 
himself in the good cause till the transgressors were ashamed to 
shew their faces. My illustrious companion was not idle: I 
wondered that he came not to me in prison, nor at my release; but 
he was better employed, in stirring up the just to the execution of 
God's decrees; and he succeeded so well that my brother and all 
his associates had nearly fallen victims to their wrath. But many 
were wounded, bruised, and imprisoned, and much commotion 
prevailed in the city. For my part, I was greatly strengthened in 
my resolution by the anathemas of my reverend father, who, 
privately (that is in a family capacity) in his prayers, gave up my 
father and brother, according to the flesh, to Satan, making it 
plain to all my senses of perception that they were being given up 
of God, to be devoured by fiends of men, at their will and 
pleasure, and that whosoever should slay them would do God 
good service.

The next morning my illustrious friend met me at an early hour, 
and he was greatly overjoyed at hearing my sentiments now 
chime so much in unison with his own. I said: "I longed for the 
day and the hour that I might look my brother in the face at 
Gilgal, and visit on him the iniquity of his father and himself, for 
that I was now strengthened and prepared for the deed."

"I have been watching the steps and movements of the profligate 
one," said he, "and, lo, I will take you straight to his presence. Let 
your heart be as the heart of the lion, and your arms strong as the 
shekels of brass, and swift to avenge as the bolt that descendeth 
from heaven, for the blood of the just and the good hath long 
flowed in Scotland. But already is the day of their avengement 
begun; the hero is at length arisen who shall send all such as bear 
enmity to the true Church, or trust in works of their own, to 
Tophet!"

Thus encouraged, I followed my friend, who led me directly to 
the same court in which I had chastised the miscreant on the 
foregoing day; and, behold, there was the same group again 
assembled. They eyed me with terror in their looks, as I walked 
among them and eyed them with looks of disapprobation and 
rebuke; and I saw that the very eye of a chosen one lifted on these 
children of Belial was sufficient to dismay and put them to flight. 
I walked aside to my friend, who stood at a distance looking on, 
and he said to me: "What thinkest thou now?" and I answered in 
the words of the venal prophet, "Lo, now, if I had a sword into 
mine hand I would even kill him."

"Wherefore lackest thou it?" said he. "Dost thou not see that they 
tremble at thy presence, knowing that the avenger of blood is 
among them."

My heart was lifted up on hearing this, and again I strode into the 
midst of them, and, eyeing them with threatening looks, they 
were so much confounded that they abandoned their sinful 
pastime, and fled everyone to his house!

This was a palpable victory gained over the wicked, and I thereby 
knew that the hand of the Lord was with me. My companion also 
exulted, and said: "Did not I tell thee? Behold thou dost not know 
one half of thy might, or of the great things thou art destined to 
do. Come with me and I will show thee more than this, for these 
young men cannot subsist without the exercises of sin. I listened 
to their councils, and I know where they will meet again."

Accordingly he led me a little farther to the south, and we walked 
aside till by degrees we saw some people begin to assemble; and 
in a short time we perceived the same group stripping off their 
clothes to make them more expert in the practice of madness and 
folly. Their game was begun before we approached, and so also 
were the oaths and cursing. I put my hands in my pockets, and 
walked with dignity and energy into the midst of them. It was 
enough. Terror and astonishment seized them. A few of them 
cried out against me, but their voices were soon hushed amid the 
murmurs of fear. One of them, in the name of the rest, then came 
and besought of me to grant them liberty to amuse themselves; 
but I refused peremptorily, dared the whole multitude so much as 
to touch me with one of their fingers, and dismissed them in the 
name of the Lord.

Again they all fled and dispersed at my eye, and I went home in 
triumph, escorted by my friend, and some well-meaning young 
Christians, who, however, had not learned to deport themselves 
with soberness and humility. But my ascendancy over my 
enemies was great indeed; for wherever I appeared I was hailed 
with approbation, and, wherever my guilty brother made his 
appearance, he was hooted and held in derision, till he was forced 
to hide his disgraceful head, and appear no more in public.

Immediately after this I was seized with a strange distemper, 
which neither my friends nor physicians could comprehend, and 
it confined me to my chamber for many days; but I knew, myself, 
that I was bewitched, and suspected my father's reputed 
concubine of the deed. I told my fears to my reverend protector, 
who hesitated concerning them, but I knew by his words and 
looks that he was conscious I was right. I generally conceived 
myself to be two people. When I lay in bed, I deemed there were 
two of us in it; when I sat up I always beheld another person, and 
always in the same position from the place where I sat or stood, 
which was about three paces off me towards my left side. It 
mattered not how many or how few were present: this my second 
self was sure to be present in his place, and this occasioned a 
confusion in all my words and ideas that utterly astounded my 
friends, who all declared that, instead of being deranged in my 
intellect, they had never heard my conversation manifest so much 
energy or sublimity of conception; but, for all that, over the 
singular delusion that I was two persons my reasoning faculties 
had no power. The most perverse part of it was that I rarely 
conceived myself to be any of the two persons. I thought for the 
most part that my companion was one of them, and my brother 
the other; and I found that, to be obliged to speak and answer in 
the character of another man, was a most awkward business at the 
long run.

Who can doubt, from this statement, that I was bewitched, and 
that my relatives were at the ground of it? The constant and 
unnatural persuasion that I was my brother proved it to my own 
satisfaction, and must, I think, do so to every unprejudiced 
person. This victory of the Wicked One over me kept me 
confined in my chamber at Mr. Millar's house for nearly a month, 
until the prayers of the faithful prevailed, and I was restored. I 
knew it was a chastisement for my pride, because my heart was 
lifted up at my superiority over the enemies of the Church; 
nevertheless I determined to make short work with the aggressor, 
that the righteous might not be subjected to the effect of his 
diabolical arts again.

I say I was confined a month. I beg he that readeth to take note of 
this, that he may estimate how much the word, or even the oath, 
of a wicked man is to depend on. For a month I saw no one but 
such as came into my room, and, for all that, it will be seen that 
there were plenty of the same set to attest upon oath that I saw my 
brother every day during this period; that I persecuted him, with 
my presence day and night, while all the time I never saw his 
face save in a delusive dream. I cannot comprehend what 
manoeuvres my illustrious friend was playing off with them 
about this time; for he, having the art of personating whom he 
chose, had peradventure deceived them, else many of them had 
never all attested the same thing. I never saw any man so steady 
in his friendships and attentions as he; but as he made a rule of 
never calling at private houses, for fear of some discovery being 
made of his person, so I never saw him while my malady lasted; 
but, as soon as I grew better, I knew I had nothing ado but to 
attend at some of our places of meeting to see him again. He was 
punctual, as usual, and I had not to wait.

My reception was precisely as I apprehended. There was no 
flaring, no flummery, nor bombastical pretensions, but a dignified 
return to my obeisance, and an immediate recurrence, in 
converse, to the important duties incumbent on us, in our stations, 
as reformers and purifiers of the Church.

"I have marked out a number of most dangerous characters in this 
city," said he, "all of whom must be cut off from cumbering the 
true vineyard before we leave this land. And, if you bestir not 
yourself in the work to which you are called, I must raise up 
others who shall have the honour of it!"

"I am, most illustrious prince, wholly at your service," said I. 
"Show but what ought to be done, and here is the heart to dare and 
the hand to execute. You pointed out my relations, according to 
the flesh, as brands fitted to be thrown into the burning. I approve 
peremptorily of the award; nay, I thirst to accomplish it; for I 
myself have suffered severely from their diabolical arts. When 
once that trial of my devotion to the faith is accomplished, then 
he your future operations disclosed."

"You are free of your words and promises," said he.

"So will I be of my deeds in the service of my master, and that 
shalt thou see," said I. "I lack not the spirit, nor the will, but I lack 
experience woefully; and, because of that shortcoming, must bow 
to your suggestions!"

"Meet me here to-morrow betimes," said he, "and perhaps you 
may hear of some opportunity of displaying your zeal in the 
cause of righteousness."

I met him as he desired me; and he addressed me with a hurried 
and joyful expression, telling me that my brother was astir, and 
that a few minutes ago he had seen him pass on his way to the 
mountain. "The hill is wrapped in a cloud," added he, and never 
was there such an opportunity of executing divine justice on a 
guilty sinner. You may trace him in the dew, and shall infallibly 
find him on the top of some precipice; for it is only in secret that 
he dares show his debased head to the sun."

"I have no arms, else assuredly I would pursue him and discomfit 
him," said I.

"Here is a small dagger," said he; "I have nothing of weaponkind 
about me save that, but it is a potent one; and, should you require 
it, there is nothing more ready or sure."

"Will not you accompany me?" said I. "Sure you will?"

"I will be with you, or near you," said he. "Go you on before."

I hurried away as he directed me, and imprudently asked some of 
Queensberry's guards if such and such a young man passed by 
them going out from the city. I was answered in the affirmative, 
and till then had doubted of my friend's intelligence, it was so 
inconsistent with a profligate's life to be so early astir. When I got 
the certain intelligence that my brother was before me, I fell a-
running, scarcely knowing what I did; and, looking several times 
behind me, I perceived nothing of my zealous and arbitrary 
friend. The consequence of this was that, by the time I reached St. 
Anthony's well, my resolution began to give way. It was not my 
courage, for, now that I had once shed blood in the cause of the 
true faith, I was exceedingly bold and ardent, but, whenever I was 
left to myself, I was subject to sinful doubtings. These always 
hankered on one point. I doubted if the elect were infallible, and 
if the Scripture promises to them were binding in all situations 
and relations. I confess this, and that it was a sinful and shameful 
weakness in me, but my nature was subject to it, and I could not 
eschew it. I never doubted that I was one of the elect myself; for, 
besides the strong inward and spiritual conviction that I 
possessed, I had my kind father's assurance; and these had been 
revealed to him in that way and measure that they could not be 
doubted.

In this desponding state, I sat myself down on a stone, and 
bethought me of the rashness of my undertaking. I tried to 
ascertain, to my own satisfaction, whether or not I really had been 
commissioned of God to perpetrate these crimes in His behalf, 
for, in the eyes and by the laws of men, they were great and 
crying transgressions. While I sat pondering on these things, I 
was involved in a veil of white misty vapour, and, looking up to 
heaven, I was just about to ask direction from above, when I 
heard as it were a still small voice close by me, which uttered 
some words of derision and chiding. I looked intensely in the 
direction whence it seemed to come, and perceived a lady robed 
in white, who hastened towards me. She regarded me with a 
severity of look and gesture that appalled me so much I could not 
address her; but she waited not for that, but coming close to my 
side said, without stopping: "Preposterous wretch! How dare you 
lift your eyes to Heaven with such purposes in your heart? Escape 
homewards, and save your Soul, or farewell for ever!"

These were all the words that she uttered, as far as I could ever 
recollect, but my spirits were kept in such a tumult that morning 
that something might have escaped me. I followed her eagerly 
with my eyes, but in a moment she glided over the rocks above 
the holy well, and vanished. I persuaded myself that I had seen a 
vision, and that the radiant being that had addressed me was one 
of the good angels, or guardian spirits, commissioned by the 
Almighty to watch over the steps of the just. My first impulse 
was to follow her advice, and make my escape home; for I 
thought to myself. "How is this interested and mysterious 
foreigner a proper judge of the actions of a free Christian?"

The thought was hardly framed, nor had I moved in a retrograde 
direction six steps, when I saw my illustrious friend and great 
adviser descending the ridge towards me with hasty and 
impassioned strides. My heart fainted within me; and, when he 
came up and addressed me, I looked as one caught in a trespass. 
"What hath detained thee, thou desponding trifler?" said he. 
"Verily now shall the golden opportunity be lost which may 
never be recalled. I have traced the reprobate to his sanctuary in 
the cloud, and lo he is perched on the pinnacle of a precipice an 
hundred fathoms high. One ketch with thy foot, or toss with thy 
finger, shall throw him from thy sight into the foldings of the 
cloud, and he shall be no more seen till found at the bottom of the 
cliff dashed to pieces. Make haste, therefore, thou loiterer, if thou 
wouldst ever prosper and rise to eminence in the work of thy 
Lord and Master."

"I go no farther in this work, said I, "for I have seen a vision that 
has reprimanded the deed!'

"A vision?" said he. "Was it that wench who descended from the 
hill?"

"The being that spake to me, and warned me of my danger, was 
indeed in the form of a lady," said I.

"She also approached me and said a few words," returned he, 
"and I thought there was something mysterious in her manner. 
Pray, what did she say? for the words of such a singular message, 
and from such a messenger, ought to be attended to. If I 
understood her aright, she was chiding us for our misbelief and 
preposterous delay."

I recited her words, but he answered that I had been in a state of 
sinful doubting at the time, and it was to these doubtings she had 
adverted. In short, this wonderful and clear-sighted stranger soon 
banished all my doubts and despondency, making me utterly 
ashamed of them, and again I set out with him in the pursuit of 
my brother. He showed me the traces of his footsteps in the dew, 
and pointed out the spot where I should find him. "You have 
nothing more to do than go softly down behind him," said he, 
"which you can do to within an ell of him, without being seen; 
then rush upon him, and throw him from his seat, where there is 
neither footing nor hold. I will go, meanwhile, and amuse his 
sight by some exhibition in the contrary direction, and he shall 
neither know nor perceive who had done him this kind office: for, 
exclusive of more weighty concerns, be assured of this that, the 
sooner he falls, the fewer crimes will he have to answer for, and 
his estate in the other world will be proportionally more tolerable 
than if he spent a long unregenerate life steeped in iniquity to the 
loathing of the soul."

"Nothing can be more plain or more pertinent," said I. 
"Therefore, I fly to perform that which is both a duty towards 
God and towards man!"

"You shall yet rise to great honour and preferment," said he.

"I value it not, provided I do honour and justice to the cause of 
my master here," said I.

"You shall be lord of your father's riches and demesnes," added 
he.

"I disclaim and deride every selfish motive thereto relating," said 
I, "further than as it enables me to do good."

"Aye, but that is a great and a heavenly consideration, that 
longing for ability to do good," said he--and, as he said so, I 
could not help remarking a certain derisive exultation of 
expression which I could not comprehend; and indeed I have 
noted this very often in my illustrious friend, and sometimes 
mentioned it civilly to him, but he has never failed to disclaim it. 
On this occasion I said nothing, but, concealing his poniard in my 
clothes, I hasted up the mountain, determined to execute my 
purpose before any misgivings should again visit me; and I never 
had more ado than in keeping firm my resolution. I could not help 
my thoughts, and there are certain trains and classes of thoughts 
that have great power in enervating the mind. I thought of the 
awful thing of plunging a fellow creature from the top of a cliff 
into the dark and misty void below--of his being dashed to pieces 
on the protruding rocks, and of hearing his shrieks as he 
descended the cloud, and beheld the shagged points on which he 
was to alight. Then I thought of plunging a soul so abruptly into 
Hell, or, at the best, sending it to hover on the confines of that 
burning abyss--of its appearance at the bar of the Almighty to 
receive its sentence. And then I thought: "Will there not be a 
sentence pronounced against me there, by a jury of the just made 
perfect, and written down in the registers of Heaven?"

These thoughts, I say, came upon me unasked, and, instead of 
being able to dispel them, they mustered upon the summit of my 
imagination in thicker and stronger array: and there was another 
that impressed me in a very particular manner, though I have 
reason to believe not so strongly as those above written. It was 
this: "What if I should fail in my first effort? Will the 
consequence not be that I am tumbled from the top of the rock 
myself?" and then all the feelings anticipated, with regard to both 
body and soul, must happen to me! This was a spinebreaking 
reflection; and yet, though the probability was rather on that side, 
my zeal in the cause of godliness was such that it carried me on, 
maugre all danger and dismay.

I soon came close upon my brother, sitting on the dizzy pinnacle. 
with his eyes fixed steadfastly in the direction opposite to me. I 
descended the little green ravine behind him with my feet 
foremost, and every now and then raised my head, and watched 
his motions. His posture continued the same, until at last I came 
so near him I could have heard him breathe if his face had been 
towards me. I laid my cap aside, and made me ready to spring 
upon him and push him over. I could not for my life accomplish 
it! I do not think it was that I durst not, I have always felt my 
courage equal to anything in a good cause. But I had not the 
heart, or something that I ought to have had. In short, it was not 
done in time, as it easily might have been. These THOUGHTS  
are hard enemies wherewith to combat! And I was so grieved that 
I could not effect my righteous purpose that I laid me down on 
my face and shed tears. Then, again, I thought of what my great 
enlightened friend and patron would say to me, and again my 
resolution rose indignant and indissoluble save by blood. I arose 
on my right knee and left foot, and had just begun to advance the 
latter forward: the next step my great purpose had been 
accomplished, and the culprit had suffered the punishment due to 
his crimes. But what moved him I knew not: in the critical 
moment he sprung to his feet, and, dashing himself furiously 
against me, he overthrew me, at the imminent peril of my life. I 
disencumbered myself by main force and fled, but he overhied 
me, knocked me down, and threatened, with dreadful oaths, to 
throw me from the cliff. After I was a little recovered from the 
stunning blow, I aroused myself to the combat; and, though I do 
not recollect the circumstances of that deadly scuffle very 
minutely, I know that I vanquished him so far as to force him to 
ask my pardon, and crave a reconciliation. I spurned at both and 
left him to the chastisements of his own wicked and corrupt heart.

My friend met me again on the hill and derided me in a haughty 
and stern manner for my imbecility and want of decision. I told 
him how nearly I had effected my purpose, and excused myself as 
well as I was able. On this, seeing me bleeding, he advised me to 
swear the peace against my brother, and have him punished in the 
meantime, he being the first aggressor. I promised compliance 
and we parted, for I was somewhat ashamed of my failure, and 
was glad to be quit for the present of one of whom I stood so 
much in awe.

When my reverend father beheld me bleeding a second time by 
the hand of a brother, he was moved to the highest point of 
displeasure; and, relying on his high interest and the justice of his 
cause, he brought the matter at once before the courts. My brother 
and I were first examined face to face. His declaration was a mere 
romance: mine was not the truth; but as it was by the advice of 
my reverend father, and that of my illustrious friend, both of 
whom I knew to be sincere Christians and true believers, that I 
gave it, I conceived myself completely justified on that score. I 
said I had gone up into the mountain early on the morning to 
pray, and had withdrawn myself, for entire privacy, into a little 
sequestered dell--had laid aside my cap, and was in the act of 
kneeling when I was rudely attacked by my brother, knocked 
over, and nearly slain. They asked my brother if this was true. He 
acknowledged that it was; that I was bare-headed and in the act of 
kneeling when he ran foul of me without any intent of doing so. 
But the judge took him to task on the improbability of this, and 
put the profligate sore out of countenance. The rest of his tale told 
still worse, insomuch that he was laughed at by all present, for the 
judge remarked to him that, granting it was true that he had at 
first run against me on an open mountain and overthrown me by 
accident, how was it that, after I had extricated myself and fled, 
that he had pursued, overtaken, and knocked me down a second 
time? Would he pretend that all that was likewise by chance? The 
culprit had nothing to say for himself on this head, and I shall not 
forget my exultation and that of my reverend father when the 
sentence of the judge was delivered. It was that my wicked 
brother should be thrown into prison and tried on a criminal 
charge of assault and battery, with the intent of committing 
murder. This was a just and righteous judge, and saw things in 
their proper bearings, that is, he could discern between a 
righteous and a wicked man, and then there could be no doubt as 
to which of the two were acting right and which wrong.

Had I not been sensible that a justified person could do nothing 
wrong, I should not have been at my ease concerning the 
statement I had been induced to give on this occasion. I could 
easily perceive that, by rooting out the weeds from the garden of 
the Church, I heightened the growth of righteousness; but, as to 
the tardy way of giving false evidence on matters of such 
doubtful issue, I confess I saw no great propriety in it from the 
beginning. But I now only moved by the will and mandate of my 
illustrious friend. I had no peace or comfort when out of his 
Sight, nor have I ever been able to boast of much in his presence; 
so true is it that a Christian's life is one of suffering.

My time was now much occupied, along with my reverend 
preceptor, in making ready for the approaching trial, as the 
prosecutors. Our counsel assured us of a complete victory, and 
that banishment would be the mildest award of the law on the 
offender. Mark how different was the result! From the shifts and 
ambiguities of a wicked Bench, who had a fellow-feeling of 
iniquity with the defenders, my suit was lost, the graceless 
libertine was absolved, and I was incarcerated, and bound over to 
keep the peace, with heavy penalties, before I was set at liberty.

