The Monastery 9781474433662

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T H E E D IN B U R G H E D IT IO N OF T H E WAVERLEY NOVELS E D IT O R -IN -C H IE F

Professor David Hewitt

PATRONS

His Grace the Duke of Buccleuch : Dame Jean Maxwell-Scott The Royal Society of Edinburgh : The University of Edinburgh C H IEF F IN A N C IA L SPO N SO R

Bank of Scotland A DV ISORY BOARD

Sir Kenneth Alexander, Chairman Professor David Daiches, Vice-Chairman D rW .E .K . Anderson : Thomas Crawford Professor Andrew Hook : Professor R. D. S. Jack Professor A. N.Jeffares : Professor D. N. MacCormick Professor Douglas Mack : Allan Massie ProfessorJaneMillgate : Professor David Nordloh Sir Lewis Robertson Secretary to the Board Dr Archie Tumbull G EN ERA L ED ITO R S

Dr J. H. Alexander, University o f Aberdeen Dr P. D. Garside, University o f Wales (Cardiff) Claire Lamont, University o f Newcastle G. A. M. Wood, University o f Stirling Research Fellow Dr Alison Lumsden TypographicalAdviser Ruari McLean

V O L U M E N IN E

TH E MONASTERY

ED IN BU R G H ED IT IO N OF T H E W AVERLET NOVELS

to be complete in thirty volumes Each volume will be published separately but original conjoint publication of certain works is indicated in the e e w n volume numbering [4a, b; 7a, b, etc.]. Where e e w n editors have been appointed, their names are listed 1 2 3 4a 4b 5 6 7a 7b 8 9 Io II 12 13 14 15 16 17 18a 18b 19 20 21 22 23a 23b 24 25a 25b

Waverley[i8i4]P. D.Garside GuyMannering[i8i5] P. D.Garside The Antiquary [1816] David Hewitt The Black Dwarf [1816] P. D.Garside The T ale of Old Mortality [1816] Douglas Mack Rob Roy [1818] David Hewitt The Heart of Mid-Lothian [1818] David Hewitt & Alison Lumsden The Bride of Lammermoor [1819] J. H. Alexander A Legend of the Wars of Montrose [1819] J. H. Alexander Ivanhoe [1820] Graham T ulloch The Monastery [1820] Penny Fielding The Abbot [1820] Christopher Johnson Kenilworth [1821] J.H. Alexander The Pirate [1822] Mark Weinstein with Alison Lumsden The Fortunes of Nigel [1822] Frankjordan Peveril of the Peak [1822] Alison Lumsden Quentin Durward [1823] G. A. M. Wood and J. H. Alexander Saint Ronan’s Well [1824] Mark Weinstein Redgauntlet [1824] G. A. M. Wood with David Hewitt TheBetrothed [i 82s]J.B.Ellis The Talisman [1825] J.B. Ellis Woodstock[i826]TonyInglis Chronicles of the Canongate [1827] Claire Lamont The Fair Maid of Perth [1828] A. Hook and D. Mackenzie Anneof Geierstein [1829] J. H. Alexander Count Robert of Paris [183 i]J.H. Alexander Castle Dangerous [1831] J. H. Alexander Storiesfrom The Keepsake [1828] Graham Tulloch Introductions and Notes from the Magnum Opus edition of 1829—33 Introductions and Notes from the Magnum Opus edition of 1829-33

WALTER SCOTT

THE MONASTERY

Edited by Penny Fielding

E D IN B U R G H

University Press

© The University Court of the University of Edinburgh 2000 Edinburgh University Press 22 George Square, Edinburgh T ypeset in Linotronic Ehrhardt by Speedspools, Edinburgh and printed and bound in Great Britain on acid-free paper at the University Press, Cambridge isb n 0 7486 0574 6 / ePDF 978 1 4744 3366 2 A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system, without the prior permission in writing from the publisher.

FOREWORD

h e P u b l i c a t i o n of Waverley in 1814 marked the emergence of the modern novel in the western world. It is difficult now to recapture the impact of this and the following novels of Scott on a readership accus­ tomed to prose fiction either as picturesque romance, ‘Gothic’ quaint­ ness, or presentation of contemporary manners. For Scott not only invented the historical novel, but gave it a dimension and a relevance that made it available for a great variety of new kinds of writing. Balzac in France, Manzoni in Italy, Gogol and Tolstoy in Russia, were among the many writers of fiction influenced by the man Stendhal called ‘notre pere, Walter Scott’. What Scott did was to show history and society in motion: old ways of life being challenged by new; traditions being assailed by counter-state­ ments; loyalties, habits, prejudices clashing with the needs of new social and economic developments. The attraction of tradition and its ability to arouse passionate defence, and simultaneously the challenge of pro­ gress and ‘improvement’, produce a pattern that Scott saw as the living fabric of history. And this history was rooted in place; events happened in localities still recognisable after the disappearance of the original actors and the establishment of new patterns of belief and behaviour. Scott explored and presented all this by means of stories, entertain­ ments, which were read and enjoyed as such. At the same time his passionate interest in history led him increasingly to see these stories as illustrations of historical truths, so that when he produced his final Magnum Opus edition of the novels he surrounded them with historical notes and illustrations, and in this almost suffocating guise they have been reprinted in edition after edition ever-since. The time has now come to restore these novels to the form in which they were presented to their first readers, so that today’s readers can once again capture their original power and freshness. At the same time, serious errors of tran­ scription, omission, and interpretation, resulting from the haste of their transmission from manuscript to print can now be corrected.

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D

a v id

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a ic h e s

E D IN B U R G H

University Press

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

viii

General Introduction

xi

TH E MONASTERY Volume I

..........................................

i

Volume I I ................................................ 113 Volume I I I ................................................ 235

Essay on the T e x t ......................................355 genesis..................................................... 355 com position........................................... 364 later editions........................................... 376 the present t e x t ......................................384 Emendation L i s t ......................................401 End-of-line H y p h en s................................ 432 Historical N o te ...........................................434 Explanatory N otes......................................441 G lossary..................................................... 490

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The Scott Advisory Board and the editors o f the Edinburgh Edition o f the Waverley Novels wish to express their gratitude to The University Court of the University of Edinburgh for its vision in initiating and supporting the preparation o f the first critical edition o f Walter Scott’sfiction. Those Uni­ versities which employ the editors have also contributed greatly in paying the editors ’salaries, and awarding research leave andgrantsfor travel and mater­ ials. In the case o f The Monastery particular thanks are due to the Univer­ sities of Aberdeen and Edinburgh. Although the edition is the work o f scholars employed by universities, the project could not have prospered without the help o f the sponsors cited below. Their generosity has met the direct costs o f the initial research and o f the preparation o f the text o f the novels appearing in this edition. BAN K O F S C O T L A N D

The collapse ofthe great EdinburghpublisherArchibald Constable inJanuary 1826 entailed the ruin ofSir Walter Scott who found himselfresponsiblefor his own private debts, for the debts o f the printing business o f James Ballantyne and Co. in which he was co-partner, and for the bank advances to Archibald Constable which had been guaranteed by the printing business. Scott’s largest creditors were Sir William Forbes and Co., bankers, and the Bank o f Scotland. On the advice o f Sir William Forbes himself, the creditors did not sequester his property, but agreed to the creation o f a trust to which he committed hisfuture literary earnings, and which ultimately repaid the debts o f over £120,000for which he was legally liable. In the same year the Government proposed to curtail the rights o f the Scottish banks to issue their own notes; Scott wrote the 'Letters o f Malachi Malagrowther’ in their defence, arguing that the measure was neither in the interests o f the banks nor o f Scotland. The 'Letters ’were so successful that the Government wasforced to withdraw its proposal and to this day the Scottish Banks issue their own notes. A portrait ofSir Walter appears on all current bank notes o f the Bank o f Scotland because Scott was a champion o f Scottish banking, and because he was an illustrious and honourable customer not just o f the Bank o f Scotland itself, but also o f three other banks now incorporated within it— the British Linen Bank which continues today as the merchant banking arm o f the Bank o f Scotland, Sir William Forbes and Co., and Ramsays, Bonars and Com­ pany. Bank of Scotland’s support o f the EEW N continues its long andfruitful involvement with the affairs o f Walter Scott. viii

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ix

T H E B R IT IS H ACADEM Y AND T H E ARTS AN D H U M A N IT IE S RESEARCH BOARD

Major researchgrantshavebeenawardedby the BritishAcademy, the Human­ ities Research Board, and the Arts and Humanities Research Board, and have been used to employ a researchfellow to work full-time on the EEWN. This help is acknowledged with great gratitude; it has assured the process o f estab­ lishing reliable texts, andfacilitated the rapidprogress ofthe edition. O T H E R B E N E FA C T O R S

The Advisory Board and editors also wish to acknowledge with gratitude the generous grants, gifts and assistance to the EEWNfrom the P. F. Charitable Trust, the main charitable trust ofthe Flemingfamily whichfounded the City firm o f Robert Fleming Holdings Limited; the Edinburgh University General Council Trust, now incorporated within the Edinburgh University Development Trust, and the alumni who contributed to the Trust; Sir Gerald Elliott; the Carnegie Trust for the Universities of Scotland; and particularly the Robertson Trust whose help has been especially important in the production o f this volume. LIB R A R IES

Without the generous assistance o f the two great repositories o f Scott manu­ scripts, the National Library of Scotland and the Pierpont Morgan Library, New York, it would not have been possible to have undertaken the editing o f Scott’s novels, and the Board and editors cannot overstate the extent to which they are indebted to their Trustees and staffs. T H E M O N A STE R Y