I was exceedingly disgusted at this issue, and blamed the counsel 
of my friend to his face. He expressed great grief, and expatiated 
on the wickedness of our judicatories, adding: "I see I cannot 
depend on you for quick and summary measures, but for your 
sake I shall be revenged on that wicked judge, and that you shall 
see in a few days." The Lord Justice Clerk died that same week! 
But he died in his own house and his own bed, and by what 
means my friend effected it I do not know. He would not tell me 
a single word of the matter, but the judge's sudden death made a 
great noise, and I made so many curious inquiries regarding the 
particulars of it that some suspicions were like to attach to our 
family of some unfair means used. For my part I know nothing, 
and rather think he died by the visitation of Heaven, and that my 
friend had foreseen it, by symptoms, and soothed me by promises 
of complete revenge.

It was some days before he mentioned my brother's meditated 
death to me again, and certainly he then found me exasperated 
against him personally to the highest degree. But I told him that I 
could not now think any more of it owing to the late judgment of 
the court, by which, if my brother were missing or found dead, I 
would not only forfeit my life but my friends would be ruined by 
the penalties.

"I suppose you know and believe in the perfect safety of your 
soul," said he, "and that that is a matter settled from the beginning 
of time, and now sealed and ratified both in Heaven and earth?"

"I believe in it thoroughly and perfectly," said I; "and, whenever I 
entertain doubts of it, I am sensible of sin and weakness."

"Very well, so then am I," said he. "I think I can now divine, with 
all manner of certainty, what will be the high and merited 
guerdon of your immortal part. Hear me then further: I give you 
my solemn assurance, and bond of blood, that no human hand 
shall ever henceforth be able to injure your life, or shed one drop 
of your precious blood; but it is on the condition that you walk 
always by my directions."

"I will do so with cheerfulness," said I, "for, without your 
enlightened counsel, I feel that I can do nothing. But, as to your 
power of protecting my life, you must excuse me for doubting of 
it. Nay, were we in your proper dominions, you could not ensure 
that."

"In whatever dominion or land I am, my power accompanies me," 
said he, "and it is only against human might and human weapon 
that I ensure your life; on that will I keep an eye, and on that you 
may depend. I have never broken word or promise with you. Do 
you credit me?"

"Yes, I do," said I, "for I see you are in earnest. I believe, though 
I do not comprehend you."

"Then why do you not at once challenge your brother to the field 
of honour? Seeing you now act without danger, cannot you also 
act without fear?"

"It is not fear," returned I, "believe me. I hardly know what fear 
is. It is a doubt that, on all these emergencies, constantly haunts 
my mind that, in performing such and such actions, I may fall 
from my upright state. This makes fratricide a fearful task!'

"This is imbecility itself," said he. "We have settled and agreed 
on that point an hundred times. I would therefore advise that you 
challenge your brother to single combat. I shall ensure your 
safety, and he cannot refuse giving you satisfaction."

"But then the penalties?" said I.

"We will try to evade these," said he, "and, supposing you should 
be caught, if once you are Laird of Dalcastle and Balgrennan, 
what are the penalties to you?"

"Might we not rather pop him off in private and quietness, as we 
did the deistical divine?" said I.

"The deed would be alike meritorious, either way," said he. "But 
may we not wait for years before we find an opportunity? My 
advice is to challenge him, as privately as you will, and there cut 
him off."

"So be it then," said I. "When the moon is at the full, I will send 
for him forth to speak with one, and there will I smite him and 
slay him, and he shall trouble the righteous no more."

"Then this is the very night," said he, "The moon is nigh to the 
full, and this night your brother and his sinful mates hold 
carousal; for there is an intended journey to-morrow. The 
exulting profligate leaves town, where we must remain till the 
time of my departure hence; and then is he safe, and must live to 
dishonour God, and not only destroy his own soul but those of 
many others. Alack, and woe is me! The sins that he and his 
friends will commit this very night will cry to Heaven against us 
for our shameful delay! When shall our great work of cleansing 
the sanctuary be finished, if we proceed at this puny rate?"

"I see the deed must be done, then," said I, "and, since it is so, it 
shall be done. I will arm myself forthwith, and from the midst of 
his wine and debauchery you shall call him forth to me, and there 
will I smite him with the edge of the sword, that our great work 
be not retarded."

"If thy execution were equal to thy intent, how great a man you 
soon might be!" said he. "We shall make the attempt once more; 
and, if it fail again, why, I must use other means to bring about 
my high purposes relating to mankind. Home and make ready. I 
will go and procure what information I can regarding their 
motions, and will meet you in disguise twenty minutes hence, at 
the first turn of Hewie's Lane beyond the loch."

"I have nothing to make ready," said I, "for I do not choose to go 
home. Bring me a sword, and we may consecrate it with prayer 
and vows, and, if I use it not to the bringing down of the wicked 
and profane, then may the Lord do so to me, and more also!"

We parted, and there was I left again to the multiplicity of my 
own thoughts for the space of twenty minutes, a thing my friend 
never failed in subjecting me to, and these were worse to contend 
with than hosts of sinful men. I prayed inwardly that these deeds 
of mine might never be brought to the knowledge of men who 
were incapable of appreciating the high motives that led to them; 
and then I sung part of the 10th Psalm, likewise in spirit; but, for 
all these efforts, my sinful doubts returned, so that when my 
illustrious friend joined me, and proffered me the choice of two 
gilded rapiers, I declined accepting any of them, and began, in a 
very bold and energetic manner, to express my doubts regarding 
the justification of all the deeds of perfect men. He chided me 
severely and branded me with cowardice, a thing that my nature 
never was subject to; and then he branded me with falsehood and 
breach of the most solemn engagements both to God and man.

I was compelled to take the rapier, much against my inclination; 
but, for all the arguments, threats, and promises that he could use, 
I would not consent to send a challenge to my brother by his 
mouth. There was one argument only that he made use of which 
had some weight with me, but yet it would not preponderate. He 
told me my brother was gone to a notorious and scandalous 
habitation of women, and that, if I left him to himself for ever so 
short a space longer, it might embitter his state through ages to 
come. This was a trying concern to me; but I resisted it, and 
reverted to my doubts. On this he said that he had meant to do me 
honour, but, since I put it out of his power, he would do the deed, 
and take the responsibility on himself. "I have with sore travail 
procured a guardship of your life," added he. "For my own, I 
have not; but, be that as it will, I shall not be baffled in my 
attempts to benefit my friends without a trial. You will at all 
events accompany me, and see that I get justice?"

"Certes, I will do thus much," said I, "and woe be to him if his 
arm prevail against my friend and patron!"

His lip curled with a smile of contempt, which I could hardly 
brook; and I began to be afraid that the eminence to which I had 
been destined by him was already fading from my view. And I 
thought what I should then do to ingratiate myself again with 
him, for without his countenance I had no life. "I will be a man in 
act," thought I, "but in sentiment I will not yield, and for this he 
must surely admire me the more."

As we emerged from the shadowy lane into the fair moonshine, I 
started so that my whole frame underwent the most chilling 
vibrations of surprise. I again thought I had been taken at 
unawares and was conversing with another person. My friend was 
equipped in the Highland garb, and so completely translated into 
another being that, save by his speech, all the senses of mankind 
could not have recognized him. I blessed myself, and asked 
whom it was his pleasure to personify to-night? He answered me 
carelessly that it was a spark whom he meant should bear the 
blame of whatever might fall out to-night; and that was all that 
passed on the subject.

We proceeded by some stone steps at the foot of the North Loch, 
in hot argument all the way. I was afraid that our conversation 
might be overheard, for the night was calm and almost as light as 
day, and we saw sundry people crossing us as we advanced. But 
the zeal of my friend was so high that he disregarded all danger, 
and continued to argue fiercely and loudly on my delinquency, as 
he was pleased to call it. I stood on one argument
alone, which was that "I did not think the Scripture promises to
the elect, taken in their utmost latitude, warranted the assurance
that they could do no wrong; and that, therefore, it behoved
every man to look well to his steps."

There was no religious scruple that irritated my enlightened 
friend and master so much as this. He could not endure it. And,
the sentiments of our great covenanted reformers being on his 
side, there is not a doubt that I was wrong. He lost all patience on 
hearing what I advanced on this matter, and, taking hold of me, 
he led me into a darksome booth in a confined entry; and, after a 
friendly but cutting reproach, he bade me remain there in secret 
and watch the event. "And, if I fall," said he, "you will not fail to 
avenge my death?"

I was so entirely overcome with vexation that I could make no 
answer, on which he left me abruptly, a prey to despair; and I saw 
or heard no more till he came down to the moonlight green 
followed by my brother. They had quarrelled before they came 
within my hearing, for the first words I heard were those of my 
brother, who was in a state of intoxication, and he was urging a 
reconciliation, as was his wont on such occasions. My friend 
spurned at the suggestion, and dared him to the combat; and after 
a good deal of boastful altercation, which the turmoil of my 
spirits prevented me from remembering, my brother was 
compelled to draw his sword and stand on the defensive. It was a 
desperate and terrible engagement. I at first thought that the 
royal stranger and great champion of the faith would overcome 
his opponent with ease, for I considered Heaven as on his side, 
and nothing but the arm of sinful flesh against him. But I was 
deceived. The sinner stood firm as a rock, while the assailant 
flitted about like a shadow, or rather like a spirit. I smiled 
inwardly, conceiving that these lightsome manoeuvres were all a 
sham to show off his art and mastership in the exercise, and that, 
whenever they came to close fairly, that instant my brother would 
be overcome. Still I was deceived. My brother's arm seemed 
invincible, so that the closer they fought the more palpably did it 
prevail. They fought round the green to the very edge of the 
water, and so round till they came close up to the covert where I 
stood. There being no more room to shift ground, my brother then 
forced him to come to close quarters, on which, the former still 
having the decided advantage, my friend quitted his sword and 
called out. I could resist no longer; so, springing from my 
concealment, I rushed between them with my sword drawn, and 
parted them as if they had been two schoolboys: then, turning to 
my brother, I addressed him as follows: "Wretch! miscreant! 
knowest thou what thou art attempting? Wouldest thou lay thine 
hand on the Lord's anointed, or shed his precious blood? Turn 
thee to me, that I may chastise thee for all thy wickedness, and 
not for the many injuries thou hast done to me!" To it we went, 
with full thirst of vengeance on every side. The duel was fierce; 
but the might of Heaven prevailed, and not my might. The 
ungodly and reprobate young man fell covered with wounds, and 
with curses and blasphemy in his mouth, while I escaped 
uninjured. Thereto his power extended not.

I will not deny that my own immediate impressions of this affair 
in some degree differed from this statement. But this is precisely 
as my illustrious friend described it to be afterwards, and I can 
rely implicitly on his information, as he was at that time a looker-
on, and my senses all in a state of agitation, and he could have no 
motive for saying what was not the positive truth.

Never till my brother was down did we perceive that there had 
been witnesses to the whole business. Our ears were then 
astounded by rude challenges of unfair play, which were quite 
appalling to me; but my friend laughed at them and conducted me 
off in perfect safety. As to the unfairness of the transaction, I can 
say thus much, that my royal friend's sword was down ere ever 
mine was presented. But if it still be accounted unfair to take up a 
conqueror, and punish him in his own way, I answer: That if a 
man is sent on a positive mission by his master, and hath laid 
himself under vows to do his work, he ought not to be too nice in 
the means of accomplishing it; and, further, I appeal to holy writ, 
wherein many instances are recorded of the pleasure the Lord 
takes in the final extinction of the wicked and profane; and this 
position I take to be unanswerable.

I was greatly disturbed in my mind for many days, knowing that 
the transaction had been witnessed, and sensible also of the 
perilous situation I occupied, owing to the late judgment of the 
court against me. But on the contrary, I never saw my enlightened 
friend in such high spirits. He assured me there was no danger; 
and again repeated that he warranted my life against the power of 
man. I thought proper, however, to remain in hiding for a week; 
but, as he said, to my utter amazement, the blame fell on another, 
who was not only accused but pronounced guilty by the general 
voice, and outlawed for non-appearance! How could I doubt, 
after this, that the hand of Heaven was aiding and abetting me? 
The matter was beyond my comprehension; and, as for my friend, 
he never explained anything that was past, but his activity and art 
were without a parallel.

He enjoyed our success mightily; and for his sake I enjoyed it 
somewhat, but it was on account of his comfort only, for I could 
not for my life perceive in what degree the Church was better or 
purer than before these deeds were done. He continued to flatter 
me with great things, as to honours, fame and emolument; and, 
above all, with the blessing and protection of Him to whom my 
body and soul were dedicated. But, after these high promises, I 
got no longer peace; for he began to urge the death of my father 
with such an unremitting earnestness that I found I had nothing 
for it but to comply. I did so; and cannot express his enthusiasm 
of approbation. So much did he hurry and press me in this that I 
was forced to devise some of the most openly violent measures, 
having no alternative. Heaven spared me the deed, taking, in that 
instance, the vengeance in its own hand; for, before my arm could 
effect the sanguine but meritorious act, the old man followed his 
son to the grave. My illustrious and zealous friend seemed to 
regret this somewhat, but he comforted himself with the 
reflection, that still I had the merit of it, having not only 
consented to it, but in fact effected it, for by doing the one action 
I had brought about both.

No sooner were the obsequies of the funeral over than my friend 
and I went to Dalcastle, and took undisputed possession of the 
houses, lands and effects that had been my father's; but his plate, 
and vast treasures of ready money, he had bestowed on a 
voluptuous and unworthy creature, who had lived long with him 
as a mistress. Fain would I have sent her after her lover, and gave 
my friend some hints on the occasion; but he only shook his head, 
and said that we must lay all selfish and interested motives out of 
the question.

For a long time, when I awaked in the morning, I could not 
believe my senses, that I was indeed the undisputed and sole 
proprietor of so much wealth and grandeur; and I felt so much 
gratified that I immediately set about doing all the good I was 
able, hoping to meet with all approbation and encouragement 
from my friend. I was mistaken. He checked the very first 
impulses towards such a procedure, questioned my motives, and 
uniformly made them out to be wrong. There was one morning 
that a servant said to me there was a lady in the back chamber 
who wanted to speak with me, but he could not tell me who it 
was, for all the old servants had left the mansion, every one on 
hearing of the death of the late laird, and those who had come 
knew none of the people in the neighbourhood. From several 
circumstances, I had suspicions of private confabulations with 
women, and refused to go to her, but bid the servant inquire what 
she wanted. She would not tell, she could only state the 
circumstances to me; so I, being sensible that a little dignity of 
manner became me in my elevated situation, returned for answer 
that, if it was business that could not be transacted by my 
steward, it must remain untransacted. The answer which the 
servant brought back was of a threatening nature. She stated she 
must see me, and, if I refused her satisfaction there, she would 
compel it where I should not evite her.

My friend and director appeared pleased with my dilemma, and 
rather advised that I should hear what the woman had to say; on 
which I consented, provided she would deliver her mission in his 
presence. She came with manifest signs of anger and indignation, 
and began with a bold and direct charge against me of a shameful 
assault on one of her daughters; of having used the basest of 
means in order to lead her aside from the paths of rectitude; and, 
on the failure of these, of having resorted to the most unqualified 
measures.

I denied the charge in all its bearings, assuring the dame that I 
had never so much as seen either of her daughters to my 
knowledge, far less wronged them; on which she got into great 
wrath, and abused me to my face as an accomplished vagabond, 
hypocrite, and sensualist; and she went so far as to tell me 
roundly that if I did not marry her daughter, she would bring me 
to the gallows and that in a very short time.

"Marry your daughter, honest woman!" said I, "on the faith of a 
Christian, I never saw your daughter; and you may rest assured in 
this, that I will neither marry you nor her. Do you consider how 
short a time I have been in this place? How much that time has 
been occupied? And how there was even a possibility that I could 
have accomplished such villainies?"

"And how long does your Christian reverence suppose you have 
remained in this place since the late laird's death?" said she.

"That is too well known to need recapitulation," said I. "Only a 
very few days, though I cannot at present specify the exact 
number; perhaps from thirty to forty, or so. But in all that time, 
certes, I have never seen either you or any of your two daughters 
that you talk of. You must be quite sensible of that."

My friend shook his head three times during this short sentence, 
while the woman held up her hands in amazement and disgust, 
exclaiming: "There goes the self-righteous one! There goes the 
consecrated youth, who cannot err! You, sir, know, and the world 
shall know, of the faith that is in this most just, devout, and 
religious miscreant! Can you deny that you have already been in 
this place four months and seven days? Or that in that time you 
have been forbid my house twenty times? Or that you have 
persevered in your endeavours to effect the basest and most 
ungenerous of purposes? Or that you have  attained them? 
Hypocrite and deceiver as you are! Yes, sir; I say, dare you deny 
that you have attained your vile, selfish, and degrading purposes 
towards a young, innocent, and unsuspecting creature, and 
thereby ruined a poor widow's only hope in this world? No, you 
cannot look in my face, and deny aught of this."

"The woman is raving mad!" said I. "You, illustrious sir, know 
that, in the first instance, I have not yet been in this place one 
month." My friend shook his head again, and answered me: "You 
are wrong, my dear friend; you are wrong. It is indeed the space 
of time that the lady hath stated, to a day, since you came here, 
and I came with you; and I am sorry that I know for certain that 
you have been frequently haunting her house, and have often had 
private correspondence with one of the young ladies, too. Of the 
nature of it I presume not to know."

"You are mocking me," said I. "But as well may you try to reason 
me out of my existence as to convince me that I have been here 
even one month, or that any of those things you allege against me 
has the shadow of truth or evidence to support it. I will swear to 
you, by the great God that made me; and by--"

"Hold, thou most abandoned profligate!" cried she violently, "and 
do not add perjury to your other detestable crimes. Do not, for 
mercy's sake, any more profane that name whose attributes you 
have wrested and disgraced. But tell me what reparation you 
propose offering to my injured child." 

"I again declare, before Heaven, woman, that, to the best of my 
knowledge and recollection, I never saw your daughter. I now 
think I have some faint recollection of having seen your face, but 
where, or in what place, puzzles me quite."

"And, why?" said she. "Because for months and days you have 
been, in such a state of extreme inebriety, that your time has 
gone over like a dream that has been forgotten. I believe that, 
from the day you came first to my house, you have been in a state 
of utter delirium, and that principally from the fumes of wine and 
ardent spirits."

"It is a manifest falsehood!" said I. "I have never, since I entered 
on the possession of Dalcastle, tasted wine or spirits, saving once 
a few evenings ago; and, I confess to my shame, that I was led 
too far; but I have craved forgiveness and obtained it. I take my 
noble and distinguished friend there for a witness to the truth of 
what I assert; a man who has done more, and sacrificed more for 
the sake of genuine Christianity than any this world contains. 
Him you will believe."

"I hope you have attained forgiveness," said he, seriously. 
"Indeed it would be next to blasphemy to doubt it. But, of late, 
you have been very much addicted to intemperance. I doubt if, 
from the first night you tasted the delights of drunkenness, that 
you have ever again been in your right mind until Monday last. 
Doubtless you have been for a good while most diligent in your 
addresses to this lady's daughter."

"This is unaccountable," said I. "It is impossible that I can have 
been doing a thing and not doing it at the same time. But indeed, 
honest woman, there have several incidents occurred to me in the 
course of my life which persuade me I have a second self; or that 
there is some other being who appears in my likeness."

Here my friend interrupted me with a sneer, and a hint that I was 
talking insanely; and then he added, turning to the lady: "I know 
my friend Mr. Colwan will do what is just and, right. Go and 
bring the young lady to him, that he may see her, and he will then 
recollect all his former amours with her!'

"I humbly beg your pardon, sir," said I. "But the mention of such 
a thing as amours with any woman existing, to me, is really so 
absurd, so far from my principles, so from the purity of nature 
and frame to which I was born and consecrated, that I hold it as 
an insult, and regard it with contempt."

I would have said more in reprobation of such an idea, had not 
my servant entered, and said that a gentleman wanted to see me 
on business. Being glad of an opportunity of getting quit of my 
lady visitor, I ordered the servant to show him in; and forthwith a 
little lean gentleman, with a long aquiline nose, and a bald head, 
daubed all over with powder and pomatum, entered. I thought 1 
recollected having seen him too, but could not remember his 
name, though he spoke to me with the greatest familiarity; at 
least, that sort of familiarity that an official person generally 
assumes. He bustled about and about, speaking to everyone, but 
declined listening for a single moment to any. The lady offered to 
withdraw, but he stopped her.