A project such as this is necessarily collaborative in many ways, and many institutions and individuals have helped to make this volume possible. The manuscript o/The Monastery belongs to the Pierpont Morgan Library which generously lent it to the National Library ofScotlandfor the duration o f the editingprocess. Staffat the National Library ofScotland helped in providing access to books during a difficult period o f renovation, and assisted the pre­ paration o f this edition in many ways. Particular thanks are due to Frances Abercromby who secured copies and microfilms o f early editions. Microfilms o f American editions were supplied by the Beinecke Library, Brown University Library, and the library o f Hobart and William Smith Colleges, Queensland. Dan Blewett, librarian at the Loyola University o f Chicago, very kindly permitted an interlibrary loan o f a rare early edition. David Hewitt made valuable comments on all aspects o f the edition, and Christopher Johnson, editor o/The Abbot in the EEWN, generously shared his editorial discoveries as the two editions progressed. Alistair Rennie’s help with a number oftasks made preparation ofthe typescript much easier. Many people answered questions and sent information and I would like to thank Ian

X

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Duncan, Michael Dobson, Aileen Douglas, Susanne Kries, Magarette Lin­ coln, Jane Millgate, and Ian Ross. Special thanks are due to Graham Tulloch who patiently addressed queries both directly, and through his EEW N edition o/Ivanhoefrom which I learned much. The EEW N ’s special subject advisers were o f great help and much information was found by John Cairns (Law), Thomas Craik (Shakespeare), Caroline Jackson-Houlston (Popular Song), DavidStevenson (History), andRoy Pinkerton (Classics) .AnnJones, archiv­ ist at Heriot-Watt University Library, produced a treasury o f information aboutJames Watt. Mark Dilworth contributed invaluable information about Benedictine Monasticism, and Edith Philip, librarian at the Scottish United Services Museum, suppliedmilitary details. M y colleagues in the University o f Edinburgh deftly fielded questions from all directions, and I thank Ronnie Jack, Roger Savage, and Karina Williamson for their help with specific queries. The reliability ofthe text is due in no small way to the work o f proof­ readers, and to Ian Clark, Gillian Hughes, and Sheena Sutherland the editor expresses her thanks, as wellas toAudrey Inglis, andHarry McIntosh who were responsiblefor theproduction o f the text. Two people have above all made this volume possible, and I would like to extend my warmest thanks to them. It has been a greatprivilege and a pleasure to work withj. H. Alexander whose extensive knowledge o f Scott editing and whose considerable andprecise help with all aspects o f the edition have enriched this volume enormously. Alison Lumsden undertook a number o f the collations, provided a meticulousglossary, and trackeddown many recalcitrantnotes. Her friendship and support, together with her many skills and scholarly acumen, kept this volume going and saw it through to its end. The general editor for this volume was J. H. Alexander. The glossary was prepared by Alison Lumsden.

GENERAL IN TR O D U CTIO N

What has the Edinburgh Edition of the Waverley Novels achieved? The original version of this General Introduction said that many hundreds of readings were being recovered from the manuscripts, and commented that although the individual differences were often minor, they were ‘cumulatively telling’. Such an assessment now looks tentative and tepid, for the textual strategy pursued by the editors has been justified by spectacular results. In each novel up to 2000 readings never before printed are being recovered from the manuscripts. Some of these are major changes although they are not always verbally extensive. The restoration of the pen-portraits of the Edinburgh literati in Guy Mannering, the recon­ struction of the way in which Amy Robsart was murdered in Kenilworth, the recovery of the description of Clara Mowbray’s previous relation­ ship with Tyrrel in Saint Ronan’s Well—each of these fills out what was incomplete, or corrects what was obscure. A surprising amount of what was once thought loose or unidiomatic has turned out to be textual corruption. Many words which were changed as the holograph texts were converted into print have been recognised as dialectal, period or technical terms wholly appropriate to their literary context. The mis­ takes in foreign languages, in Latin, and in Gaelic found in the early printed texts are usually not in the manuscripts, and so clear is this manuscript evidence that one may safely conclude that Friar Tuck’s Latin in Ivanhoe is deliberately full of errors. The restoration of Scott’s own shaping and punctuating of speech has often enhanced the rhetor­ ical effectiveness of dialogue. Furthermore, the detailed examination of the text and supporting documents such as notes and letters has re­ vealed that however quickly his novels were penned they mostly evolved over long periods; that although he claimed not to plan his work yet the shape of his narratives seems to have been established before he com­ mitted his ideas to paper; and that each of the novels edited to date has a precise time-scheme which implies formidable control of his stories. The Historical and Explanatory Notes reveal an intellectual command of enormously diverse materials, and an equal imaginative capacity to synthesise them. Editing the texts has revolutionised the editors’ under­ standing and appreciation of Scott, and will ultimately generate a much wider recognition of his quite extraordinary achievement. The text of the novels in the Edinburgh Edition is normally based on the first editions, but incorporates all those manuscript readings which were lost through accident, error, or misunderstanding in the process of xi