"No, no, Mrs. Keeler, you need not go; you need not go; you 
must not go, madam. The business I came about concerns you--
yes, that it does. Bad business yon of Walker's? Eh? Could not 
help it--did all I could, Mr. Wringhim. Done your business. Have 
it all cut and dry here, sir. No, this is not it--Have it among them, 
though.--I'm at a little loss for your name, sir (addressing my 
friend)--seen you very often, though--exceedingly often--quite 
well acquainted with you."

"No, sir, you are not," said my friend, sternly. The intruder never 
regarded him; never so much as lifted his eyes from his bundle of 
law papers, among which he was bustling with great hurry and 
importance, but went on:

"Impossible! Have seen a face very like it, then--what did you say 
your name was, sir?--very like it indeed. Is it not the young laird 
who was murdered whom you resemble so much?"

Here Mrs. Keeler uttered a scream, which so much startled me. 
that it seems I grew pale, and, on looking at my friend's face, 
there was something struck me so forcibly in the likeness 
between him and my late brother that I had very nearly fainted. 
The woman exclaimed that it was my brother's spirit that stood 
beside me.

"Impossible!" exclaimed the attorney. "At least, I hope not, else 
his signature is not worth a pin. There is some balance due on yon 
business, madam. Do you wish your account? because I have it 
here, ready discharged, and it does not suit letting such things lie 
over. This business of Mr. Colwan's will be a severe one on you, 
madam--rather a severe one."

"What business of mine, if it be your will, sir," said I. "For my 
part I never engaged you in business of any sort less or more." He 
never regarded me, but went on: "You may appeal, though. Yes, 
yes, there are such things as appeals for the refractory. Here it is, 
gentlemen. Here they are all together. Here is, in the first place, 
sir, your power of attorney, regularly warranted, sealed, and 
signed with your own hand."

"I declare solemnly that I never signed that document," said I.

"Aye, aye, the system of denial is not a bad one in general," said 
my attorney. "But at present there is no occasion for it. You do 
not deny your own hand?"

"I deny everything connected with the business," cried I. "I 
disclaim it in toto, and declare that I know no more about it than 
the child unborn."

"That is exceedingly good!" exclaimed he. "I like your pertinacity 
vastly! I have three of your letters, and three of your signatures; 
that part is all settled, and I hope so is the whole affair; for here is 
the original grant to your father, which he has never thought 
proper to put in requisition. Simple gentleman! But here have I, 
Lawyer Linkum, in one hundredth part of the time that any other 
notary, writer, attorney, or writer of the signet in Britain would 
have done it, procured the signature of His Majesty's 
commissioner, and thereby confirmed the charter to you and your 
house, sir, for ever and ever--Begging your pardon, madam." The 
lady, as well as myself, tried several times to interrupt the 
loquacity of Linkum, but in vain: he only raised his hand with a 
quick flourish, and went on: 

"Here it is:

JAMES, by the grace of God, King of Great Britain, France, and 
Ireland , to his right trusty cousin, sendeth greeting: And whereas 
his right leal and trust-worthy cousin, George Colwan, of 
Dalcastle and Balgrennan, hath suffered great losses, and 
undergone much hardship, on behalf of his Majesty's rights and 
titles; he therefore, for himself, and as prince and steward of 
Scotland, and by the consent of his right trusty cousins and 
councillors hereby grants to the said George Colwan, his heirs 
and assignees whatsomever, heritably and irrevocably, all and 
haill the lands and others underwritten: To wit, All and haill, the 
five merk land of Kipplerig; the five pound land of Easter 
Knockward, with all the towers, fortalices, manor-places, houses, 
biggings, yards, orchards, tofts, crofts, mills, woods, fishings, 
mosses, muirs, meadows, commonties, pasturages, coals, coal-
heughs, tennants, tenantries, services of free tenants, annexes, 
connexes, dependencies, parts, pendicles, and pertinents of the 
same whatsomever; to be peaceably brooked, joysed, set, used, 
and disposed of by him and his aboves, as specified, heritably and 
irrevocably, in all time coming: And, in testimony thereof, his 
Majesty, for himself, and as prince steward of Scotland, with the 
advice and consent of his foresaids, knowledge, proper motive, 
and kingly power, makes, erects, creates, unites, annexes, and 
incorporates, the whole lands above mentioned in a haill and free 
barony, by all the rights, miethes, and marches thereof, old and 
divided, as the same lies, in length and breadth, in houses, 
biggings, mills, multures, hawking, bunting, fishing; with court, 
plaint, herezeld, fock, fork, sack, sock, thole, thame, vert, wraik, 
waith, wair, venison, outfang thief, infang thief, pit and gallows, 
and all and sundry other commodities. Given at our Court of 
Whitehall, &c., &c. God save the King.

Compositio 5 lib. 13.8.

Registrate 26th September 1687.

"See, madam, here are ten signatures of privy councillors of that 
year, and here are other ten of the present year, with His Grace 
the Duke of Queensberry at the head. All right. See here it is, sir--
all right--done your work. So you see, madam, this gentleman is 
the true and sole heritor of all the land that your father possesses, 
with all the rents thereof for the last twenty years, and upwards. 
Fine job for my employers! Sorry on your account, madam--can't 
help it."

I was again going to disclaim all interest or connection in the 
matter but my friend stopped me; and the plaints and 
lamentations of the dame became so overpowering that they put 
an end to all further colloquy; but Lawyer Linkum followed me, 
and stated his great outlay, and the important services he had 
rendered me, until I was obliged to subscribe an order to him for 
L100 on my banker.

I was now glad to retire with my friend, and ask seriously for 
some explanation of all this. It was in the highest degree 
unsatisfactory. He confirmed all that had been stated to me; 
assuring me that I had not only been assiduous in my endeavours 
to seduce a young lady of great beauty, which it seemed I had 
effected, but that I had taken counsel, and got this supposed, old, 
false, and forged grant raked up and now signed, to ruin the 
young lady's family quite, so as to throw her entirely on myself 
for protection, and be wholly at my will.

This was to me wholly incomprehensible. I could have freely 
made oath to the contrary of every particular. Yet the evidences 
were against me, and of a nature not to be denied. Here I must 
confess that, highly as I disapproved of the love of women, and 
all intimacies and connections with the sex, I felt a sort of 
indefinite pleasure, an ungracious delight in having a beautiful 
woman solely at my disposal. But I thought of her spiritual good 
in the meantime. My friend spoke of my backslidings with 
concern; requesting me to make sure of my forgiveness, and to 
forsake them; and then he added some words of sweet comfort. 
But from this time forth I began to be sick at times of my 
existence. I had heart-burnings, longings, and, yearnings that 
would not be satisfied; and I seemed hardly to be an accountable 
creature; being thus in the habit of executing transactions of the 
utmost moment without being sensible that I did them. I was a 
being incomprehensible to myself. Either I had a second self, who 
transacted business in my likeness, or else my body was at times 
possessed by a spirit over which it had no control, and of whose 
actions my own soul was wholly unconscious. This was an 
anomaly not to be accounted for by any philosophy of mine, and I 
was many times, in contemplating it, excited to terrors and mental 
torments hardly describable. To be in a state of consciousness and 
unconsciousness, at the same time, in the same body and same 
spirit, was impossible. I was under the greatest anxiety, dreading 
some change would take place momently in my nature; for of 
dates I could make nothing: one-half, or two-thirds of my time, 
seemed to me totally lost. I often, about this time, prayed with 
great fervour, and lamented my hopeless condition, especially in 
being liable to the commission of crimes which I was not sensible 
of and could not eschew. And I confess, notwithstanding the 
promises on which I had been taught to rely, I began to have 
secret terrors that the great enemy of man's salvation was 
exercising powers over me that might eventually lead to my ruin. 
These were but temporary and sinful fears, but they added greatly 
to my unhappiness.

The worst thing of all was what hitherto I had never felt, and, as 
yet, durst not confess to myself, that the presence of my 
illustrious and devoted friend was becoming irksome to me. 
When I was by myself, I breathed freer, and my step was lighter; 
but, when he approached, a pang went to my heart, and, in his 
company, I moved and acted as if under a load that I could hardly 
endure. What a state to be in! And yet to shake him off was 
impossible--we were incorporated together--identified with one 
another, as it were, and the power was not in me to separate 
myself from him. I still knew nothing who he was, further than 
that he was a potentate of some foreign land, bent on establishing 
some pure and genuine doctrines of Christianity, hitherto only 
half understood, and less than half exercised. Of this I could have 
no doubts after all that he had said, done and suffered in the 
cause. But, alongst with this, I was also certain that he was 
possessed of some supernatural power, of the source of which I 
was wholly ignorant. That a man could be a Christian and at the 
same time a powerful necromancer, appeared inconsistent, and 
adverse to every principle taught in our Church and from this I 
was led to believe that he inherited his powers from on high, for I 
could not doubt either of the soundness of his principles or that he 
accomplished things impossible to account for. Thus was I 
sojourning in the midst of a chaos of confusion. I looked back on 
my by-past life with pain, as one looks back on a perilous 
journey, in which he has attained his end, without gaining any 
advantage either to himself or others; and I looked forward, as on 
a darksome waste, full of repulsive and terrific shapes, pitfalls, 
and precipices, to which there was no definite bourn, and from 
which I turned with disgust. With my riches, my unhappiness was 
increased tenfold; and here, with another great acquisition of 
property, for which I had pleaed, and which I had gained in a 
dream, my miseries and difficulties were increasing. My principal 
feeling, about this time, was an insatiable longing for something 
that I cannot describe or denominate properly, unless I say it was 
for utter oblivion that I longed. I desired to sleep; but it was for a 
deeper and longer sleep than that in which the senses were 
nightly steeped. I longed to be at rest and quiet, and close my 
eyes on the past and the future alike, as far as this frail life was 
concerned. But what had been formerly and finally settled in the 
councils above, I presumed not to call in question.

In this state of irritation and misery was I dragging on an 
existence, disgusted with all around me, and in particular with my 
mother, who, with all her love and anxiety, had such an 
insufferable mode of manifesting them that she had by this time 
rendered herself exceedingly obnoxious to me. The very sound of 
her voice at a distance went to my heart like an arrow, and made 
all my nerves to shrink; and, as for the beautiful young lady for 
whom they told me I had been so much enamoured, I shunned all 
intercourse with her or hers, as I would have done with the Devil. 
I read some of their letters and burnt them, but refused to see 
either the young lady or her mother on any account.

About this time it was that my worthy and reverend parent
came with one of his elders to see my mother and myself. His
presence always brought joy with it into our family, for my
mother was uplifted, and I had so few who cared for me, or for
whom I cared, that I felt rather gratified at seeing him. My
illustrious friend was also much more attached to him than any
other person (except myself) for their religious principles tallied
in every point, and their conversation was interesting, serious,
and sublime. Being anxious to entertain well and highly the
man to whom I had been so much indebted, and knowing that,
with all his integrity and righteousness, he disdained not the good
things of this life, I brought from the late laird's well-stored
cellars various fragrant and salubrious wines, and we drank, and
became merry, and I found that my miseries and overpowering
calamities passed away over my head like a shower that is driven 
by the wind. I became elevated and happy, and welcomed my 
guests an hundred times; and then I joined them in religious 
conversation, with a zeal and enthusiasm which I had not often 
experienced, and which made all their hearts rejoice, so that I said 
to myself. "Surely every gift of God is a blessing, and ought to be 
used with liberality and thankfulness."

The next day I waked from a profound and feverish sleep, and 
called for something to drink. There was a servant answered 
whom I had never seen before, and he was clad in my servant's 
clothes and livery. I asked for Andrew Handyside, the servant 
who had waited at table the night before; but the man answered 
with a stare and a smile:

"What do you mean, sirrah," said I. "Pray what do you here? Or 
what are you pleased to laugh at? I desire you to go about your 
business, and send me up Handyside. I want him to bring me 
something to drink."

"Ye sanna want a drink, maister," said the fellow. "Tak a hearty 
ane, and see if it will wauken ye up something, sae that ye dinna 
ca' for ghaists through your sleep. Surely ye haena forgotten that 
Andrew Handyside has been in his grave these six months?"

This was a stunning blow to me. I could not answer further, but 
sunk back on my pillow as if I had been a lump of lead, refusing 
to take a drink or anything else at the fellow's hand, who seemed 
thus mocking me with so grave a face. The man seemed sorry, 
and grieved at my being offended, but I ordered him away, and 
continued sullen and thoughtful. Could I have again been for a 
season in utter oblivion to myself. and transacting business which 
I neither approved of nor had any connection with! I tried to 
recollect something in which I might have been engaged, but 
nothing was portrayed on my mind subsequent to the parting with 
my friends at a late hour the evening before. The evening before 
it certainly was: but, if so, how came it that Andrew Handyside, 
who served at table that evening, should have been in his grave 
six months! This was a circumstance somewhat equivocal; 
therefore, being afraid to arise lest accusations of I know not what 
might come against me, I was obliged to call once more in order 
to come at what intelligence I could. The same fellow appeared to 
receive my orders as before, and I set about examining him with 
regard to particulars. He told me his name was Scrape; that I 
hired him myself; of whom I hired him; and at whose 
recommendation I smiled, and nodded so as to let the knave see I 
understood he was telling me a chain of falsehoods, but did not 
choose to begin with any violent asseverations to the contrary.

"And where is my noble friend and companion?" said I. "How 
has he been engaged in the interim?"

"I dinna ken him, sir," said Scrape, "but have heard it said that the 
strange mysterious person that attended you, him that the maist 
part of folks countit uncanny, had gane awa wi' a Mr. Ringan o' 
Glasko last year, and had never returned."

I thanked the Lord in my heart for this intelligence, hoping that 
the illustrious stranger had returned to his own land and people, 
and that I should thenceforth be rid of his controlling and 
appalling presence. "And where is my mother?" said, I. The man's 
breath cut short, and he looked at me without returning any 
answer.--"I ask you where my mother is?" said I.

"God only knows, and not I, where she is," returned he. "He 
knows where her soul is, and, as for her body, if you dinna ken 
something o' it, I suppose nae man alive does."

"What do you mean, you knave?" said I. "What dark hints are 
these you are throwing out? Tell me precisely and distinctly what 
you know of my mother?"

"It is unco queer o' ye to forget, or pretend to forget everything 
that gate the day, sir," said he. 'I'm sure you heard enough about it 
yestreen; an' I can tell you there are some gayan ill-faurd stories 
gaun about that business. But, as the thing is to be tried afore the 
circuit lords, it wad be far wrang to say either this or that to 
influence the public mind; it is best just to let justice tak its swee. 
I hae naething to say, sir. Ye hae been a good enough maister to 
me, and paid my wages regularly, but ye hae muckle need to be 
innocent, for there are some heavy accusations rising against 
you."

"I fear no accusations of man," said I, "as long as I can justify my 
cause in the sight of Heaven; and that I can do this I am well 
aware. Go you and bring me some wine and water, and some 
other clothes than these gaudy and glaring ones."

I took a cup of wine and water; put on my black clothes and 
walked out. For all the perplexity that surrounded me, I felt my 
spirits considerably buoyant. It appeared that I was rid of the two 
greatest bars to my happiness, by what agency I knew not. My 
mother, it seemed, was gone, who had become a grievous thorn in 
my side of late; and my great companion and counsellor, who 
tyrannized over every spontaneous movement of my heart, had 
likewise taken himself off. This last was an unspeakable relief; 
for I found that for a long season I had only been able to act by 
the motions of his mysterious mind and spirit. I therefore thanked 
God for my deliverance, and strode through my woods with a 
daring and heroic step; with independence in my eye, and 
freedom swinging in my right hand.

At the extremity of the Colwan wood, I perceived a figure 
approaching me with slow and dignified motion. The moment 
that I beheld it, my whole frame received a shock as if the ground 
on which I walked had sunk suddenly below me. Yet, at that 
moment, I knew not who it was; it was the air and motion of 
someone that I dreaded, and from whom I would gladly have 
escaped; but this I even had not power to attempt. It came slowly 
onward, and I advanced as slowly to meet it; yet, when we came 
within speech, I still knew not who it was. It bore the figure, air, 
and features of my late brother, I thought, exactly; yet in all these 
there were traits so forbidding, so mixed with an appearance of 
misery, chagrin and despair, that I still shrunk from the view, not 
knowing in whose face I looked. But, when the being spoke, both 
my mental and bodily frame received another shock more terrible 
than the first, for it was the voice of the great personage I had so 
long denominated my friend, of whom I had deemed myself for 
ever freed, and whose presence and counsels I now dreaded more 
than Hell. It was his voice, but so altered--I shall never forget it 
till my dying day. Nay, I can scarce conceive it possible that any 
earthly sounds could be so discordant, so repulsive to every 
feeling of a human soul, as the tones of the voice that grated on 
my ear at that moment. They were the sounds of the pit, wheezed 
through a grated cranny, or seemed so to my distempered 
imagination.

"So! Thou shudderest at my approach now, dost thou?" said he. 
"Is this all the gratitude that you deign for an attachment of which 
the annals of the world furnish no parallel? An attachment which 
has caused me to forego power and dominion, might, homage, 
conquest and adulation: all that I might gain one highly valued 
and sanctified spirit to my great and true, principles of 
reformation among mankind. Wherein have I offended? What 
have I done for evil, or what have I not done for your good; that 
you would thus shun my presence?"

"Great and magnificent prince," said I humbly; "let me request of 
you to abandon a poor worthless wight to his own wayward 
fortune, and return to the dominion of your people. I am 
unworthy of the sacrifices you have made for my sake; and, after 
all your efforts, I do not feel that you have rendered either more 
virtuous or more happy. For the sake of that which is estimable 
in human nature, depart from me to your own home, before you 
render me a being either altogether above or below the rest of my 
fellow creatures. Let me plod on towards Heaven and happiness 
in my own way, like those that have gone before me, and I 
promise to stick fast by the great principles which you have so 
strenuously inculcated, on condition that you depart and leave me 
for ever."

"Sooner shall you make the mother abandon the child of her 
bosom; nay, sooner cause the shadow to relinquish the substance, 
than separate me from your side. Our beings are amalgamated, as 
it were, and consociated in one, and never shall I depart from this 
country until I can carry you in triumph with me."

I can in nowise describe the effect this appalling speech had on 
me. It was like the announcement of death to one who had of late 
deemed himself free, if not of something worse than death, and of 
longer continuance. There was I doomed to remain in misery, 
subjugated, soul and body, to one whose presence was become 
more intolerable to me than aught on earth could compensate. 
And at that moment, when he beheld the anguish of my soul, he 
could not conceal that he enjoyed it. I was troubled for an answer, 
for which he was waiting: it became incumbent on me to say 
something after such a protestation of attachment; and, in some 
degree to shake the validity of it, I asked, with great simplicity, 
where he had been all this while?

"Your crimes and your extravagances forced me from your side 
for a season," said he, "but now that I hope the day of grace is 
returned, I am again drawn towards you by an affection that has 
neither bounds nor interest; an affection for which I receive not 
even the poor return of gratitude, and which seems to have its 
radical sources in fascination. I have been far, far abroad, and 
have seen much, and transacted much, since I last spoke with 
you. During that space, I grievously suspect that you have been 
guilty of great crimes and misdemeanours, crimes that would 
have sunk an unregenerated person to perdition; but as I knew it 
to be only a temporary falling off, a specimen of that liberty by 
which the chosen and elected ones are made free, I closed my 
eyes on the wilful debasement of our principles, knowing that the 
transgressions could never be accounted to your charge, and that 
in good time you would come to your senses, and throw the 
whole weight of your crimes on the shoulders that had voluntarily 
stooped to receive the load."

"Certainly I will," said I, "as I and all the justified have a good 
right to do. But what crimes? What misdemeanours and 
transgressions do you talk about? For my part, I am conscious of 
none, and am utterly amazed at insinuations which I do not 
comprehend."

"You have certainly been left to yourself for a season," returned 
he, "having gone on rather like a person in a delirium than a 
Christian in his sober sense. You are accused of having made 
away with your mother privately; as also of the death of a 
beautiful young lady, whose affections you had seduced." 