xii

GENERAL INTROD UCTION

converting holograph manuscripts into printed books. The Edition is the first to investigate all Scott’s manuscripts and proofs, and all the printed editions to have appeared in his lifetime, and it has adopted the textual strategy which best makes sense of the textual problems. It is clear from the systematic investigation of all the different states of Scott’s texts that the author was fully engaged only in the early stages (manuscripts and proofs, culminating in the first edition), and when preparing the last edition to be published in his lifetime, familiarly known as the Magnum Opus (1829-33). There may be authorial read­ ings in some of the many intermediate editions, and there certainly are in the third edition of Waverley, but not a single intermediate edition of any of the nineteen novels so far investigated shows evidence of sus­ tained authorial involvement. There are thus only two stages in the textual development of the Waverley Novels which might provide a sound basis for a critical edition. Scott’s holograph manuscripts constitute the only purely authorial state of the texts of his novels, for they alone proceed wholly from the author. They are for the most part remarkably coherent, although a close examination shows countless minor revisions made in the process of writing, and usually at least one layer of later revising. But the heaviest revising was usually done by Scott when correcting his proofs, and thus the manuscripts could not constitute the textual basis of a new edition; despite their coherence they are drafts. Furthermore, the holograph does not constitute a public form of the text: Scott’s manuscript punctu­ ation is light (in later novels there are only dashes, full-stops, and speech marks), and his spelling system though generally consistent is personal and idiosyncratic. Scott’s novels were, in theory, anonymous publications—no title page ever carried his name. To maintain the pretence of secrecy, the original manuscripts were copied so that his handwriting should not be seen in the printing house, a practice which prevailed until 1827, when Scott acknowledged his authorship. Until 1827 it was these copies, not Scott’s original manuscripts, which were used by the printers. Not a single leaf of these copies is known to survive but the copyists probably began the tidying and regularising. As with Dickens and Thackeray in a later era, copy was sent to the printers in batches, as Scott wrote and as it was transcribed; the batches were set in type, proof-read, and ultimately printed, while later parts of the novel were still being written. When typesetting, the compositors did not just follow what was before them, but supplied punctuation, normalised spelling, and corrected minor errors. Proofs were first read in-house against the transcripts, and, in addition to the normal checking for mistakes, these proofs were used to improve the punctuation and the spelling. When the initial corrections had been made, a new set of proofs went to James Ballantyne, Scott’s friend and partner in the printing firm

GENERAL IN T R O D U C T IO N

Xlll

which bore his name. He acted as editor, not just as proof-reader. He drew Scott’s attention to gaps in the text and pointed out inconsistencies in detail; he asked Scott to standardise names; he substituted nouns for pronouns when they occurred in the first sentence of a paragraph, and inserted the names of speakers in dialogue; he changed incorrect punctuation, and added punctuation he thought desirable; he cor­ rected grammatical errors; he removed close verbal repetitions; and in a cryptic correspondence in the margins of the proofs he told Scott when he could not follow what was happening, or when he particularly en­ joyed something. These annotated proofs were sent to the author. Scott usually accepted Ballantyne’s suggestions, but sometimes rejected them. He made many more changes; he cut out redundant words, and substituted the vivid for the pedestrian; he refined the punctuation; he sometimes reworked and revised passages extensively, and in so doing made the proofs a stage in the creative composition of the novels. When Ballantyne received Scott’s corrections and revisions, he tran­ scribed all the changes on to a clean set of proofs so that the author’s hand would not be seen by the compositors. Further revises were pre­ pared. Some of these were seen and read by Scott, but he usually seems to have trusted Ballantyne to make sure that the earlier corrections and revisions had been executed. When doing this Ballantyne did not just read for typesetting errors, but continued the process of punctuating and tidying the text. A final proof allowed the corrections to be inspected and the imposition of the type to be checked prior to printing. Scott expected his novels to be printed; he expected that the printers would correct minor errors, would remove words repeated in close proximity to each other, would normalise spelling, and would insert a printed-book style of punctuation, amplifying or replacing the marks he had provided in manuscript. There are no written instructions to the printers to this effect, but in the proofs he was sent he saw what Ballan­ tyne and his staff had done and were doing, and by and large he accepted it. This assumption of authorial approval is better founded for Scott than for any other writer, for Scott was the dominant partner in the business which printed his work, and no doubt could have changed the practices of his printers had he so desired. It is this history of the initial creation of Scott’s novels that led the editors of the Edinburgh Edition to propose the first editions as base texts. That such a textual policy has been persuasively theorised by Jerome J. McGann in his^l Critique o f Modern Textual Criticism (1983) is a bonus: he argues that an authoritative work is usually found not in the artist’s manuscript, but in the printed book, and that there is a collective responsibility in converting an author’s manuscript into print, exercised by author, printer and publisher, and governed by the nature of the understanding between the author and the other parties. In Scott’s case