"It is an intolerable and monstrous falsehood!" cried I, 
interrupting, him. "I never laid a hand on a woman to take away 
her life, and have even shunned their society from my childhood. 
I know nothing of my mother's exit; nor of that young lady's 
whom you mention. Nothing whatever."

"I hope it is so," said he. "But it seems there are some strong 
presumptuous proofs against you, and I came to warn you this 
day that a precognition is in progress, and that unless you are 
perfectly convinced, not only of your innocence but of your 
ability to prove it, it will be the safest course for you to abscond, 
and let the trial go on without you."

"Never shall it be said that I shrunk from such a trial as this," said 
I. "It would give grounds for suspicions of guilt that never had 
existence, even in thought. I will go and show myself in every 
public place, that no slanderous tongue may wag against me. I 
have shed the blood of sinners, but of these deaths I am guiltless; 
therefore I will face every tribunal, and put all my accusers  
down."

"Asseveration will avail you but little," answered he, 
composedly. "It is, however, justifiable in its place, although to 
me it signifies nothing, who know too well that you did commit 
both crimes, in your own person, and with your own hands. Far 
be it from me to betray you; indeed, I would rather endeavour to 
palliate the offences; for, though adverse to nature, I can prove 
them not to be so to the cause of pure Christianity, by the mode 
of which we have approved of it, and which we wish to 
promulgate."

"If this that you tell me be true," said I, "then is it as true that I 
have two souls, which take possession of my bodily frame by 
turns, the one being all unconscious of what the other performs; 
for as sure as I have at this moment a spirit within me, fashioned 
and destined to eternal felicity, as sure am I utterly ignorant of the 
crimes you now lay to my charge."

"Your supposition may be true in effect," said he. "We are all 
subjected to two distinct natures in the same person. I myself 
have suffered grievously in that way. The spirit that now directs 
my energies is not that with which I was endowed at my creation. 
It is changed within me, and so is my whole nature. My former 
days were those of grandeur and felicity. But, would you believe 
it? I was not then a Christian. Now I am. I have been converted to 
its truths by passing through the fire, and, since my final 
conversion, my misery has been extreme. You complain that I 
have not been able to render you more happy than you were. 
Alas! do you expect it in the difficult and exterminating career 
which you have begun? I, however, promise you this--a portion 
of the only happiness which I enjoy, sublime in its motions, and 
splendid in its attainments--I will place you on the right hand of 
my throne, and show you the grandeur of my domains, and the 
felicity of my millions of true professors."

I was once more humbled before this mighty potentate, and 
promised to be ruled wholly by his directions, although at that 
moment my nature shrunk from the concessions, and my soul 
longed rather to be inclosed in the deeps of the sea, or involved 
once more in utter oblivion. I was like Daniel in the den of lions, 
without his faith in Divine support, and wholly at their mercy. I 
felt as one round whose body a deadly snake is twisted, which 
continues to hold him in its fangs, without injuring him, further 
than in moving its scaly infernal folds with exulting delight, to let 
its victim feel to whose power he has subjected himself; and thus 
did I for a space drag an existence from day to day, in utter 
weariness and helplessness; at one time worshipping with great 
fervour of spirit, and at other times so wholly left to myself as to 
work all manner of vices and follies with greediness. In these my 
enlightened friend never accompanied me, but I always observed 
that he was the first to lead me to every one of them, and then 
leave me in the lurch. The next day, after these my fallings off, he 
never failed to reprove me gently, blaming me for my venial 
transgressions; but then he had the art of reconciling all, by 
reverting to my justified and infallible state, which I found to 
prove a delightful healing salve for every sore.

But, of all my troubles, this was the chief. I was every day and 
every hour assailed with accusations of deeds of which I was 
wholly ignorant; of acts of cruelty, injustice, defamation, and 
deceit; of pieces of business which I could not be made to 
comprehend; with lawsuits, details, arrestments of judgment, and 
a thousand interminable quibbles from the mouth of my 
loquacious and conceited attorney. So miserable was my life 
rendered by these continued attacks that I was often obliged to 
lock myself up for days together, never seeing any person save 
my man Samuel Scrape, who was a very honest blunt fellow, a 
staunch Cameronian, but withal very little conversant in religious 
matters. He said he came from a place called Penpunt, which I 
thought a name so ludicrous that I called him by the name of his 
native village, an appellation of which he was very proud, and 
answered everything with more civility and perspicuity when I 
denominated him Penpunt, than Samuel, his own Christian name. 
Of this peasant was I obliged to make a companion on sundry 
occasions, and strange indeed were the details which he gave me 
concerning myself, and the ideas of the country people 
concerning me. I took down a few of these in writing, to put off 
the time, and here leave them on record to show how the best and 
greatest actions are misconstrued among sinful and ignorant men: 

"You say, Samuel, that I hired you myself--that I have been a 
good enough master to you, and have paid you your weekly 
wages punctually. Now, how is it that you say this, knowing, as 
you do, that I never hired you, and never paid you a sixpence of 
wages in the whole course of my life, excepting this last month?"

"Ye may as weel say, master, that water's no water, or that, stanes 
are no stanes. But that's just your gate, an' it's a great pity, aye to 
do a thing an profess the clean contrair. Weel then, since you 
havena paid me ony wages, an' I can prove day and date when I 
was hired, an' came hame to your service, will you be sae kind as 
to pay me now? That's the best way o' curing a man o' the mortal 
disease o' leasing-making that I ken o'."

"I should think that Penpunt and Cameronian principles would 
not admit of a man taking twice payment for the same article."

"In sic a case as this, sir, it disna hinge upon principles, but a 
piece o' good manners; an' I can tell you that, at sic a crisis, a 
Cameronian is a gay-an weel-bred man. He's driven to this, and 
he maun either make a breach in his friend's good name, or in his 
purse; an' oh, sir, whilk o' thae, think you, is the most precious? 
For instance, an a Galloway drover had comed to the town o' 
Penpunt, an' said to a Cameronian (the folk's a' Cameronians 
there), 'Sir, I want to buy your cow,' 'Vera weel,' says the 
Cameronian, 'I just want to sell the cow, sae gie me twanty punds 
Scots, an' take her w' ye.' It's a bargain. The drover takes away the 
cow, an' gies the Cameronian his twanty pund Scots. But after 
that, he meets him again on the white sands, amang a' the drovers 
an' dealers o' the land, an' the Gallowayman, he says to the 
Cameronian, afore a' thae witnesses, 'Come, Master Whiggam, I 
hae never paid you for yon bit useless cow that I bought. I'll pay 
her the day, but you maun mind the luck-penny; there's muckle 
need for 't'--or something to that purpose. The Cameronian then 
turns out to be a civil man, an' canna bide to make the man baith 
a feele an' liar at the same time, afore a' his associates; an' 
therefore he pits his principles aff at the side, to be  kind o' 
sleepin' partner, as it war, an' brings up his good breeding to stand 
at the counter: he pockets the money, gies the Galloway drover 
time o' day, an' comes his way. An' wha's to blame? Man mind 
yoursel is the first commandment. A Cameronian's principles 
never came atween him an' his purse, nor sanna in the present 
case; for, as I canna bide to make you out a leear, I'll thank you 
for my wages."

"Well, you shall have them, Samuel, if you declare to me that I 
hired you myself in this same person, and bargained with you 
with this same tongue and voice with which I speak to you just 
now."

"That I do declare, unless ye hae twa persons o' the same 
appearance, and twa tongues to the same voice. But, 'od saif us, 
sir, do you ken what the auld wives o' the clachan say about 
you?"

"How should I, when no one repeats it to me?"

"Oo, I trow  it's a' stuff--folk shouldna heed what's said by auld 
crazy kimmers. But there are some o' them weel kend for witches, 
too; an' they say, 'Lord have a care o' us!' They say the deil's often 
seen gaun sidie for sidie w' ye, whiles in ae shape, an' whiles in 
another. An' they say that he whiles takes your ain shape, or else 
enters into you, and then you turn a deil yoursel."

I was so astounded at this terrible idea that had gone abroad, 
regarding my fellowship with the Prince of Darkness, that I could 
make no answer to the fellow's information, but sat like one in a 
stupor; and if it had not been for my well-founded faith, and 
conviction that I was a chosen and elected one before the world 
was made, I should at that moment have given in to the popular 
belief, and fallen into the sin of despondency; but I was preserved 
from such a fatal error by an inward and unseen supporter. Still 
the insinuation was so like what I felt myself that I was greatly 
awed and confounded.

The poor fellow observed this, and tried to do away the 
impression by some further sage remarks of his own.

"Hout, dear sir, it is balderdash, there's nae doubt o't. It is the 
crownhead o' absurdity to tak in the havers o' auld wives for 
gospel. I told them that my master was a peeous man, an' a 
sensible man; an', for praying, that he could ding auld Macmillan 
himsel. 'Sae could the deil,' they said, 'when he liket, either at 
preaching or praying, if these war to answer his ain ends.' 'Na, 
na,' says I, 'but he's a strick believer in a' the truths o' Christianity, 
my master.' They said, sae was Satan, for that he was the firmest 
believer in a' the truths of Christianity that was out o' Heaven; an' 
that, sin' the Revolution that the Gospel had turned sae rife, he 
had been often driven to the shift o' preaching it himsel, for the 
purpose o' getting some wrang tenets introduced into it, and 
thereby turning it into blasphemy and ridicule."

I confess, to my shame, that I was so overcome by this jumble of 
nonsense that a chillness came over me, and, in spite of all my 
efforts to shake off the impression it had made, I fell into a faint. 
Samuel soon brought me to myself, and, after a deep draught of 
wine and water, I was greatly revived, and felt my spirit rise 
above the sphere of vulgar conceptions and the restrained views 
of unregenerate men. The shrewd but loquacious fellow, 
perceiving this, tried to make some amends for the pain he had 
occasioned to me by the following story, which I noted down, 
and which was brought on by a conversation to the following 
purport:

"Now, Penpunt, you may tell me all that passed between you and 
the wives of the clachan. I am better of that stomach qualm, with 
which I am sometimes seized, and shall be much amused by 
hearing the sentiments of noted witches regarding myself and my 
connections."

"Weel, you see, sir, I says to them, 'It will be lang afore the deil 
intermeddle wi' as serious a professor, and as fervent a prayer as 
my master, for, gin he gets the upper hand o' sickan men, wha's to 
be safe?' An', what think ye they said, sir? There was ane Lucky 
Shaw set up her lang lantern chafts, an' answered me, an' a' the 
rest shanned and noddit in assent an' approbation: 'Ye silly, 
sauchless, Cameronian cuif!' quo she, 'is that a' that ye ken about 
the wiles and doings o' the Prince o' the Air, that rules an' works 
in the bairns of disobedience? Gin ever he observes a proud 
professor, wha has mae than ordinary pretensions to a divine 
calling, and that reards and prays till the very howlets learn his 
preambles, that's the man Auld Simmie fixes on to mak a 
dishclout o'. He canna get rest in Hell, if he sees a man, or a set of 
men o' this stamp, an, when he sets fairly to work, it is seldom 
that he disna bring them round till his ain measures by hook or by 
crook. Then, Oh! it is a grand prize for him, an' a proud Deil he 
is, when he gangs hame to his ain ha', wi' a batch o' the souls o' 
sic strenuous professors on his back. Aye, I trow, auld Ingleby, 
the Liverpool packman, never came up Glasco street wi' prouder 
pomp when he had ten horse-laids afore him o' Flanders lace, an' 
Hollin lawn, an' silks an' satins frae the eastern Indians, than 
Satan wad strodge into Hell with a packlaid o' the souls o' proud 
professors on his braid shoulders. Ha, ha, ha! I think I see how 
the auld thief wad be gaun through his gizened dominions, crying 
his wares, in derision, "Wha will buy a fresh, cauler divine, a 
bouzy bishop, a fasting zealot, or a piping priest?" For a' their 
prayers an' their praises, their aumuses, an' their penances, their 
whinings, their howlings, their rantings, an' their ravings, here 
they come at last! Behold  the end! Here go the rare and precious 
wares! A fat professor for a bodle, an' a lean ane for half a merk!' 
I declare I trembled at the auld hag's ravings, but the lave o' the 
kimmers applauded the sayings as sacred truths. An' then Lucky 
went on: 'There are many wolves in sheep's claithing, among us, 
my man; mony deils aneath the masks o' zealous professors, 
roaming about in kirks and meetinghouses o' the land. It was but 
the year afore the last that the people o' the town o' 
Auchtermuchty grew so rigidly righteous that the meanest hind 
among them became a shining light in ither towns an' parishes. 
There was naught to be heard, neither night nor day, but 
preaching, praying, argumentation, an' catechising in a' the 
famous town o' Auchtermuchty. The young men wooed their 
sweethearts out o' the Song o' Solomon, an' the girls returned 
answers in strings o' verses out o' the Psalms. At the lint-swinglings, 
they said questions round; and read chapters, and sang hymns at 
bridals; auld and young prayed in their dreams, an' prophesied in 
their sleep, till the deils in the farrest nooks o' Hell were alarmed, 
and moved to commotion. Gin it hadna been an auld carl, Robin 
Ruthven, Auchtermuchty wad at that time hae been ruined and 
lost for ever. But Robin was a cunning man, an' had rather mae 
wits than his ain, for he had been in the hands o' the fairies when 
he was young, an' a' kinds o' spirits were visible to his een, an' 
their language as familiar to him as his ain mother tongue. Robin 
was sitting on the side o' the West Lowmond, ae still gloomy 
night in September, when he saw a bridal o' corbie craws coming 
east the lift, just on the edge o' the gloaming. The moment that 
Robin saw them, he kenned, by their movements, that they were 
craws o' some ither warld than this; so he signed himself, and 
crap into the middle o' his bourock. The corbie craws came a' an' 
sat down round about him, an' they poukit their black sooty 
wings, an' spread them out to the breeze to cool; and Robin heard 
ae corbie speaking, an' another answering him; and the tane said 
to the tither: "Where will the ravens find a prey the night?" "On 
the lean crazy souls o' Auchtermuchty," quo the tither. "I fear 
they will be o'er weel wrappit up in the warm flannens o' faith, an 
clouted wi' the dirty duds o' repentance, for us to mak a meal o'," 
quo the first. "Whaten vile sounds are these that I hear coming 
bumming up the hill?" "Oh, these are the hymns and praises o' the 
auld wives and creeshy louns o' Auchtermuchty, wha are gaun 
crooning their way to Heaven; an', gin it warna for the shame o' 
being beat, we might let our great enemy tak them. For sic a prize 
as he will hae! Heaven, forsooth! What shall we think o' Heaven,
if it is to be filled wi' vermin like thae, amang whom there is mair 
poverty and pollution than I can name." "No matter for that," said 
the first, "we cannot have our power set at defiance; though we 
should put them on the thief's hole, we must catch them, and 
catch them with their own bait, too. Come all to church to-
morrow, and I'll let you hear how I'll gull the saints of 
Auchtermuchty. in the meantime, there is a feast on the Sidlaw 
hills tonight, below the hill of Macbeth--Mount, Diabolus, and 
fly." Then, with loud croaking and crowing, the bridal of corbies 
again scaled the dusky air, and left Robin Ruthven in the middle 
of his cairn.

"'The next day the congregation met in the kirk of 
Auchtermuchty, but the minister made not his appearance. The 
elder ran out and in making inquiries; but they could learn 
nothing, save that the minister was missing. They ordered the 
clerk to sing a part of the 119th Psalm, until they saw if the 
minister would cast up. The clerk did as he was ordered, and, by 
the time he reached the 77th verse, a strange divine entered the 
church, by the western door, and advanced solemnly up to the 
pulpit. The eyes of all the congregation were riveted on the 
sublime stranger, who was clothed in a robe of black sackcloth, 
that flowed all around him, and trailed far behind, and they 
weened him an angel, come to exhort them, in disguise. He read 
out his text from the Prophecies of Ezekiel, which consisted of 
these singular words: "I will overturn, overturn, overturn it; and it 
shall be no more, until he come, whose right it is, and I will give 
it him."

"'From these words he preached such a sermon as never was 
heard by human ears, at least never by ears of Auchtermuchty. It 
was a true, sterling, gospel sermon--it was striking, sublime, and 
awful in the extreme. He finally made out the IT, mentioned in 
the text, to mean, properly and positively, the notable town of 
Auchtermuchty. He proved all the people in it, to their perfect 
satisfaction, to be in the gall of bitterness and bond of iniquity, 
and he assured them that God would overturn them, their 
principles, and professions; and that they should be no more, until 
the Devil, the town's greatest enemy, came, and then it should be 
given unto him for a prey, for it was his right, and to him it 
belonged, if there was not forthwith a radical change made in all 
their opinions and modes of worship.

"'The inhabitants of Auchtermuchty were electrified--they were 
charmed; they were actually raving mad about the grand and 
sublime truths delivered to them by this eloquent and impressive 
preacher of Christianity. "He is a prophet of the Lord," said one, 
"sent to warn us, as Jonah was sent to the Ninevites." "Oh, he is 
an angel sent from Heaven, to instruct this great city," said 
another, "for no man ever uttered truths so sublime before." The 
good people of Auchtermuchty were in perfect raptures with the 
preacher, who had thus sent them to Hell by the slump, tag-rag, 
and bobtail! Nothing in the world delights a truly religious people 
so much as consigning them to eternal damnation. They 
wandered after the preacher--they crowded together, and spoke of 
his sermon with admiration, and still, as they conversed, the 
wonder and the admiration increased; so that honest Robin 
Ruthven's words would not be listened to. It was in vain that he 
told them he heard a raven speaking, and another raven 
answering him: the people laughed him to scorn, and kicked him 
out of their assemblies, as a one who spoke evil of dignities; and 
they called him a warlock, an' a daft body, to think to mak 
language out o' the crouping o' craws.

"'The sublime preacher could not be heard of, although all the 
country was sought for him, even to the minutest corner of St. 
Johnston and Dundee; but as he had announced another sermon 
on the same text, on a certain day, all the inhabitants of that 
populous country, far and near, flocked to Auchtermuchty. Cupar, 
Newburgh, and Strathmiglo, turned out men, women and 
children. Perth and Dundee gave their thousands; and, from the 
East Nook of Fife to the foot of the Grampian hills, there was 
nothing but running and riding that morning to Auchtermuchty. 
The kirk would not hold the thousandth part of them. A splendid 
tent was erected on the brae north of the town, and round that the 
countless congregation assembled. When they were all waiting 
anxiously for the great preacher, behold, Robin Ruthven set up 
his head in the tent, and warned his countrymen to beware of the 
doctrines they were about to hear, for he could prove, to their 
satisfaction, that they were all false, and tended to their 
destruction!

"'The whole multitude raised a cry of indignation against Robin, 
and dragged him from the tent, the elders rebuking him, and the 
multitude threatening to resort to stronger measures; and, though 
he told them a plain and unsophisticated tale of the black corbies, 
he was only derided. The great preacher appeared once more, and 
went through his two discourses with increased energy and 
approbation. All who heard him were amazed, and many of them 
went into fits, writhing and foaming in a state of the most horrid 
agitation. Robin Ruthven sat on the outskirts of the great 
assembly, listening with the rest, and perceived what they, in the 
height of their enthusiasm, perceived not the ruinous tendency of 
the tenets so sublimely inculcated. Robin kenned the voice of his 
friend the corby-craw again, and was sure he could not be wrong: 
sae, when public worship was finished, a' the elders an' a' the 
gentry flocked about the great preacher, as he stood on the green 
brae in the sight of the hale congregation, an' a' war alike anxious 
to pay him some mark o' respect. Robin Ruthven came in amang 
the thrang, to try to effect what he had promised; and, with the 
greatest readiness and simplicity, just took baud o' the side o' the 
wide gown, and, in sight of a' present, held it aside as high as the 
preacher's knee, and, behold, there was a pair o' cloven feet! The 
auld thief was fairly catched in the very height o' his proud 
conquest, an' put down by an auld carl. He could feign nae mair, 
but, gnashing on Robin wi' his teeth, he dartit into the air like a 
fiery dragon, an' keust a reid rainbow o'er the taps o' the 
Lowmonds.

"'A' the auld wives an weavers o' Auchtermuchty fell down flat 
wi' affright, an' betook them to their prayers aince again, for they 
saw the dreadfu' danger they had escapit, an' frae that day to this 
it is a hard matter to gar an Auchtermuchty man listen to a 
sermon at a', an' a harder ane still to gar him applaud ane, for he 
thinks aye that he sees the cloven foot peeping out frae aneath 
ilka sentence.