XIV

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

the exercise of such a collective responsibility produced the first editions of the Waverley Novels. On the whole Scott’s printers fulfilled his expectations. There are normally in excess of 50,000 variants in the first edition of a three-volume novel when compared with the manuscript, and the great majority are in accordance with Scott’s general wishes as described above. But the intermediaries, as the copyist, compositors, proof-readers, and James Ballantyne are collectively described, made mistakes; from time to time they misread the manuscripts, and they did not always understand what Scott had written. This would not have mattered had there not also been procedural failures: the transcripts were not thor­ oughly checked against the original manuscripts; Scott himself does not seem to have read the proofs against the manuscripts and thus did not notice transcription errors which made sense in their context; Ballan­ tyne continued his editing in post-authorial proofs. Furthermore, it has become increasingly evident that, although in theory Scott as partner in the printing firm could get what he wanted, he also succumbed to the pressure of printer and publisher. He often had to accept mistakes both in names and the spelling of names because they were enshrined in print before he realised what had happened. He was obliged to accept the movement of chapters between volumes, or the deletion or addition of material, in the interests of equalising the size of volumes. His work was subject to bowdlerisation, and to a persistent attempt to have him show a ‘high example’ even in the words put in the mouths of his characters; he regularly objected, but conformed nonetheless. From time to time he inserted, under protest, explanations of what was happening in the narrative because the literal-minded Ballantyne required them. The editors of modern texts have a basic working assumption that what is written by the author is more valuable than what is generated by compositors and proof-readers. Even McGann accepts such a position, and argues that while the changes made in the course of translating the manuscript text into print are a feature of the acceptable ‘socialisation’ of the authorial text, they have authority only to the extent that they fulfil the author’s expectations about the public form of the text. The editors of the Edinburgh Edition normally choose the first edition of a novel as base-text, for the first edition usually represents the culmination of the initial creative process, and usually seems closest to the form of his work Scott wished his public to have. But they also recognise the failings of the first editions, and thus after the careful collation of all pre-publica­ tion materials, and in the light of their investigation into the factors governing the writing and printing of the Waverley Novels, they incorp­ orate into the base-text those manuscript readings which were lost in the production process through accident, error, misunderstanding, or a misguided attempt to ‘improve’. In certain cases they also introduce into the base-texts revisions found in editions published almost immediately

GENERAL I N T R O D U C T IO N

XV

after the first, which they believe to be Scott’s, or which complete the intermediaries’ preparation of the text. In addition, the editors correct various kinds of error, such as typographical and copy-editing mistakes including the misnumbering of chapters, inconsistencies in the naming of characters, egregious errors of fact that are not part of the fiction, and failures of sense which a simple emendation can restore. In doing all this the editors follow the model for editing the Waverley Novels which was provided by Claire Lamont in her edition of Waverley (Oxford, 1981): her base-text is the first edition emended in the light of the manuscript. But they have also developed that model because working on the Waver­ ley Novels as a whole has greatly increased knowledge of the practices and procedures followed by Scott, his printers and his publishers in translating holograph manuscripts into printed books. The result is an ‘ideal’ text, such as his first readers might have read had the production process been less pressurised and more considered. The Magnum Opus could have provided an alternative basis for a new edition. In the Advertisement to the Magnum Scott wrote that his insolvency in 1826 and the public admission of authorship in 1827 restored to him ‘a sort of parental control’, which enabled him to re­ issue his novels ‘in a corrected and . . . an improved form’. His assertion of authority in word and deed gives the Magnum a status which no editor can ignore. His introductions are fascinating autobiographical essays which write the life of the Author of Waverley. In addition, the Magnum has a considerable significance in the history of culture. This was the first time all Scott’s works of fiction had been gathered together, published in a single uniform edition, and given an official general title, in the process converting diverse narratives into a literary monument, the Waverley Novels. There were, however, two objections to the use of the Magnum as the base-text for the new edition. Firstly, this has been the form of Scott’s work which has been generally available for most of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries; a Magnum-based text is readily accessible to any­ one who wishes to read it. Secondly, a proper recognition of the Mag­ num does not extend to approving its text. When Scott corrected his novels for the Magnum, he marked up printed books (specially pre­ pared by the binder with interleaves, hence the title the ‘Interleaved Set’), but did not perceive the extent to which these had slipped from the text of the first editions. He had no means of recognising that, for example, over 2000 differences had accumulated between the first edi­ tion of Guy Mannering and the text which he corrected, in the 1822 octavo edition of the Novels and Tales o f the Author o f Waverley. The printed text of Redgauntlet which he corrected, in the octavo Tales and Romances o f the Author o f Waverley (1827), has about 900 divergences from the first edition, none of which was authorially sanctioned. He himself made about 750 corrections to the text of Guy Mannering and

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200 to Redgauntlet in the Interleaved Set, but those who assisted in the production of the Magnum were probably responsible for a further 1600 changes to Guy Mannering, and 1200 to Redgauntlet. Scott marked up a corrupt text, and his assistants generated a systematically cleanedup version of the Waverley Novels. The Magnum constitutes the author’s final version of his novels and thus has its own value,’and as the version read by the great Victorians has its own significance and influence. To produce a new edition based on the Magnum would be an entirely legitimate project, but for the reasons given above the Edinburgh editors have chosen the other valid option. What is certain, however, is that any compromise edition, that drew upon both the first and the last editions published in Scott’s lifetime, would be a mistake. In the past editors, following the example of W. W. Greg and Fredson Bowers, would have incorporated into the firstedition text the introductions, notes, revisions and corrections Scott wrote for the Magnum Opus. This would no longer be considered acceptable editorial practice, as it would confound versions of the text produced at different stages of the author’s career. To fuse the two would be to confuse them. Instead, Scott’s own material in the Inter­ leaved Set is so interesting and important that it will be published separately, and in full, in the two parts of Volume 25 of the Edinburgh Edition. For the first time in print the new matter written by Scott for the Magnum Opus will be wholly visible. The Edinburgh Edition of the Waverley Novels aims to provide the first reliable text of Scott’s fiction. It aims to recover the lost Scott, the Scott which was misunderstood as the printers struggled to set and print novels at high speed in often difficult circumstances. It aims in the Historical and Explanatory Notes and in the Glossaries to illuminate the extraordinary range of materials that Scott weaves together in creating his stories. All engaged in fulfilling these aims have found their en­ quiries fundamentally changing their appreciation of Scott. They hope that readers will continue to be equally excited and astonished, and to have their understanding of these remarkable novels transformed by reading them in their new guise. D A VID H E W IT T

January 1999

THE

M O NA STERY . A ROMANCE. BY THE AUTHOR OF “ WAVERLEY.1

IN T H R E E VOLUMES.

VOL. I.

E D IN B U R G H : P R IN T E D FO R LONGM AN, H U R S T , R E E S , O R M E, A N D B RO W N , LONDON ; A N D FO R A R C H IB A LD C O N STA B LE A N D C O ., AND JO H N B A L L A N T Y N E , BO O K SELLER TO T H E K IN G , E D IN B U R G H .

1820 .

I N T R O D U C T O R Y EP ISTLE FRO M

CAPTA IN C L U T T E R B U C K , O F H IS M A J E S T Y ’ S

R E G IM E N T O F IN F A N T R Y , TO

T H E A U T H O R OF “W AVERLEY.” S ir,

I d o n o t p r e t e n d to the pleasure of your personal acquaintance, like many who I believe to be equally strangers to you, I am nevertheless interested in your publications, and desire their con­ tinuance. Not that I pretend to much taste in fictitious composition, or that I am apt to be interested in your grave scenes, or amused by those which are meant to be lively. I will not disguise from you, that I have yawned over the last interview of Maclvor and his sister, and fell fairly asleep while the school-master was reading the humours of Dandie Dinmont. You see, sir, that I scorn to solicit your favour in a way to which you are no stranger. If the papers I enclose you are worth nothing, I will not endeavour to recommend them by personal flattery, as a bad cook pours rancid butter upon her stale fish. No, sir! What I respect in you, is the lights you have occasionally thrown on national antiquities, a study which I have commenced rather late in life, but to which I am attached with the devotion of a first love, because it is the only study I ever cared a farthing for. You shall have my history, sir, (it will not reach to three volumes,) before that of my manuscript; and as you usually throw out a few lines of verse (by way of skirmishers, I suppose,) at the head of each division of prose, I have had the luck to light upon a stanza in the schoolmaster’s copy of Bums which describes me exactly. I love it the better, because it was originally designed for Captain Grose, an excel­ lent antiquary, though, like yourself, somewhat too apt to treat with levity his own pursuits: A

lth o u g h

’T is said he was a soldier bred, And ane wad rather fa’an than fled; But now he has quit the spurtle blade, 3

4

IN T R O D U C T O R Y EPISTLE

And dog-skin wallet,

And ta’en the—antiquarian trade, I think they call it.