"'Now, this is a true story, my man,' quo the auld wife, 'an', 
whenever you are doubtfu' of a man, take auld Robin Ruthven's 
plan, an' look for the cloven foot, for it's a thing that winna weel 
hide; an' it appears whiles where ane wadna think o't. It will keek 
out frae aneath the parson's gown, the lawyer's wig, and the 
Cameronian's blue bannet; but still there is a gouden rule 
whereby to detect it, an' that never, never fails.' The auld witch 
didna gie me the rule, an' though I hae heard tell o't often an' 
often, shame fa' me an I ken what it is! But ye will ken it well, an' 
it wad be nae the waur of a trial on some o' your friends, maybe; 
for they say there's a certain gentleman seen walking wi' you 
whiles, that, wherever he sets his foot, the grass withers as gin it 
war scoudered wi' a het ern. His presence be about us! What's the 
matter wi' you, master. Are ye gaun to take the calm o' the 
stamock again?"

The truth is, that the clown's absurd story, with the still more 
ridiculous application, made me sick at heart a second time. It 
was not because I thought my illustrious friend was the Devil, or 
that I took a fool's idle tale as a counterbalance to Divine 
revelation that had assured me of my justification in the sight of 
God before the existence of time. But, in short, it gave me a view 
of my own state, at which I shuddered, as indeed I now always 
did when the image of my devoted friend and ruler presented 
itself to my mind. I often communed, with my heart on this, and 
wondered how a connection, that had the well-being of mankind 
solely in view, could be productive of fruits so bitter. I then went 
to try my works by the Saviour's golden rule, as my servant had 
put it into my head to do; and, behold, not one of them could 
stand the test. I had shed blood on a ground on which I could not 
admit that any man had a right to shed mine; and I began to doubt 
the motives of my adviser once more, not that they were 
intentionally bad, but that his was some great mind led astray by 
enthusiasm or some overpowering passion.

He seemed to comprehend every one of these motions of my 
heart, for his manner towards me altered every day. It first 
became anything but agreeable, then supercilious, and, finally, 
intolerable; so that I resolved to shake him off, cost what it 
would, even though I should be reduced to beg my bread in a 
foreign land. To do it at home was impossible, as he held my life 
in his hands, to sell it whenever he had a mind; and, besides, his 
ascendancy over me was as complete as that of a huntsman over 
his dogs: I was even so weak as, the next time I met with him, to 
look steadfastly at his foot, to see if it was not cloven into two 
hoofs. It was the foot of a gentleman in every respect, so far as 
appearances went, but the form of his counsels was somewhat 
equivocal, and, if not double, they were amazingly crooked.

But, if I had taken my measures to abscond and fly from my 
native place, in order to free myself of this tormenting, intolerant, 
and bloody reformer, he had likewise taken his to expel me, or 
throw me into the hands of justice. It seems that, about this time, I 
was haunted by some spies connected with my late father and 
brother, of whom the mistress of the former was one. My 
brother's death had been witnessed by two individuals; indeed, I 
always had an impression that it was witnessed by more than one, 
having some faint recollection of hearing voices and challenges 
close beside me; and this woman had searched about until she 
found these people; but, as I shrewdly suspected, not without the 
assistance of the only person in my secret--my own warm and 
devoted friend. I say this, because I found that he had them 
concealed in the neighbourhood, and then took me again and 
again where I was fully exposed to their view, without being 
aware. One time in particular, on pretence of gratifying my 
revenge on that base woman, he knew so well where she lay 
concealed that he led me to her, and left me to the mercy of two 
viragos who had very nigh taken my life. My time of residence at 
Dalcastle was wearing to a crisis. I could no longer live with my 
tyrant, who haunted me like my shadow; and, besides, it seems 
there were proofs of murder leading against me from all quarters. 
Of part of these I deemed myself quite free, but the world deemed 
otherwise; and how the matter would have gone God only knows, 
for, the case never having undergone a judicial trial, I do not. It 
perhaps, however, behoves me here to relate all that I know of it, 
and it is simply this:

On the first of June,1712 (well may I remember the day), I was 
sitting locked in my secret chamber, in a state of the utmost 
despondency, revolving in my mind what I ought to do to be free 
of my persecutors, and wishing myself a worm, or a moth, that I 
might be crushed and at rest, when behold Samuel entered, with 
eyes like to start out of his head, exclaiming: "For God's sake, 
master, fly and hide yourself, for your mother's found, an' as sure 
as you're a living soul, the blame is gaun to fa' on you!"

"My mother found!" said I. "And, pray, where has she been all 
this while?" In the meantime, I was terribly discomposed at the 
thoughts of her return.

"Been, sir! Been? Why, she has been where ye pat her, it seems--
lying buried in the sands o' the linn. I can tell you, ye will see her 
a frightsome figure, sic as I never wish to see again. An' the 
young lady is found too, sir: an' it is said the Devil--I beg pardon, 
sir, your friend, I mean--it is said your friend has made the 
discovery, an' the folk are away to raise officers, an' they will be 
here in an hour or two at the farthest, sir; an' sae you hae not a 
minute to lose, for there's proof, sir, strong proof, an' sworn 
proof, that ye were last seen wi' them baith; sae, unless ye can gie 
a' the better an account o' baith yoursel an' them either hide or 
flee for your bare life."

"I will neither hide nor fly," said I, "for I am as guiltless of the 
blood of these women as the child unborn."

"The country disna think sae, master; an' I can assure you that, 
should evidence fail, you run a risk o' being torn limb frae limb. 
They are bringing the corpse here, to gar ye touch them baith 
afore witnesses, an' plenty o' witnesses there will be!"

"They shall not bring them here," cried I, shocked beyond 
measure at the experiment about to be made. "Go, instantly and 
debar them from entering my gate with their bloated and mangled 
carcases!"

"The body of your own mother, sir!" said the fellow 
emphatically. I was in terrible agitation; and, being driven to my 
wits' end, I got up and strode furiously round and round the room. 
Samuel wist not what to do, but I saw by his staring he deemed 
me doubly guilty. A tap came to the chamber door: we both 
started like guilty creatures; and as for Samuel, his hairs stood all 
on end with alarm, so that, when I motioned to him, he could 
scarcely advance to open the door. He did so at length, and who 
should enter but my illustrious friend, manifestly in the utmost 
state of alarm. The moment that Samuel admitted him, the former 
made his escape by the prince's side as he entered, seemingly in a 
state of distraction. I was little better, when I saw this dreaded 
personage enter my chamber, which he had never before 
attempted; and. being unable to ask his errand, I suppose I stood 
and gazed on him like a statue.

"I come with sad and tormenting tidings to you, my beloved and 
ungrateful friend," said he, "but, having only a minute left to save 
your life, I have come to attempt it. There is a mob coming 
towards you with two dead bodies, which will place you in 
circumstances disagreeable enough: but that is not the worst, for 
of that you may be able to clear yourself. At this moment there is 
a party of officers, with a justiciary warrant from Edinburgh, 
surrounding the house, and about to begin the search of it for you. 
If you fall into their hands, you are inevitably lost; for I have been 
making earnest inquiries, and find that everything is in train for 
your ruin."

"Aye, and who has been the cause of all this?" said I, with great 
bitterness. But he stopped me short, adding, "There is no time for 
such reflections at present; I gave my word of honour, that your 
life should be safe from the hand of man. So it shall, if the power 
remain with me to save it. I am come to redeem my pledge, and 
to save your life by the sacrifice of my own. Here--not one word 
of expostulation, change habits with me, and you may then pass 
by the officers, and guards, and even through the approaching 
mob, with the most perfect temerity. There is a virtue in this garb, 
and, instead of offering to detain you, they shall pay you 
obeisance. Make haste, and leave this place for the present, flying 
where you best may, and, if I escape from these dangers that 
surround me, I will endeavour to find you out, and bring you 
what intelligence I am able."

I put on his green frock coat, buff belt, and a sort of a turban that 
he always wore on his head, somewhat resembling a bishop's 
mitre: he drew his hand thrice across my face, and I withdrew as 
he continued to urge me. My hall door and postern gate were both 
strongly guarded, and there were sundry armed people within, 
searching the closets; but all of them made way for me, and lifted 
their caps as I passed by them. Only one superior officer accosted 
me, asking if I had seen the culprit. I knew not what answer to 
make, but chanced to say, with great truth and propriety: "He is 
safe enough." The man beckoned with a smile, as much as to say: 
"Thank you, sir, that is quite sufficient," and I walked 
deliberately away.

I had not well left the gate till, hearing a great noise coming from 
the deep glen towards the east, I turned that way, deeming myself 
quite secure in this my new disguise, to see what it was, and if 
matters were as had been described to me. There I met a great 
mob, sure enough, coming with two dead bodies stretched on 
boards, and decently covered with white sheets. I would fain have 
examined their appearance, had I not perceived the apparent fury 
in the looks of the men, and judged from that how much more 
safe it was for me not to intermeddle in the affray. I cannot tell 
how it was, but I felt a strange and unwonted delight in viewing 
this scene, and a certain pride of heart in being supposed the 
perpetrator of the unnatural crimes laid to my charge. This was a 
feeling quite new to me; and if there were virtues in the robes of 
the illustrious foreigner, who had without all dispute preserved 
my life at this time: I say, if there was any inherent virtue in these 
robes of his, as he had suggested, this was one of their effects' 
that they turned my heart towards that which was evil, horrible, 
and disgustful.

I mixed with the mob to hear what they were saying. Every 
tongue was engaged in loading me with the most opprobrious 
epithets! One called me a monster of nature; another an incarnate 
devil; and another a creature made to be cursed in time and 
eternity. I retired from them and, winded my way southwards, 
comforting myself with the assurance that so mankind had used 
and persecuted the greatest fathers and apostles of the Christian 
Church, and that their vile opprobrium could not alter the 
counsels of Heaven concerning me.

On going over that rising ground called Dorington Moor, I could 
not help turning round and taking a look of Dalcastle. I had little 
doubt that it would be my last look, and nearly as little ambition 
that it should not. I thought how high my hopes of happiness and 
advancement had been on entering that mansion, and taking 
possession of its rich and extensive domains, and how miserably 
I had been disappointed. On the contrary, I had experienced 
nothing but chagrin, disgust, and terror; and I now consoled 
myself with the hope that I should henceforth shake myself free 
of the chains of my great tormentor, and for that privilege was I 
willing to encounter any earthly distress. I could not help 
perceiving that I was now on a path which was likely to lead me 
into a species of distress hitherto unknown, and hardly dreamed 
of by me, and that was total destitution. For all the riches I had 
been possessed of a few hours previous to this, I found that here I 
was turned out of my lordly possessions without a single merk, or 
the power of lifting and commanding the smallest sum, without 
being thereby discovered and seized. Had it been possible for me 
to have escaped in my own clothes, I had a considerable sum 
secreted in these, but, by the sudden change, I was left without a 
coin for present necessity. But I had hope in Heaven, knowing 
that the just man would not be left destitute and that, though 
many troubles surrounded him, he would at last be set free from 
them all. I was possessed of strong and brilliant parts, and a 
liberal education; and, though I had somehow unaccountably 
suffered my theological qualifications to fall into desuetude, since 
my acquaintance with the ablest and most rigid of all theologians, 
I had nevertheless hopes that, by preaching up redemption by 
grace, preordination, and eternal purpose, I should yet be enabled 
to benefit mankind in some country, and rise to high distinction.

These were some of the thoughts by which I consoled myself as I 
posted on my way southwards, avoiding the towns and villages, 
and falling into the cross ways that led from each of the great 
roads passing east and west to another. I lodged the first night in 
the house of a country weaver, into which I stepped at a late hour, 
quite overcome with hunger and fatigue, having travelled not less 
than thirty miles from my late home. The man received me 
ungraciously, telling me of a gentleman's house at no great 
distance, and of an inn a little farther away; but I said I delighted 
more in the society of a man like him than that of any gentleman 
of the land, for my concerns were with the poor of this world, it 
being easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for 
a rich man to enter into the kingdom of heaven.

The weaver's wife, who sat with a child on her knee, and had not 
hitherto opened her mouth, hearing me speak in that serious and 
religious style, stirred up the fire with her one hand; then, 
drawing a chair near it, she said: "Come awa, honest lad, in by 
here; sin' it be sae that you belang to Him wha gies us a' that we 
hae, it is but right that you should share a part. You are a stranger, 
it is true, but them that winna entertain a stranger will never 
entertain an angel unawares."

I never was apt to be taken with the simplicity of nature; in 
general I despised it; but, owing to my circumstances at the time, 
I was deeply affected by the manner of this poor woman's 
welcome. The weaver continued in a churlish mood throughout 
the evening, apparently dissatisfied with what his wife had done 
in entertaining me, and spoke to her in a manner so crusty that I 
thought proper to rebuke him, for the woman was comely in her 
person, and virtuous in her conversation; but the weaver, her 
husband, was large of make, ill-favoured, and pestilent; therefore 
did I take him severely to task for the tenor of his conduct; but the 
man was froward, and answered me rudely with sneering and 
derision and, in the height of his caprice, he said to his wife: 
"Whan focks are sae keen of a chance o' entertaining angels, 
gude-wife, it wad maybe be worth their while to tak tent what 
kind o' angels they are. It wadna wonder me vera muckle an ye 
had entertained your friend the Deil the night, for aw thought aw 
fand a saur o' reek an' brimstane about him. He's nane o' the best 
o' angels, an focks winna hae muckle credit by entertaining him."

Certainly, in the assured state I was in, I had as little reason to be 
alarmed at mention being made of the Devil as any person on 
earth: of late, however, I felt that the reverse was the case, and 
that any allusion to my great enemy moved me exceedingly. The 
weaver's speech had such an effect on me that both he and his 
wife were alarmed at my looks. The latter thought I was angry, 
and chided her husband gently for his rudeness; but the weaver 
himself rather seemed to be confirmed in his opinion that I was 
the Devil, for he looked round like a startled roe-buck, and 
immediately betook him to the family Bible.

I know not whether it was on purpose to prove my identity or not, 
but I think he was going to desire me either to read a certain 
portion of Scripture that he had sought out, or to make family 
worship, had not the conversation at that instant taken another 
turn; for the weaver, not knowing how to address me, abruptly 
asked my name, as he was about to put the Bible into my hands. 
Never having considered myself in the light of a male-factor, but 
rather as a champion in the cause of truth, and finding myself 
perfectly safe under my disguise, I had never once thought of the 
utility of changing my name, and, when the man asked me, I 
hesitated; but, being compelled to say something, I said my name 
was Cowan. The man stared at me, and then at his wife, with a 
look that spoke a knowledge of something alarming or 
mysterious.

"Ha! Cowan?" said he. "That's most extraordinar! Not Colwan, I 
hope?"

"No: Cowan is my sirname," said I. "But why not Colwan, there 
being so little difference in the sound?"

"I was feared ye might be that waratch that the Deil has taen the 
possession o', an' eggit him on to kill baith his father an' his 
mother, his only brother, an' his sweetheart," said he; "an', to say 
the truth, I'm no that sure about you yet, for I see you're gaun wi' 
arms on ye."

"Not I, honest man," said I. "I carry no arms; a man conscious of 
his innocence and uprightness of heart needs not to carry arms in 
his defence now."

"Aye, aye, maister," said he; "an' pray what div ye ca' this bit 
windlestrae that's appearing here?" With that he pointed to 
something on the inside of the breast of my frock-coat. I looked 
at it, and there certainly was the gilded haft of a poniard, the same 
weapon I had seen and handled before, and which I knew my 
illustrious companion carried about with him; but till that 
moment I knew not that I was in possession of it. I drew it out: a 
more dangerous or insidious-looking weapon could not be 
conceived. The weaver and his wife were both frightened, the 
latter in particular; and she being my friend, and I dependent on 
their hospitality for that night, I said: "I declare I knew not that I 
carried this small rapier, which has been in my coat by chance, 
and not by any design of mine. But, lest you should think that I 
meditate any mischief to any under this roof I give it into your 
hands, requesting of you to lock it by till tomorrow, or when I 
shall next want it."

The woman seemed rather glad to get hold of it; and taking it 
from me, she went into a kind of pantry out of my sight, and 
locked the weapon up; and then the discourse went on.

"There cannot be such a thing in reality," said I, "as the story you 
were mentioning just now, of a man whose name resembles 
mine."

"It's likely that you ken a wee better about the story than I do, 
maister," said he, "suppose you do leave the L out of your name. 
An' yet I think sic a waratch, an' a murderer, wad hae taen a name 
wi' some gritter difference in the sound. But the story is just that 
true that there were twa o' the Queen's officers here nae mair than 
an hour ago, in pursuit o' the vagabond, for they gat some 
intelligence that he had fled this gate; yet they said he had been 
last seen wi' black claes on, an' they supposed he was clad in 
black. His ain servant is wi' them, for the purpose o' kennin the 
scoundrel, an' they're galloping through the country like madmen. 
I hope in God they'll get him, an' rack his neck for him!"

I could not say Amen to the weaver's prayer, and therefore tried 
to compose myself as well as I could, and made some religious 
comment on the causes of the nation's depravity. But suspecting 
that my potent friend had betrayed my flight and disguise, to save 
his life, I was very uneasy, and gave myself up for lost. I said 
prayers in the family, with the tenor of which the wife was 
delighted, but the weaver still dissatisfied; and, after a supper of 
the most homely fare, he tried to start an argument with me, 
proving that everything for which I had interceded in my prayer 
was irrelevant to man's present state. But I, being weary and 
distressed in mind, shunned the contest, and requested a couch 
whereon to repose.

I was conducted into the other end of the house, among looms, 
treadles, pirns, and confusion without end; and there, in a sort of 
box, was I shut up for my night's repose, for the weaver, as he left 
me, cautiously turned the key of my apartment, and left me to 
shift for myself among the looms, determined that I should 
escape from the house with nothing. After he and his wife and 
children were crowded into their den, I heard the two mates 
contending furiously about me in suppressed voices, the one 
maintaining the probability that I was the murderer, and the other 
proving the impossibility of it. The husband, however, said as 
much as let me understand that he had locked me up on purpose 
to bring the military, or officers of justice, to seize me. I was in 
the utmost perplexity, yet for all that, and the imminent danger I 
was in, I fell asleep, and a more troubled and tormenting sleep 
never enchained a mortal frame. I had such dreams that they will 
not bear repetition, and early in the morning I awaked, feverish, 
and parched with thirst.

I went to call mine host, that he might let me out to the open air, 
but, before doing so, I thought it necessary to put on some 
clothes. In attempting to do this, a circumstance arrested my 
attention (for which I could in nowise account, which to this day I 
cannot unriddle, nor shall I ever be able to comprehend it while I 
live): the frock and turban, which had furnished my disguise on 
the preceding day, were both removed, and my own black coat 
and cocked hat laid down in their place. At first I thought I was in 
a dream, and felt the weaver's beam, web, and treadle-strings with 
my hands, to convince myself that I was awake. I was certainly 
awake; and there was the door locked firm and fast as it was the 
evening before. I carried my own black coat to the small window 
and examined it. It was my own in verity; and the sums of money 
that I had concealed in case of any emergency, remained 
untouched. I trembled with astonishment; and on my return from 
the small window went doiting in amongst the weaver's looms, 
till I entangled myself, and could not get out again without 
working great deray amongst the coarse linen threads that stood 
in warp from one end of the apartment unto the other. I had no knife 
whereby to cut the cords of this wicked man, and therefore was 
obliged to call out lustily for assistance. The weaver came half 
naked, unlocked the door, and, setting in his head and long neck, 
accosted me thus:

"What now, Mr. Satan? What for art ye roaring that gate? Are 
you fawn inna little hell, instead o' the big muckil ane? Deil be in 
your reistit trams! What for have ye abscondit yoursel into ma 
leddy's wab for?"

"Friend, I beg your pardon," said I. "I wanted to be at the light, 
and have somehow unfortunately involved myself in the 
intricacies of your web, from which I cannot get dear without 
doing you a great injury. Pray do lend your experienced hand to 
extricate me."