I never could conceive what influenced me, when a boy, in the choice of a profession. Military zeal and ardour it was not, which made me stand out for a commission in the Scots Fuzileers, when my tutors and curators wished to bind me apprentice to old David Stiles, Clerk to his Majesty’s Signet. I say, military zeal it was not; for I was no fighting boy in my own person, and cared not a penny to read the history of the heroes who turned the world upside down in former ages. As for courage, I had, as I have since discovered, just as much of it as served my turn, and not one grain of surplus. I soon found out, indeed, that in action there was more danger in running away than in standing; and besides, I could not afford to lose my commission, which was my chief means of support. But, as for that over-boiling valour, which I have heard many of Ours talk of, though I seldom observed that it influenced them in the actual affair— that exuberant zeal, which courts Danger as a bride, truly my courage was of a complexion much less ecstatical. Again, the love of a red coat, which, in default of all other aptitudes to the profession, has made many a bad soldier and some good ones, was an utter stranger to my disposition. I cared not a “bodle” for the company of the misses: Nay, though there was a boarding-school in the village, and though we used to meet with its fair inmates at Simon Lightfoot’s Weekly Practising, I cannot recollect any strong emotions being excited on these occasions, excepting the infinite regret with which I went through the polite ceremonial of presenting my partner with an orange, thrust into my pocket by my aunt for this special purpose, but which, had I dared, I would certainly have secreted for my own use. As for personal vanity, or love of finery for itself, I was such a stranger to it, that the difficulty was great to make me brush my coat, and appear in proper trim upon parade. I shall never forget the rebuke of my old Colonel, on a morning when the King reviewed a brigade of which we made part. “I am no friend to extravagance, Ensign Clutterbuck,” said he; “but, on the day when we are to pass before the Sovereign of the Kingdom, in the name of God I would have at least shewn him an inch of clean linen.” Thus, a stranger to all the ordinary motives which lead young men to make the army their choice, and without the least desire to become either a hero or a dandy, I really do not know what determined my thoughts that way, unless it were the happy state of half-pay indolence enjoyed by Captain Doolittle, who had set up his staff of rest in my native village. Every other person had, or seemed to have, something

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to do, less or more. They did not indeed precisely go to school and learn tasks, that last of evils in my estimation; but it did not escape my boyish observation, that they were all “bothered” with something or other like duty or labour— all but the happy Captain Doolittle. The minister had his parish to visit, and his “preaching” to prepare, though perhaps he made more fuss than he needed about both. T he laird had his farming and improving operations to superintend, and, besides that he had to attend trustee-meetings, and lieutenancy-meetings, and head-courts, and meetings of justices, and what not, was as early up, (that I always detested,) and as much in the open air, wet and dry, as his own grieve. The shop-keeper (the village boasted but one of eminence) stood indeed pretty much at his ease behind his counter, for his custom was by no means over-burthensome; but still he enjoyed his status, as the Bailie calls it, upon condition of tumbling all the wares in his booth over and over, when any one chose to want a yard of muslin, a mouse-trap, an ounce of carraway, a paper of pins, the Sermons of M r Peden, or the Life of Jack the Giant-Queller, (not Killer, as usually erroneously written and pronounced.— See my essay on the true history of this worthy, where real feats have in a peculiar degree been obscured by fable.) In short, all in the village were under the necessity of doing something which they would rather have left undone, excepting Captain Doolittle, who walked every morning in the open street, which formed the high-mall of our village, in a blue coat with a red neck, and played at whist the whole evening, when he could make up a party. This happy vacuity of all employment appeared to me so delicious, that it became the primary hint, which, according to the system of Helvetius, as the minister says, determined my infant talents towards the profession I was destined to illustrate. But who, alas, can form a just estimate of future prospects in this deceitful world! I was not long engaged in my new profession, before I discovered, that if the independent indolence of half-pay was a para­ dise, the officer must pass through the purgatory of duty and service in order to gain admission to it. Captain Doolittle might brush his blue coat with the red neck, or leave it unbrushed, at his pleasure; but Ensign Clutterbuck had no such option. Captain Doolittle might go to bed at ten o’clock, if he had a mind; but the Ensign must make the rounds in his turn. What was worse, the Captain might repose under the tester of his tent-bed until noon, if he was so pleased; but the Ensign, God help him, had to appear upon parade at peep of day. As for duty, I made that as easy as I could, had the sergeant to whisper to me the words of command, and hustled through as other folks did. O f service, I saw enough for an indolent man— was buffetted up and down the world, and visited both the East and West Indies, Egypt, and