"May aw the pearls o' damnation light on your silly snout, an I 
dinna estricat ye weel enough! Ye ditit donnart, deil's burd that ye 
be! What made ye gang howkin in there to be a poor man's ruin? 
Come out, ye vile rag-of-a-muffin, or I gar ye come out wi' mair 
shame and disgrace, an' fewer haill banes in your body."

My feet had slipped down through the double warpings of a web, 
and not being able to reach the ground with them (there being a 
small pit below) I rode upon a number of yielding threads, and, 
there being nothing else that I could reach, to extricate myself 
was impossible. I was utterly powerless; and, besides, the yarn 
and cords hurt me very much. For all that, the destructive weaver 
seized a loom-spoke, and began a-beating me most unmercifully, 
while, entangled as I was, I could do nothing but shout aloud for 
mercy, or assistance, whichever chanced to be within hearing. 
The latter at length made its appearance in the form of the 
weaver's wife, in the same state of dishabille with himself, who 
instantly interfered, and that most strenuously, on my behalf. 
Before her arrival, however, I had made a desperate effort to 
throw myself out of the entanglement I was in; for the weaver 
continued repeating his blows and cursing me so that I 
determined to get out of his meshes at any risk. The effect made 
my case worse; for, my feet being wrapt among the nether 
threads, as I threw myself from my saddle on the upper ones, my 
feet brought the others up through these, and I hung with my head 
down and my feet as firm as they had been in a vice. The 
predicament of the web being thereby increased, the weaver's 
wrath was doubled in proportion, and he laid on without mercy.

At this critical juncture the wife arrived, and without hesitation 
rushed before her offended lord, withholding his hand from 
injuring me further, although then it was uplifted along with the 
loom-spoke in overbearing ire. "Dear Johnny! I think ye be gaen 
dementit this morning. Be quiet, my dear, an' dinna begin a 
Boddel Brigg business in your ain house. What for ir ye 
persecutin' a servant o' the Lord's that gate, an' pitting the life out 
o' him wi' his head down an' his heels up?"

"Had ye said a servant o' the Deil's, Nans, ye wad hae been nearer 
the nail, for gin he binna the Auld Ane himsel, he's gayan sib till 
him. There, didna I lock him in on purpose to bring the military 
on him; an' in the place o' that, hasna he keepit me in a sleep a' 
this while as deep as death? An' here do I find him abscondit like 
a speeder i' the mids o' my leddy's wab, an' me dreamin' a' the 
night that I had the Deil i' my house, an' that he was clapper-
clawin me ayont the loom. Have at you, ye brunstane thief!" and, 
in spite of the good woman's struggles, he lent me another severe 
blow.

"Now, Johnny Dods, my man! oh, Johnny Dods, think if that be 
like a Christian, and ane o' the heroes o' Boddel Brigg, to 
entertain a stranger, an' then bind him in a web wi' his head down, 
an' mell him to death! oh, Johnny Dods, think what you are 
about! Slack a pin, an' let the good honest religious lad out."

The weaver was rather overcome, but still stood to his point that I 
was the Deil, though in better temper; and, as he slackened the 
web to release me, he remarked, half laughing: "Wha wad hae 
thought that John Dods should hae escapit a' the snares an' 
dangers that circumfauldit him, an' at last should hae weaved a 
net to catch the Deil."

The wife released me soon, and carefully whispered me, at the 
same time, that it would be as well for me to dress and be going. I 
was not long in obeying, and dressed myself in my black clothes, 
hardly knowing what I did, what to think, or whither to betake 
myself. I was sore hurt by the blows of the desperate ruffian; and, 
what was worse, my ankle was so much strained that I could 
hardly set my foot to the ground. I was obliged to apply to the 
weaver once more, to see if I could learn anything about my 
clothes, or how the change was effected. "Sir," said I, "how comes 
it that you have robbed me of my clothes, and put these down in 
their place over night?"

"Ha! thae claes? Me pit down the claes!" said he, gaping with 
astonishment, and touching the clothes with the point of his 
forefinger. "I never saw them afore, as I have death to meet wi', 
so help me God!"

He strode into the work-house where I slept, to satisfy himself 
that my clothes were not there, and returned perfectly aghast with 
consternation. "The doors were baith fast lockit," said he. "I could 
hae defied a rat either to hae gotten out or in. My dream has been 
true! My dream has been true! The Lord judge between thee and 
me; but in His name, I charge you to depart out o' this house; an', 
gin it be your will, dinna tak the braidside o't w'ye, but gang 
quietly out at the door wi' your face foremost. Wife, let naught o' 
this enchanter's remain i' the house, to be a curse, an' a snare to 
us; gang an' bring him his gildit weapon, an' may the Lord protect 
a' his ain against its hellish an' deadly point!"

The wife went to seek my poniard, trembling so excessively that 
she could hardly walk, and, shortly after, we heard a feeble 
scream from the pantry. The weapon had disappeared with the 
clothes, though under double lock and key; and, the terror of the 
good people having now reached a disgusting extremity, I 
thought proper to make a sudden retreat, followed by the weaver's 
anathemas.

My state both of body and mind was now truly deplorable. I was 
hungry, wounded, and lame, an outcast and a vagabond in 
society; my life sought after with avidity, and all for doing that to 
which I was predestined by Him who fore-ordains whatever 
comes to pass. I knew not whither to betake me. I had purposed 
going into England and there making some use of the classical 
education I had received, but my lameness rendered this 
impracticable for the present. I was therefore obliged to turn my 
face towards Edinburgh, where I was little known--where 
concealment was more practicable than by skulking in the 
country, and where I might turn my mind to something that was 
great and good. I had a little money, both Scotch and English, 
now in my possession, but not one friend in the whole world on 
whom I could rely. One devoted friend, it is true, I had, but he 
was become my greatest terror. To escape from him, I now felt 
that I would willingly travel to the farthest corners of the world, 
and be subjected to every deprivation; but after the certainty of 
what had taken place last night, after I had travelled thirty miles 
by secret and by-ways, I saw not how escape from him was 
possible.

Miserable, forlorn, and dreading every person that I saw, either 
behind or before me, I hasted on towards Edinburgh, taking all 
the by and unfrequented paths; and, the third night after I left the 
weaver's house, I reached the West Port, without meeting with 
anything remarkable. Being exceedingly fatigued and lame, I 
took lodgings in the first house I entered, and for these I was to 
pay two groats a week, and to board and sleep with a young man 
who wanted a companion to make his rent easier. I liked this; 
having found from experience that the great personage who had 
attached himself to me, and was now become my greatest terror 
among many surrounding evils, generally haunted me when I was 
alone keeping aloof from all other society.

My fellow lodger came home in the evening, and was glad at my 
coming. His name was Linton, and I changed mine to Elliot. He 
was a flippant unstable being, one on whom nothing appeared a 
difficulty, in his own estimation, but who could effect very little 
after all. He was what is called by some a compositor, in the 
Queen's printing house, then conducted by a Mr. James Watson. 
In the course of our conversation that night, I told him I was a 
first-rate classical scholar, and would gladly turn my attention to 
some business wherein my education might avail me something; 
and that there was nothing would delight me so much as an 
engagement in the Queen's printing office. Linton made no 
difficulty in bringing about that arrangement. His answer was: 
"Oo, gud sir, you are the very man we want. Gud bless your 
breast and your buttons, sir! Aye, that's neither here nor there. 
That's all very well. Ha, ha, ha. A by-word in the house, sir. But, 
as I was saying, you are the very man we want. You will get any 
money you like to ask, sir. Any money you like, sir. God bless 
your buttons!--That's settled--All done--Settled, setded--I'll do it, 
I'll do it--No more about it; no more about it. Settled, settled."

The next day I went with him to the office, and he presented me 
to Mr. Watson as the most wonderful genius and scholar ever 
known. His recommendation had little sway with Mr. Watson, 
who only smiled at Linton's extravagances, as one does at the 
prattle of an infant. I sauntered about the printing office for the 
space of two or three hours, during which time Watson bustled 
about with green spectacles on his nose, and took no heed of me. 
But, seeing that I still lingered, he addressed me at length, in a 
civil gentlemanly way, and inquired concerning my views. I 
satisfied him with all my answers, in particular those to his 
questions about the Latin and Greek languages; but when he 
came to ask testimonials of my character and acquirements, and 
found that I could produce none, he viewed me with a jealous 
eye, and said he dreaded I was some n'er-do-weel, run from my 
parents or guardians, and he did not choose to employ any such. I 
said my parents were both dead; and that, being thereby deprived 
of the means of following out my education, it behoved me to 
apply to some business in which my education might be of some 
use to me. He said he would take me into the office, and pay me 
according to the business I performed and the manner in which I 
deported myself; but he could take no man into Her Majesty's 
printing office upon a regular engagement who could not produce 
the most respectable references with regard to morals.

I could not but despise the man in my heart who laid such a stress 
upon morals, leaving grace out of the question; and viewed it as a 
deplorable instance of human depravity and self-conceit; but, for 
all that, I was obliged to accept of his terms, for I had an inward 
thirst and longing to distinguish myself in the great cause of 
religion, and I thought, if once I could print my own works, how I 
would astonish mankind, and confound their self-wisdom and 
their esteemed morality--blow up the idea of any dependence on 
good works, and morality, forsooth! And I weened that I might 
thus get me a name even higher than if I had been made a general 
of the Czar Peter's troops against the infidels.

I attended the office some hours every day, but got not much 
encouragement, though I was eager to learn everything, and could 
soon have set types considerably well. It was here that I first 
conceived the idea of writing this journal, and having it printed, 
and applied to Mr. Watson to print it for me, telling him it was a 
religious parable such as the Pilgrim's Progress. He advised me to 
print it close, and make it a pamphlet, and then, if it did not sell, it 
would not cost me much; but that religious pamphlets, especially 
if they had a shade of allegory in them, were the very rage of the 
day. I put my work to the press, and wrote early and late; and 
encouraging my companion to work at odd hours and on 
Sundays, before the press-work of the second sheet was begun, 
we had the work all in types, corrected, and a clean copy thrown 
off for further revisal. The first sheet was wrought off; and I 
never shall forget how my heart exulted when at the printing 
house this day I saw what numbers of my works were to go 
abroad among mankind, and I determined with myself that I 
would not put the Border name of Elliot, which I had assumed, to 
the work.



Thus far have my History and Confessions been carried.

I must now furnish my Christian readers with a key to the 
process, management, and winding up of the whole matter; which 
I propose, by the assistance of God, to limit to a very few pages.

Chesters, July 27, 1712.--My hopes and prospects are a wreck. 
My precious journal is lost! consigned to the flames! My enemy 
hath found me out, and there is no hope of peace or rest for me on 
this side the grave.

In the beginning of last week, my fellow lodger came home, 
running in a great panic, and told me a story of the Devil having 
appeared twice in the printing house, assisting the workmen at the 
printing of my book, and that some of them had been frightened 
out of their wits. That the story was told to Mr. Watson, who till 
that time had never paid any attention to the treatise, but who, out 
of curiosity, began and read a part of it, and thereupon flew into a 
great rage, called my work a medley of lies and blasphemy, and 
ordered the whole to be consigned to the flames, blaming his 
foreman, and all connected with the press, for letting a work go 
so far that was enough to bring down the vengeance of Heaven on 
the concern.

If ever I shed tears through perfect bitterness of spirit it was at 
that time, but I hope it was more for the ignorance and folly of 
my countrymen than the overthrow of my own hopes. But my 
attention was suddenly aroused to other matters, by Linton 
mentioning  that it was said by some in the office the Devil had 
inquired for me.

"Surely you are not such a fool," said I, "as to believe that the 
Devil really was in the printing office?"

"Oo, Gud bless you, sir! Saw him myself, gave him a nod, and 
good-day. Rather a gentlemanly personage--Green Circassian 
hunting coat and turban--Like a foreigner--Has the power of 
vanishing in one moment though--Rather a suspicious 
circumstance that. Otherwise, his appearance not much against 
him."

If the former intelligence thrilled me with grief, this did so with 
terror. I perceived who the personage was that had visited the 
printing house in order to further the progress of my work; and, at 
the approach of every person to our lodgings, I from that instant 
trembled every bone, lest it should be my elevated and dreaded 
friend. I could not say I had ever received an office at his hand 
that was not friendly, yet these offices had been of a strange 
tendency; and the horror with which I now regarded him was 
unaccountable to myself. It was beyond description, conception, 
or the soul of man to bear. I took my printed sheets, the only copy 
of my unfinished work existing; and, on pretence of going 
straight to Mr. Watson's office, decamped from my lodgings at 
Portsburgh a little before the fall of evening, and took the road 
towards England.

As soon as I got clear of the city, I ran with a velocity I knew not 
before I had been capable of. I flew out the way towards Dalkeith 
so swiftly that I often lost sight of the ground, and I said to 
myself, "Oh, that I had the wings of a dove, that I might fly to the 
farthest corners of the earth, to hide me from those against whom 
I have no power to stand!"

I travelled all that night and the next morning, exerting myself 
beyond my power; and about noon the following day I went into 
a yeoman's house, the name of which was Ellanshaws, and 
requested of the people a couch of any sort to lie down on, for I 
was ill, and could not proceed on my journey. They showed me to 
a stable-loft where there were two beds, on one of which I laid 
me down; and, falling into a sound sleep, I did not awake till the 
evening, that other three men came from the fields to sleep in the 
same place, one of whom lay down beside me, at which I was 
exceedingly glad. They fell all sound asleep, and I was terribly 
alarmed at a conversation I overheard somewhere outside the 
stable. I could not make out a sentence, but trembled to think I 
knew one of the voices at least, and, rather than not be mistaken, I 
would that any man had run me through with a sword. I fell into a 
cold sweat, and once thought of instantly putting hand to my own 
life, as my only means of relief (may the rash and sinful thought 
be in mercy forgiven!) when I heard as it were two persons at the 
door, contending, as I thought, about their right and interest in 
me. That the one was forcibly preventing the admission of the 
other, I could hear distinctly, and their language was mixed with 
something dreadful and mysterious. In an agony of terror, I 
awakened my snoring companion with great difficulty, and asked 
him, in a low whisper, who these were at the door. The man lay 
silent and listening till fairly awake, and then asked if I heard 
anything. I said I had heard strange voices contending at the door.

"Then I can tell you, lad, it has been something neither good nor 
canny," said he. "It's no for naething that our horses are snorking 
that gate."

For the first time, I remarked that the animals were snorting and 
rearing as if they wished to break through the house. The man 
called to them by their names, and ordered them to be quiet; but 
they raged still the more furiously. He then roused his drowsy 
companions, who were alike alarmed at the panic of the horses, 
all of them declaring that they had never seen either Mause or 
jolly start in their lives before. My bed-fellow and another then 
ventured down the ladder, and I heard one of them then saying: 
"Lord be wi' us! What can be i' the house? The sweat's rinning off 
the poor beasts like water."

They agreed to sally out together, and if possible to reach the 
kitchen and bring a light. I was glad at this, but not so much so 
when I heard the one man saying to the other, in a whisper: "I 
wish that stranger man may be canny enough."

"God kens!" said the other. "It does nae look unco weel."

The lad in the other bed, hearing this, set up his head in manifest 
affright as the other two departed for the kitchen; and, I believed 
he would have been glad to have been in their company. This lad 
was next the ladder, at which I was extremely glad, for, had he 
not been there, the world should not have induced me to wait the 
return of these two men. They were not well gone before I heard 
another distinctly enter the stable, and come towards the ladder. 
The lad who was sitting up in his bed, intent on the watch, called 
out: "Wha's that there? Walker, is that you? Purdie, I say is it 
you?"

The darkling intruder paused for a few moments, and then came 
towards the foot of the ladder. The horses broke loose, and, 
snorting and neighing for terror, raged through the house. In all 
my life I never heard so frightful a commotion. The being that 
occasioned it all now began to mount the ladder towards our loft, 
on which the lad in the bed next the ladder sprung from his 
couch, crying out: "The L--d A--y preserve us! What can it be?" 
With that he sped across the loft and by my bed, praying lustily 
all the way; and, throwing himself from the other end of the loft 
into a manger, he darted, naked as he was, through among the 
furious horses, and, making the door that stood open, in a 
moment he vanished and left me in the lurch. Powerless with 
terror, and calling out fearfully, I tried to follow his example; but, 
not knowing the situation of the places with regard to one 
another, I missed the manger, and fell on the pavement in one of 
the stalls. I was both stunned and lamed on the knee; but, terror 
prevailing, I got up and tried to escape. It was out of my power; 
for there were divisions and cross divisions in the house, and mad 
horses smashing everything before them, so that I knew not so 
much as on what side of the house the door was. Two or three 
times was I knocked down by the animals. but all the while I 
never stinted crying out with all my power. At length, I was 
seized by the throat and hair of the head, and dragged away, I 
wist not whither. My voice was now laid, and all my powers, 
both mental and bodily, totally overcome; and I remember no 
more till I found myself lying naked on the kitchen table of the 
farm-house, and something like a horse's rug thrown over me. 
The only hint that I got from the people of the house on coming 
to myself was that my absence would be good company; and that 
they had got me in a woeful state, one which they did not choose 
to describe, or hear described.

As soon as day-light appeared, I was packed about my business, 
with the hisses and execrations of the yeoman's family, who 
viewed me as a being to be shunned, ascribing to me the 
visitations of that unholy night. Again was I on my way 
southwards, as lonely, hopeless, and degraded a being as was to 
be found on life's weary round. As I limped out the way, I wept, 
thinking of what I might have been, and what I really had 
become: of my high and flourishing hopes when I set out as the 
avenger of God on the sinful children of men; of all that I had 
dared for the exaltation and progress of the truth; and it was with 
great difficulty that my faith remained unshaken, yet was I 
preserved from that sin, and comforted myself with the certainty 
that the believer's progress through life is one of warfare and 
suffering.

My case was indeed a pitiable one. I was lame, hungry, fatigued, 
and my resources on the very eve of being exhausted. Yet these 
were but secondary miseries, and hardly worthy of a thought 
compared with those I suffered inwardly. I not only looked 
around me with terror at every one that approached, but I was 
become a terror to myself, or, rather, my body and soul were 
become terrors to each other; and, had it been possible, I felt as if 
they would have gone to war. I dared not look at my face in a 
glass, for I shuddered at my own image and likeness. I dreaded 
the dawning, and trembled at the approach of night, nor was there 
one thing in nature that afforded me the least delight.

In this deplorable state of body and mind, was I jogging on 
towards the Tweed, by the side of the small river called Ellan, 
when, just at the narrowest part of the glen, whom should I meet 
full in the face but the very being in all the universe of God 
would the most gladly have shunned. I had no power to fly fro 
him, neither durst I, for the spirit within me, accuse him of 
falsehood and renounce his fellowship. I stood before him like a 
condemned criminal, staring him in the face, ready to be winded, 
twisted, and tormented as he pleased. He regarded me with a sad 
and solemn look. How changed was now that majestic 
countenance to one of haggard despair--changed in all save the 
extraordinary likeness to my late brother, a resemblance which 
misfortune and despair tended only to heighten. There were no 
kind greetings passed between us at meeting, like those which 
pass between the men of the world; he looked on me with eyes 
that froze the currents of my blood, but spoke not till I assumed 
as much courage as to articulate: "You here! I hope you have 
brought me tidings of comfort?"

"Tidings of despair!" said he. "But such tidings as the timid and 
the ungrateful deserve, and have reason to expect. You are an 
outlaw, and a vagabond in your country, and a high reward is 
offered for your apprehension. The enraged populace have burnt 
your house, and all that is within it; and the farmers on the land 
bless themselves at being rid of you. So fare it with everyone who 
puts his hand to the great work of man's restoration to freedom, 
and draweth back, contemning the light that is within him! Your 
enormities caused me to leave you to yourself for a season, and 
you see what the issue has been. You have given some evil ones 
power over you, who long to devour you, both soul and body, and 
it has required all my power and influence to save you. Had it not 
been for my hand, you had been torn in pieces last night; but for 
once I prevailed. We must leave this land forthwith, for here there 
is neither peace, safety, nor comfort for us. Do you now and here 
pledge yourself to one who has so often saved your life and has 
put his own at stake to do so? Do you pledge yourself that you 
will henceforth be guided by my counsel, and follow me 
whithersoever I choose to lead?"

"I have always been swayed by your counsel," said I, "and for 
your sake, principally, am I sorry that all our measures have 
proved abortive. But I hope still to be useful in my native isle, 
therefore let me plead that your highness will abandon a poor 
despised and outcast wretch to his fate, and betake you to your 
realms, where your presence cannot but be greatly wanted."

"Would that I could do so!" said he woefully. "But to talk of that 
is to talk of an impossibility. I am wedded to you so closely that I 
feel as if I were the same person. Our essences are one, our 
bodies and spirits being united, so that I am drawn towards you as 
by magnetism, and. wherever you are, there must my presence be 
with you."

Perceiving how this assurance affected me, he began to chide me 
most bitterly for my ingratitude; and then he assumed such looks 
that it was impossible for me longer to bear them; therefore I 
staggered out of the way, begging and beseeching of him to give 
me up to my fate, and hardly knowing what I said; for it struck 
me that, with all his assumed appearance of misery and 
wretchedness, there were traits of exultation in his hideous 
countenance, manifesting a secret and inward joy at my utter 
despair.

It was long before I durst look over my shoulder, but, when I did 
so, I perceived this ruined and debased potentate coming slowly 
on the same path, and I prayed that the Lord would hide me in the 
bowels of the earth or depths of the sea. When I crossed the 
Tweed, I perceived him still a little behind me; and, my despair 
being then at its height, I cursed the time I first met with such a 
tormentor; though on a little recollection it occurred that it was at 
that blessed time when I was solemnly dedicated to the Lord, and 
assured of my final election, and confirmation, by an eternal 
decree never to be annulled. This being my sole and only 
comfort, I recalled my curse upon the time, and repented me o my 
rashness.

After crossing the Tweed, I saw no more of my persecutor that 
day, and had hopes that he had left me for a season; but, alas, 
what hope was there of my relief after the declaration I had so 
lately heard! I took up my lodgings that night in a small miserable 
inn in the village of Ancrum, of which the people seemed alike 
poor and ignorant. Before going to bed, I asked if it was 
customary with them to have family worship of evenings. The 
man answered that they were so hard set with the world they 
often could not get time, but if I would be so kind as to officiate 
they would be much obliged to me. I accepted the invitation, 
being afraid to go to rest lest the commotions of the foregoing 
night might be renewed, and continued the worship as long as in 
decency I could. The poor people thanked me, hoped my prayers 
would be heard both on their account and my own, seemed much 
taken with my abilities, and wondered how a man of my powerful 
eloquence chanced to be wandering about in a condition so 
forlorn. I said I was a poor student of theology, on my way to 
Oxford. They stared at one another with expressions of wonder, 
disappointment, and fear. I afterwards came to learn that the term 
theology was by them quite misunderstood, and that they had 
some crude conceptions that nothing was taught at Oxford but the 
black arts, which ridiculous idea prevailed over all the south of 
Scotland. For the present I could not understand what the people 
meant, and less so when the man asked me, with deep concern: 
"If I was serious in my intentions of going to Oxford? He hoped 
not, and that I would be better guided."

I said my education wanted finishing; but he remarked that the 
Oxford arts were a bad finish for a religious man's education. 
Finally, I requested him to sleep with me, or in my room all the 
night, as I wanted some serious and religious conversation with 
him, and likewise to convince him that the study of the fine arts, 
though not absolutely necessary, were not incompatible with the 
character of a Christian divine. He shook his head, and wondered 
how I could call them fine arts--hoped I did not mean to convince 
him by any ocular demonstration, and at length reluctantly 
condescended to sleep with me, and let the lass and wife sleep 
together for one night. I believe he would have declined it had it 
not been some hints from his wife, stating that it was a good 
arrangement, by which I understood there were only two beds in 
the house, and that when I was preferred to the lass's bed, she had 
one to shift for.

The landlord and I accordingly retired to our homely bed, and 
conversed for some time about indifferent matters, till he fell 
sound asleep. Not so with me: I had that within which would not 
suffer me to close my eyes; and, about the dead of night, I again 
heard the same noises and contention begin outside the house as I 
had heard the night before; and again I heard it was about a 
sovereign and peculiar right in me. At one time the noise was on 
the top of the house, straight above our bed, as if the one party 
were breaking through the roof, and the other forcibly preventing 
it; at another it was at the door, and at a third time at the window; 
but still mine host lay sound by my side, and did not waken. I 
was seized with terrors indefinable, and prayed fervently, but did 
not attempt rousing my sleeping companion until I saw if no 
better could be done. The women, however, were alarmed, and, 
rushing into our apartment, exclaimed that all the devils in hell 
were besieging the house. Then, indeed, the landlord awoke, and 
it was time for him, for the tumult had increased to such a degree 
that it shook the house to its foundations, being louder and more 
furious than I could have conceived the heat of battle to be when 
the volleys of artillery are mixed with groans, shouts, and 
blasphemous cursing. It thundered and lightened; and there were 
screams, groans, laughter. and execrations, all intermingled.

I lay trembling and bathed in a cold perspiration, but was soon 
obliged to bestir myself, the inmates attacking me one after the 
other.

"Oh, Tam Douglas! Tam Douglas! haste ye an' rise out frayont 
that incarnal devil!" cried the wife. "Ye are in ayont the auld ane 
himsel, for our lass Tibbie saw his cloven cloots last night."

"Lord forbid!" roared Tam Douglas, and darted over the bed like 
a flying fish. Then, hearing the unearthly tumult with which he 
was surrounded, he turned to the side of the bed, and addressed 
me thus, with long and fearful intervals:

"If ye be the Deil, rise up, an' depart in peace out o' this house--
afore the bedstrae take kindling about ye, an' than it'll maybe be 
the waur for ye. Get up--an' gang awa out amang your cronies, 
like a good lad. There's nae body here wishes you ony ill. D'ye 
hear me?"

"Friend," said I, "no Christian would turn out a fellow creature on 
such a night as this and in the midst of such a commotion of the 
villagers."

"Na, if ye be a mortal man," said he, "which I rather think, from 
the use you made of the holy book. Nane o' your practical jokes 
on strangers an' honest foks. These are some o' your Oxford 
tricks, an' I'll thank you to be ower wi' them. Gracious heaven, 
they are brikkin through the house at a' the four corners at the 
same time!"

The lass Tibby, seeing the innkeeper was not going to prevail 
with me to rise, flew towards the bed in desperation, and, seizing 
me by the waist, soon landed me on the floor, saying: "Be ye deil, 
be ye chiel, ye's no lie there till baith the house an' us be 
swallowed up!"

Her master and mistress applauding the deed, I was obliged to 
attempt dressing myself, a task to which my powers were quite 
inadequate in the state I was in, but I was readily assisted by 
every one of the three; and, as soon as they got my clothes thrust 
on in a loose way, they shut their eyes lest they should see what 
might drive them distracted, and thrust me out to the street, 
cursing me, and calling on the fiends to take their prey and be 
gone.

The scene that ensued is neither to be described nor believed if it 
were. I was momently surrounded by a number of hideous fiends, 
who gnashed on me with their teeth, and clenched their crimson 
paws in my face; and at the same instant I was seized by the 
collar of my coat behind, by my dreaded and devoted friend, who 
pushed me on and, with his gilded rapier waving and brandishing 
around me, defended me against all their united attacks. Horrible 
as my assailants were in appearance (and they all had monstrous 
shapes) I felt that I would rather have fallen into their hands than 
be thus led away captive by my defender at his will and pleasure 
without having the right or power to say my life, or any part of 
my will, was my own. I could not even thank him for his potent 
guardianship, but hung down my head, and moved on I knew not 
whither, like a criminal led to execution and still the infernal 
combat continued till about the dawning, at which time I looked 
up, and all the fiends were expelled but one, who kept at a 
distance; and still my persecutor and defender pushed me by the 
neck before him.

At length he desired me to sit down and take some rest, with 
which I complied, for I had great need of it, and wanted the 
power to withstand what he desired. There, for a whole morning 
did he detain me, tormenting me with reflections on the past, and 
pointing out the horrors of the future, until a thousand times I 
wished myself non-existent. "I have attached myself to your 
wayward fortune," said he, "and it has been my ruin as well as 
thine. Ungrateful as you are, I cannot give you up to be devoured; 
but this is a life that it is impossible to brook longer. Since our 
hopes are blasted in this world, and all our schemes of grandeur 
overthrown; and since our everlasting destiny is settled by a 
decree which no act of ours can invalidate, let us fall by our own 
hands, or by the hands of each other; die like heroes; and, 
throwing off this frame of dross and corruption, mingle with the 
pure ethereal essence of existence, from which we derived our 
being."

I shuddered at a view of the dreadful alternative, yet was obliged 
to confess that in my present circumstances existence was not to 
be borne. It was in vain that I reasoned on the sinfulness of the 
deed, and on its damning nature; he made me condemn myself 
out of my own mouth, by allowing the absolute nature of 
justifying grace and the impossibility of the elect ever falling 
from the faith, or the glorious end to which they were called; and 
then he said, this granted, self-destruction was the act of a hero, 
and none but a coward would shrink from it, to suffer a hundred 
times more every day and night that passed over his head.

I said I was still contented to be that coward; and all that I
begged of him was to leave me to my fortune for a season, and to
the just judgement of my Creator; but he said his word and
honour were engaged on my behalf, and these, in such a case, 
were not to be violated. "If you will not pity yourself, have 
pity onme," added he. "Turn your eyes on me, and behold to 
what I am reduced."

Involuntarily did I turn at the request, and caught a half glance of 
his features. May no eye destined to reflect the beauties of the 
New Jerusalem inward upon the beatific soul behold such a sight 
as mine then beheld! My immortal spirit, blood and bones, were 
all withered at the blasting sight; and I arose and withdrew, with 
groanings which the pangs of death shall never wring from me.

Not daring to look behind me, I crept on my way, and that night 
reached this hamlet on the Scottish border; and being grown 
reckless of danger, and hardened to scenes of horror, I took up 
my lodging with a poor hind, who is a widower, and who could 
only accommodate me with a bed of rushes at his fireside. At 
midnight I heard some strange sounds, too much resembling 
those to which I had of late been inured; but they kept at a 
distance, and I was soon persuaded that there was a power 
protected that house superior to those that contended for or had 
the mastery over me. Overjoyed at finding such an asylum, I 
remained in the humble cot. This is the third day I have lived 
under the roof, freed of my hellish assailants, spending my time 
in prayer, and writing out this my journal, which I have fashioned 
to stick in with my printed work, and to which I intend to add 
portions while I remain in this pilgrimage state, which, I find too 
well, cannot be long.

August 3, 1712.--This morning the hind has brought me word 
from Redesdale, whither he had been for coals, that a stranger 
gentleman had been traversing that country, making the most 
earnest inquiries after me, or one of the same appearance; and, 
from the description that he brought of this stranger, I could 
easily perceive who it was. Rejoicing that my tormentor has lost 
traces of me for once, I am making haste to leave my asylum, on 
pretence of following this stranger, but in reality to conceal 
myself still more completely from his search. Perhaps this may be 
the last sentence ever I am destined to write. If so, farewell, 
Christian reader! May God grant to thee a happier destiny than 
has been allotted to me here on earth, and the same assurance of 
acceptance above! Amen.

Ault-Righ, August 24, 1712.--Here am I, set down on the open 
moor to add one sentence more to my woeful journal; and, then, 
farewell, all beneath the sun!

On leaving the hind's cottage on the Border, I hasted to the north-
west, because in that quarter I perceived the highest and wildest 
hills before me. As I crossed the mountains above Hawick, I 
exchanged clothes with a poor homely shepherd, whom I found 
lying on a hill-side, singing to himself some woeful love ditty. He 
was glad of the change, and proud of his saintly apparel; and I 
was no less delighted with mine, by which I now supposed 
myself completely disguised; and I found moreover that in this 
garb of a common shepherd I was made welcome in every house. 
I slept the first night in a farm-house nigh to the church of 
Roberton, without hearing or seeing aught extraordinary; yet I 
observed next morning that all the servants kept aloof from me, 
and regarded me with looks of aversion. The next night I came to 
this house, where the farmer engaged me as a shepherd; and, 
finding him a kind, worthy, and religious man, I accepted of his 
terms with great gladness. I had not, however, gone many times 
to the sheep, before all the rest of the shepherds told my master 
that I knew nothing about herding, and begged of him to dismiss 
me. He perceived too well the truth of their intelligence; but, 
being much taken with my learning and religious conversation, he 
would not put me away, but set me to herd his cattle.

It was lucky for me that before I came here a report had 
prevailed, perhaps for an age, that this farm-house was haunted at 
certain seasons by a ghost. I say it was lucky for me for I had not 
been in it many days before the same appalling noises began to 
prevail around me about midnight, often continuing till near the 
dawning. Still they kept aloof, and without doors; for this 
gentleman's house, like the cottage I was in formerly, seemed to 
be a sanctuary from all demoniacal power. He appears to be a 
good man and a just, and mocks at the idea of supernatural 
agency, and he either does not hear these persecuting spirits or 
will not acknowledge it, though of late he appears much 
perturbed.

The consternation of the menials has been extreme. They ascribe 
all to the ghost, and tell frightful stories of murders having been 
committed there long ago. Of late, however, they are beginning to 
suspect that it is I that am haunted; and, as I have never given 
them any satisfactory account of myself, they are whispering that 
I am a murderer, and haunted by the spirits of those I have slain.

August 30.--This day I have been informed that I am to he 
banished the dwelling-house by night, and to sleep in an outhouse 
by myself, to try if the family can get any rest when freed of my 
presence. I have peremptorily refused acquiescence, on which my 
master's brother struck me, and kicked me with his foot. My body 
being quite exhausted by suffering, I am grown weak and feeble 
both in mind and bodily frame, and actually unable to resent any 
insult or injury. I am the child of earthly misery and despair, if 
ever there was one existent. My master is still my friend; but 
there are so many masters here, and everyone of them alike harsh 
to me, that I wish myself in my grave every hour of the day. If I 
am driven from the family sanctuary by night, I know I shall be 
torn in pieces before morning; and then who will deign or dare to 
gather up my mangled limbs, and give me honoured burial?

My last hour is arrived: I see my tormentor once more 
approaching me in this wild. Oh, that the earth would swallow me 
up, or the hill fall and cover me! Farewell for ever!

September 7, 1712.--My devoted, princely, but sanguine friend 
has been with me again and again. My time is expired and I find a 
relief beyond measure, for he has fully convinced me that no act 
of mine can mar the eternal counsel, or in the smallest degree 
alter or extenuate one event which was decreed before the 
foundations of the world were laid. He said he had watched over 
me with the greatest anxiety, but, perceiving my rooted aversion 
towards him, he had forborne troubling me with his presence. But 
now, seeing that I was certainly to be driven from my sanctuary 
that night, and that there would be a number of infernals watching 
to make a prey of my body, he came to caution me not to despair, 
for that he would protect me at all risks, if the power remained 
with him. He then repeated an ejaculatory prayer, which I was to 
pronounce, if in great extremity. I objected to the words as 
equivocal, and susceptible of being rendered in a meaning 
perfectly dreadful; but he reasoned against this, and all reasoning 
with him is to no purpose. He said he did not ask me to repeat the 
words unless greatly straitened; and that I saw his strength and 
power giving way, and when perhaps nothing else could save me.

The dreaded hour of night arrived; and, as he said, I was expelled 
from the family residence, and ordered to a byre, or cow-house, 
that stood parallel with  the dwelling-house behind, where, on a 
divot loft, my humble bedstead stood, and the cattle grunted and 
puffed below me. How unlike the splendid halls of Dalcastle!
And to what I am now reduced, let the reflecting reader judge.
Lord, thou knowest all that I have done for Thy cause on earth!
Why then art Thou laying Thy hand so sore upon me? Why hast
Thou set me as a butt of Thy malice? But Thy will must be done!
Thou wilt repay me in a better world. Amen.

September 8.--My first night of trial in this place is overpast!
Would that it were the last that I should ever see in this detested
world! If the horrors of hell are equal to those I have suffered,
eternity will be of short duration there, for no created energy can
support them for one single month, or week. I have been buffeted
as never living creature was. My vitals have all been torn, and
every faculty and feeling of my soul racked, and tormented into
callous insensibility. I was even hung by the locks over a 
yawning chasm, to which I could perceive no bottom, and then--not 
till then, did I repeat the tremendous prayer!--I was instantly at
liberty; and what I now am, the Almighty knows! Amen.

September 18, 1712.--Still am I living, though liker to a vision 
than a human being; but this is my last day of mortal existence. 
Unable to resist any longer, I pledged myself to my devoted 
friend that on this day we should die together, and trust to the 
charity of the children of men for a grave. I am solemnly pledged; 
and, though I dared to repent, I am aware he will not be gainsaid, 
for he is raging with despair at his fallen and decayed majesty, 
and there is some miserable comfort in the idea that my tormentor 
shall fall with me. Farewell, world, with all thy miseries; for 
comforts or enjoyments hast thou none! Farewell, woman, whom 
I have despised and shunned; and man, whom I have hated; 
whom, nevertheless, I desire to leave in charity! And thou, sun, 
bright emblem of a far brighter effulgence, I bid farewell to thee 
also! I do not now take my last look of thee, for to thy glorious 
orb shall a poor suicide's last earthly look be raised. But, ah! who 
is yon that I see approaching furiously, his stern face blackened 
with horrid despair! My hour is at hand. Almighty God, what is 
this that I am about to do! The hour of repentance is past, and 
now my fate is inevitable. Amen, for ever! I will now seal up my 
little book, and conceal it; and cursed be he who trieth to alter or 
amend.


END OF THE MEMOIR



WHAT can this work be? Sure, you will say, it must be an 
allegory; or (as the writer calls it) a religious PARABLE, 
showing the dreadful danger of self-righteousness? I cannot tell. 
Attend to the sequel: which is a thing so extraordinary, so 
unprecedented, and so far out of the common course of human 
events that, if there were not hundreds of living witnesses to attest 
the truth of it, I would not bid any rational being believe it.

In the first place, take the following extract from an authentic 
letter, published in Blackwood's Magazine for August, 1823.

"On the top of a wild height called Cowan's-Croft, where the 
lands of three proprietors meet all at one point, there has been for 
long and many years the grave of a suicide marked out by a stone 
standing at the head and another at the feet. Often have I stood 
musing over it myself, when a shepherd on one of the farms, of 
which it formed the extreme boundary, and thinking what could 
induce a young man, who had scarcely reached the prime of life, 
to brave his Maker, and rush into His presence by an act of his 
own erring hand, and one so unnatural and preposterous. But it 
never once occurred to me, as an object of curiosity, to dig up the 
mouldering bones of the Culprit, which I considered as the most 
revolting of all objects. The thing was, however, done last month, 
and a discovery made of one of the greatest natural phenomena 
that I have heard of in this country.

"The little traditionary history that remains of this unfortunate 
youth is altogether a singular one. He was not a native of the 
place, nor would he ever tell from what place he came; but he 
was remarkable for a deep, thoughtful, and sullen disposition. 
There was nothing against his character that anybody knew of 
here, and he had been a considerable time in the place. The last 
service he was in was with a Mr. Anderson, of Eltrive (Ault-Righ, 
the King's Burn), who died about 100 years ago, and who had 
hired him during the summer to herd a stock of young cattle in 
Eltrive Hope. It happened one day in the month of September that 
James Anderson, his master's son, went with this young man to 
the Hope to divert himself. The herd had his dinner along with 
him, and about one o'clock, when the boy proposed going home, 
the former pressed him very hard to stay and take share of his 
dinner; but the boy refused for fear his parents might be alarmed 
about him, and said he would go home: on which the herd said to 
him, 'Then, if ye winna stay with me, James, ye may depend on't 
I'll cut my throat afore ye come back again.'

"I have heard it likewise reported, but only by one person, that 
there had been some things stolen out of his master's house a 
good while before, and that the boy had discovered a silver knife 
and fork that was a part of the stolen property, in the herd's 
possession that day, and that it was this discovery that drove him 
to despair.

"The boy did not return to the Hope that afternoon; and, before 
evening, a man coming in at the pass called The Hart Loup, with 
a drove of lambs, on the way for Edinburgh, perceived something 
like a man standing in a strange frightful position at the side of 
one of Eldinhope hay-ricks. The driver's attention was riveted on 
this strange uncouth figure, and, as the drove-road passed at no 
great distance from the spot, he first called, but, receiving no 
answer, he went up to the spot, and behold it was the above-
mentioned young man, who had hung himself in the hay rope that 
was tying down the rick.

"This was accounted a great wonder; and everyone said, if the 
Devil had not assisted him, it was impossible the thing could 
have been done; for, in general, these ropes are so brittle, being 
made of green hay, that they will scarcely bear to be bound over 
the rick. And, the more to horrify the good people of this 
neighbourhood, the driver said, when he first came in view, he 
could almost give his oath that he saw two people busily engaged 
at the hay-rick going round it and round it, and he thought they 
were dressing it.

"If this asseveration approximated at all to truth, it makes this 
evident at least, that the unfortunate young man had hanged 
himself after the man with the lambs came in view. He was, 
however, quite dead when he cut him down. He had fastened two 
of the old hay-ropes at the bottom of the rick on one side (indeed, 
they are all fastened so when first laid on) so that he had nothing 
to do but to loosen two of the ends on the other side. These he 
had tied in a knot round his neck, and then slackening his knees, 
and letting himself down gradually, till the hay-rope bore all his 
weight, he had contrived to put an end to his existence in that 
way. Now the fact is, that, if you try all the ropes that are thrown 
over all the out-field hay-ricks in Scotland, there is not one 
among a thousand of them will hang a colley dog; so that the 
manner of this wretch's death was rather a singular circumstance.

"Early next morning, Mr. Anderson's servants went reluctantly 
away, and, taking an old blanket with them for a winding sheet, 
they rolled up the body of the deceased, first in his own plaid, 
letting the hay-rope still remain about his neck, and then, rolling 
the old blanket over all, they bore the loathed remains away to the 
distance of three miles or so, on spokes, to the top of Cowan's-
Croft, at the very point where the Duke of Buccleuch's land, the 
Laird of Drummelzier's, and Lord Napier's meet, and there they 
buried him, with all that he had on and about him, silver knife 
and fork and altogether. Thus far went tradition, and no one ever 
disputed one jot of the disgusting oral tale.

"A nephew of that Mr. Anderson's who was with the hapless 
youth that day he died says that, as far as he can gather from the 
relations of friends that he remembers, and of that same uncle in 
particular, it is one hundred and five years next month (that is 
September, 1823) since that event happened; and I think it likely 
that this gentleman's information is correct. But sundry other 
people, much older than he, whom I have consulted, pretend that 
it is six or seven years more. They say they have heard that Mr. 
James Anderson was then a boy ten years of age; that he lived to 
an old age, upwards of fourscore, and it is two and forty years 
since he died. Whichever way it may be, it was about that period 
some way: of that there is no doubt.

"It so happened that two young men, William Shiel and W. 
Sword, were out on an adjoining height this summer, casting 
peats, and it came into their heads to open this grave in the 
wilderness, and see if there were any of the bones of the suicide 
of former ages and centuries remaining. They did so, but opened 
only one half of the grave, beginning at the head and about the 
middle at the same time. It was not long till they came upon the 
old blanket--I think, they said not much more than a foot from the 
surface. They tore that open, and there was the hay-rope lying 
stretched down alongst his breast, so fresh that they saw at first 
sight that it was made of risp, a sort of long sword-grass that 
grows about marshes and the sides of lakes. One of the young 
men seized the rope and pulled by it, but the old enchantment of 
the Devil remained--it would not break; and so he pulled and 
pulled at it, till behold the body came up into a sitting posture, 
with a broad blue bonnet on its head, and its plaid around it, all as 
fresh as that day it was laid in! I never heard of a preservation so 
wonderful, if it be true as was related to me, for still I have not 
had the curiosity to go and view the body myself. The features 
were all so plain that an acquaintance might easily have known 
him. One of the lads gripped the face of the corpse with his finger 
and thumb, and the cheeks felt quite soft and fleshy, but the 
dimples remained and did not spring out again. He had fine 
yellow hair, about nine inches long; but not a hair of it could they 
pull out till they cut part of it off with a knife. They also cut off 
some portions of his clothes, which were all quite fresh, and 
distributed them among their acquaintances, sending a portion to 
me, among the rest, to keep as natural curiosities. Several 
gentlemen have in a manner forced me to give them fragments of 
these enchanted garments: I have, however, retained a small 
portion for you, which I send along with this, being a piece of his 
plaid, and another of his waistcoat breast, which you will see are 
still as fresh as that day they were laid in the grave.

"His broad blue bonnet was sent to Edinburgh several weeks ago, 
to the great regret of some gentlemen connected with the land, 
who wished to have it for a keep-sake. For my part, fond as I am 
of blue bonnets, and broad ones in particular, I declare I durst not 
have worn that one. There was nothing of the silver knife and 
fork discovered, that I heard of, nor was it very likely it should; 
but it would appear he had been very near run out of cash, which 
I daresay had been the cause of his utter despair; for, on searching 
his pockets, nothing was found but three old Scotch halfpennies. 
These young men meeting with another shepherd afterwards, his 
curiosity was so much excited that they went and digged up the 
curious remains a second time, which was a pity, as it is likely 
that by these exposures to the air, and the impossibility of burying 
it up again as closely as it was before, the flesh will now fall to 
dust."

The letter from which the above is an extract, is signed JAMES
HOGG, and dated from Altrive Lake, August 1st, 1823. It bears 
the stamp of authenticity in every line; yet so often had I been 
hoaxed by the ingenious fancies displayed in that Magazine, that 
when this relation met my eye I did not believe it; but, from the 
moment that I perused it, I half formed the resolution of 
investigating these wonderful remains personally, if any such 
existed; for, in the immediate vicinity of the scene, as I supposed, 
I knew of more attractive metal than the dilapidated remains of 
mouldering suicides.

Accordingly, having some business in Edinburgh in September 
last, and being obliged to wait a few days for the arrival of a 
friend from London, I took that opportunity to pay a visit to my 
townsman and fellow collegian, Mr. L--t of C--d, advocate. I 
mentioned to him Hogg's letter, asking him if the statement was 
founded at all on truth. His answer was: "I suppose so. For my 
part I never doubted the thing, having been told that there has 
been a deal of talking about it up in the Forest for some time past. 
But God knows! Hogg has imposed as ingenious lies on the 
public ere now."

I said, if it was within reach, I should like exceedingly to visit 
both the Shepherd and the Scotch mummy he had described. Mr. 
L--t assented on the first proposal, saying he had no objections to 
take a ride that length with me, and make the fellow produce his 
credentials. That we would have a delightful jaunt through a 
romantic and now classical country, and some good sport into the 
bargain, provided he could procure a horse for me, from his 
father-in-law, next day. He sent up to a Mr. L--w to inquire, who 
returned for answer that there was an excellent pony at my 
service, and that he himself would accompany us, being obliged 
to attend a great sheep-fair at Thirlestane; and that he was certain 
the Shepherd would be there likewise.

Mr. L--t said that was the very man we wanted to make our party 
complete; and at an early hour next morning we started for the 
ewe-fair of Thirlestane, taking Blackwood's Magazine for August 
along with us. We rode through the ancient royal burgh of 
Selkirk, halted and corned our horses at a romantic village, nigh 
to some deep linns on the Ettrick, and reached the market ground 
at Thirlestane-green a little before mid-day. We soon found 
Hogg, standing near the foot of the market, as he called it, beside 
a great drove of paulies, a species of stock that I never heard of 
before. They were small sheep, striped on the backs with red 
chalk. Mr. L--t introduced me to him as a great wool-stapler, 
come to raise the price of that article; but he eyed me with 
distrust, and, turning his back on us, answered: "I hae sell'd 
mine."

I followed, and, shewing him the above-quoted letter, said I was 
exceedingly curious to have a look of these singular remains he 
had so ingeniously described; but he only answered me with the 
remark that "It was a queer fancy for a wool-stapler to tak."

His two friends then requested him to accompany us to the spot, 
and to take some of his shepherds with us to assist in raising the 
body; but he spurned at the idea, saying: "Od bless ye, lad! I hae 
ither matters to mind. I hae a' thae paulies to sell, an', a' yon 
Highland stotts down on the green, every ane; an' then I hae ten 
scores o' yowes to buy after, an', If I canna first sell my ain stock, 
I canna buy nae ither body's. I hae mair ado than I can manage 
the day, foreby ganging to houk up hunder-year-auld-banes."

Finding that we could make nothing of him, we left him with his 
paulies, Highland stotts, grey jacket, and broad blue bonnet, to go 
in search of some other guide. L--w soon found one, for he 
seemed acquainted with every person in the fair. We got a fine 
old shepherd, named W--m B--e, a great original, and a very 
obliging and civil man, who asked no conditions but that we 
should not speak of it, because he did not wish it to come to his 
master's ears that he had been engaged in sic a profane thing. We 
promised strict secrecy; and accompanied by another farmer, Mr. 
S--t, and old B--e, we proceeded to the grave, which B--e 
described as about a mile and a half distant from the market 
ground.

We went into the shepherd's cot to get a drink of milk, when I 
read to our guide Mr. Hogg's description, asking him if he 
thought it correct. He said there was hardly a bit o't correct, for 
the grave was not on the hill of Cowan's-Croft nor yet on the 
point where three lairds' lands met, but on the top of a hill called 
the Faw-Law, where there was no land that was not the Duke of 
Buccleuch's within a quarter of a mile. He added that it was a 
wonder how the poet could be mistaken there, who once herded 
the very ground where the grave is, and saw both hills from his 
own window. Mr. L--w testified great surprise at such a singular 
blunder, as also how the body came not to be buried at the 
meeting of three or four lairds' lands, which had always been 
customary in the south of Scotland. Our guide said he had always 
heard it reported that the Eltrive men, with Mr. David Anderson 
at their head, had risen before day on the Monday morning, it 
having been on the Sabbath day that the man put down himself; 
and that they set out with the intention of burying him on 
Cowan's-Croft, where the three marches met at a point. But, it 
having been an invariable rule to bury such lost sinners before the 
rising of the sun, these five men were overtaken by day-light, as 
they passed the house of Berry-Knowe; and, by the time they 
reached the top of the Faw-Law, the sun was beginning to skair 
the east. On this they laid down the body, and digged a deep 
grave with all expedition; but, when they had done, it was too 
short, and, the body being stiff, it would not go down; on which 
Mr. David Anderson, looking to the east and perceiving that the 
sun would be up on them in a few minutes, set his foot on the 
suicide's brow, and tramped down his head into the grave with his 
iron-heeled shoe, until the nose and skull crashed again, and at 
the same time uttered a terrible curse on the wretch who had 
disgraced the family and given them all this trouble. This 
anecdote, our guide said, he had heard when a boy, from the 
mouth of Robert Laidlaw, one of the five men who buried the 
body.

We soon reached the spot, and I confess I felt a singular sensation
when I saw the grey stone standing at the head, and another at the 
feet, and the one half of the grave manifestly new-digged, and 
closed up again as had been described. I could still scarcely deem 
the thing to be a reality, for the ground did not appear to be wet, 
but a kind of dry rotten moss. On looking around, we found some 
fragments of clothes, some teeth, and part of a pocket-book, 
which had not been returned into the grave when the body had 
been last raised, for it had been twice raised before this, but only 
from the loins upward.

To work we fell with two spades, and soon cleared away the 
whole of the covering. The part of the grave that had been opened 
before was filled with mossy mortar, which impeded us 
exceedingly, and entirely prevented a proper investigation of the 
fore parts of the body. I will describe everything as I saw it before 
our respectable witnesses, whose names I shall publish at large if 
permitted. A number of the bones came up separately; for, with 
the constant flow of liquid stuff into the deep grave, we could not 
see to preserve them in their places. At length great loads of 
coarse clothes, blanketing, plaiding, etc. appeared; we tried to lift 
these regularly up, and, on doing so, part of a skeleton came up, 
but no flesh, save a little that was hanging in dark flitters about 
the spine, but which had no consistence; it was merely the 
appearance of flesh without the substance. The head was wanting, 
and, I being very anxious to possess the skull, the search was 
renewed among the mortar and rags. We first found a part of the 
scalp, with the long hair firm on it; which, on being cleaned, is 
neither black nor fair, but a darkish dusk, the most common of 
any other colour. Soon afterwards we found the skull, but it was 
not complete. A spade had damaged it, and one of the temple 
quarters was wanting. 1 am no phrenologist, not knowing one 
organ from another, but 1 thought the skull of that wretched man 
no study. If it was particular for anything, it was for a smooth, 
almost perfect rotundity, with only a little protuberance above the 
vent of the ear.

When we came to that part of the grave that had never been 
opened before, the appearance of everything was quite different. 
There the remains lay under a close vault of moss, and within a 
vacant space; and I suppose, by the digging in the former part of 
the grave, the part had been deepened, and drawn the moisture 
away from this part, for here all was perfect. The breeches still 
suited the thigh, the stocking the leg, and the garters were wrapt 
as neatly and as firm below the knee as if they had been newly 
tied. The shoes were all open in the seams, the hemp having 
decayed, but the soles, upper leathers and wooden heels, which 
were made of birch, were all as fresh as any of those we wore. 
There was one thing I could not help remarking, that in the inside 
of one of the shoes there was a layer of cow's dung, about one-
eighth of an inch thick, and in the hollow of the sole fully one-
fourth of an inch. It was firm, green, and fresh; and proved that he 
had been working in a byre. His clothes were all of a singular 
ancient cut, and no less singular in their texture. Their durability 
certainly would have been prodigious; for in thickness, 
coarseness, and strength, I never saw any cloth in the smallest 
degree to equal them. His coat was a frock coat, of a yellowish 
drab colour, with wide sleeves. It is tweeled, milled, and thicker 
than a carpet. I cut off two of the skirts and brought them with 
me. His vest was of striped serge, such as I have often seen worn 
by country people. it was lined and backed with white stuff. The 
breeches were a sort of striped plaiding, which I never saw worn, 
but which our guide assured us was very common in the country 
once, though, from the old clothes which he had seen remaining 
of it,  he judged that it could not be less than 200 years since it 
was in fashion. His garters were of worsted, and striped with 
black or blue; his stockings grey, and wanting the feet. I brought 
samples of all along with me. I have likewise now got possession 
of the bonnet, which puzzles me most of all. It is not conformable 
with the rest of the dress. It is neither a broad bonnet nor a Border 
bonnet; for there is an open behind, for tying, which no genuine 
Border bonnet I am told ever had. It seems to have been a 
Highland bonnet, worn in a flat way, like a scone on the crown, 
such as is sometimes still seen in the West of Scotland. All the 
limbs, from the loins to the toes, seemed perfect and entire, but 
they could not bear handling. Before we got them returned again 
into the grave they were  shaken to pieces, except the thighs, 
which continued to retain a kind of flabby form.

All his clothes that were sewed with linen yam were lying in 
separate portions, the thread having rotten; but such as were 
sewed with worsted remained perfectly firm and sound. Among 
such a confusion, we had hard work to find out all his pockets, 
and our guide supposed that, after all, we did not find above the 
half of them. In his vest pocket was a long clasp-knife, very 
sharp; the haft was thin, and the scales shone as if there had been 
silver inside. Mr. Sc--t took it with him, and presented it to his 
neighbour, Mr. R--n, of W--n L--e, who still has it in his 
possession. We found a comb, a gimblet, a vial, a small neat 
square board, a pair of plated knee-buckles, and several samples 
of cloth of different kinds, rolled neatly up within one another. At 
length, while we were busy on the search, Mr. L--t picked up a 
leathern case, which seemed to have been wrapped round and 
round by some ribbon, or cord, that had been rotten from it, for 
the swaddling marks still remained. Both L--w and B--e called 
out that "it was the tobacco spleuchan, and a well-filled ane too"; 
but, on opening it out, we found, to our great astonishment, that it 
contained a printed pamphlet. We were all curious to see what 
sort of a pamphlet such a person would read; what it could 
contain that he seemed to have had such a care about. For the 
slough in which it was rolled was fine chamois leather; what 
colour it had been could not be known. But the pamphlet was 
wrapped so close together, and so damp, rotten, and yellow that it 
seemed one solid piece. We all concluded from some words that 
we could make out that it was a religious tract, but that it would 
be impossible to make anything of it. Mr. L--w remarked marked 
that it was a great pity if a few sentences could not be made out, 
for that it was a question what might be contained in that little 
book; and then he requested Mr. L--t to give it to me, as he had so 
many things of literature and law to attend to that he would never 
think more of it. He replied that either of us were heartily 
welcome to it, for that he had thought of returning it into the 
grave, if he could have made out but a line or two, to have seen 
what was its tendency.

"Grave, man!" exclaimed L--w, who speaks excellent strong 
broad Scotch. "My truly, but ye grave weel! I wad esteem the 
contents o' that spleuchan as the most precious treasure. I'll tell 
you what it is, sir: I hae often wondered how it was that this 
man's corpse has been miraculously preserved frae decay, a 
hunder times langer than any other body's, or than ever a tanner's. 
But now I could wager a guinea it has been for the preservation o' 
that little book. And Lord kens what may be in't! It will maybe 
reveal some mystery that mankind disna ken naething about yet."

"If there be any mysteries in it," returned the other, "it is not for 
your handling, my dear friend, who are too much taken up about 
mysteries already." And with these words he presented the 
mysterious pamphlet to me. With very little trouble, save that of a 
thorough drying, I unrolled it all with ease, and found the very 
tract which I have here ventured to lay before the public, part of it 
in small bad print, and the remainder in manuscript. The title 
page is written and is as follows:

THE PRIVATE MEMOIRS
AND CONFESSIONS
OF A JUSTIFIED SINNER:

WRITTEN BY HIMSELF

Fideli certa merces.

And, alongst the head, it is the same as given in the present 
edition of the work. I altered the title to A Self-justified Sinner, 
but my booksellers did not approve of it; and, there being a curse 
pronounced by the writer on him that should dare to alter or 
amend, I have let it stand as it is. Should it be thought to attach 
discredit to any received principle of our Church, I am blameless. 
The printed part ends at page 201 and the rest is in a fine old 
hand, extremely small and close. I have ordered the printer to 
procure a facsimile of it, to be bound in with the volume. [v. 
Frontispiece.]

With regard to the work itself, I dare not venture a judgment, for I 
do not understand it. I believe no person, man or woman, will 
ever peruse it with the same attention that I have done, and yet I 
confess that I do not comprehend the writer's drift. It is certainly 
impossible that these scenes could ever have occurred that he 
describes as having himself transacted. I think it may be possible 
that he had some hand in the death of his brother, and yet I am 
disposed greatly to doubt it; and the numerous traditions, etc. 
which remain of that event may be attributable to the work 
having been printed and burnt, and of course the story known to 
all the printers, with their families and gossips. That the young 
Laird of Dalcastle came by a violent death, there remains no 
doubt; but that this wretch slew him, there is to me a good deal. 
However, allowing this to have been the case, I account all the 
rest either dreaming or madness; or, as he says to Mr. Watson, a 
religious parable, on purpose to illustrate something scarcely 
tangible, but to which he seems to have attached great weight. 
Were the relation at all consistent with reason, it corresponds so 
minutely with traditionary facts that it could scarcely have missed 
to have been received as authentic; but in this day, and with the 
present generation, it will not go down that a man should be daily 
tempted by the Devil, in the semblance of a fellow-creature; and 
at length lured to self-destruction, in the hopes that this same 
fiend and tormentor was to suffer and fall along with him. It was 
a bold theme for an allegory, and would have suited that age well 
had it been taken up by one fully qualified for the task, which this 
writer was not. In short, we must either conceive him not only the 
greatest fool, but the greatest wretch, on whom was ever stamped 
the form of humanity; or, that he was a religious maniac, who 
wrote and wrote about a deluded creature, till he arrived at that 
height of madness that he believed himself the very object whom 
he had been all along describing. And, in order to escape from an 
ideal tormentor, committed that act for which, according to the 
tenets he embraced, there was no remission, and which consigned 
his memory and his name to everlasting detestation.





end of Project Gutenberg Etext Confessions of A Justified Sinner, by Hogg


Colophon

This file was acquired from Project Gutenberg, and it is in the public domain. It is re-distributed here as a part of the Alex Catalogue of Electronic Texts (http://infomotions.com/alex/) by Eric Lease Morgan (Infomotions, Inc.) for the purpose of freely sharing, distributing, and making available works of great literature. Its Infomotions unique identifier is etext2276, and it should be available from the following URL:

http://infomotions.com/etexts/id/etext2276



Infomotions, Inc.

Infomotions Man says, "Give back to the 'Net."