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other distant places, which my youth had scarce dreamed of. The French I saw, and felt too; witness two fingers of my right hand, which one of their cursed hussars took off with his sabre as neatly as an hospital surgeon. At length the death of an old aunt, who left me some fifteen hundred pounds, snugly vested in the three per cents., gave me the long-wished-for opportunity of retiring, with the prospect of enjoying a clean shirt and a guinea four times a-week. For the purpose of commencing my new way of life, I selected for my residence the village of Kennaquhair, in the south of Scotland, celebrated for the ruins of its magnificent Monastery, intending there to lead my future life in the otium cum dignitate of half-pay and annuity. I was not long, however, in making the grand discovery, that in order to enjoy leisure, it is absolutely necessary it should be preceded by occupation. For some time, it was delightful to wake at day-break, dreaming of the reveillee— then to recollect my happy emancipation from the slavery that doomed me to start at a piece of clattering parchment, turn on my other side, damn the parade, and go to sleep again. But even this enjoyment had its termination; and time, when it became a stock entirely at my own disposal, began to hang heavy on my hands. I tried field sports, but they would not do. I angled for two days, during which time I lost twenty hooks, and several scores of yards of gut-and-line, and caught not even a minnow. Hunting was out of the question, for the stomach of a horse by no means agrees with the half­ pay establishment. When I shot, the shepherds and ploughmen, and my very dog, quizzed me every time that I missed, which was, gener­ ally speaking, every time that I fired. Besides, the country gentlemen in this quarter like their game, and began to talk of prosecutions and interdicts. I did not give up fighting the French to commence a domestic war with the “pleasant men of Teviotdale,” as the song calls them; so I e’en spent three days (very pleasantly) in cleaning my gun, and disposing it upon two hooks over my chimney-piece. The success of this accidental experiment set me on trying my skill in the mechanical arts. Accordingly, I took down and cleaned my landlady’s cuckoo-clock, and in so doing, silenced that companion of the spring for ever and a day. I mounted a turning lathe, and, in attempting to use it, I very nearly cribbed off, with an inch-and-half former, one of the fingers which the hussar had left me. Books I tried, both those of the little circulating library, and of the more rational subscription-collection maintained by this intellectual people. But neither the light reading of the one, or the heavy artillery of the other, suited my purpose. I always fell asleep at the fourth or fifth page of history or disquisition; and it took me a month’s hard

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reading to wade through a half-bound trashy novel, during which I was pestered with applications to return the volumes, by every halfbred milliner’s miss about town. In short, during the hours when all the town besides had something to do, I had nothing for it, but to walk in the church-yard, and whistle till it was dinner-time. During these promenades, the ruins necessarily forced themselves on my attention, and, by degrees, I found myself engaged in studying the more minute ornaments, and at length the general plan, of this noble structure. T he old sexton aided my labours, and gave me his portion of traditional lore. Every day added something to my stock of knowledge respecting the ancient state of the building; and at length I made discoveries concerning the purpose of several detached and very ruinous portions of the building, the use of which had hitherto been either unknown altogether, or erroneously explained. The knowledge which I thus acquired I had frequent opportunities of retailing to those visitors whom the progress of a Scottish tour brought to visit this celebrated spot. Without encroaching on the privilege of my friend the sexton, I became gradually an assistant Cicerone in the task of description and explanation, and oft (seeing a fresh party of visitors arrive) has he turned over to me those to whom he has told half his story, with the flattering observation, “What needs I say ony mair about it? There’s the Captain kens mair anent it than I do, or ony man in the town.” Then would I salute the strangers courteously, and expatiate to their astonished minds upon crypts and chancels, and naves, arches, Gothic or Saxon architraves, mullions and flying buttresses. It not unfrequently happened, that an acquaint­ ance which commenced in the abbey concluded in the inn, which served to relieve the solitude as well as the monotony of my landlady’s shoulder of mutton, whether hot, cold, or hashed. By degrees my mind became enlarged. I found a book or two which enlightened me on the subject of Gothic architecture, and I read now with pleasure, because I was interested in what I read about. Even my character began to dilate and expand. I spoke with more authority at the club, and was listened to with deference, because on one subject, at least, I possessed more information than any of its members. Indeed, I found that even my stories about Egypt, which, to say truth, were somewhat thread-bare, were now listened to with more respect than formerly. “T he Captain,” they said, “had something in him after a’,— few folk ken’d sae mickle about the Abbey.” With this general approbation waxed my own sense of self-import­ ance, and my feeling of general comfort. I eat with more appetite, I digested with more ease, I lay down at night with joy, and slept sound till morning, when I arose with a sense of busy importance, and hied

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me to measure, to examine, and to compare the various parts of this interesting structure. I lost all sense and consciousness of certain unpleasant sensations of a non-descript nature, about my head and stomach, to which I had been in the habit of attending, more for the benefit of the village apothecary than my own, for the pure want of something else to think about. I had found out an occupation unwit­ tingly, and was happy because I had something to do. In a word, I had commenced local antiquary, and was not unworthy of the name. Whilst I was in this pleasing career of busy idleness, for so it might best be called, it happened that I was one night sitting in my little parlour, adjacent to the closet which my landlady calls my bedroom, in the act of preparing for an early retreat to the realms of Morpheus. Dugdale’s Monasticon, borrowed from the library at A----- , was lying on the table before me, flanked by some excellent Cheshire cheese, (a present by the way from an honest London citizen, to whom I had explained the difference betwixt a Gothic and a Saxon arch,) and a glass of Vanderhagen’s best ale. Thus armed at all points against my old enemy Time, I was leisurely and deliciously preparing for bed— now reading a line of old Dugdale— now sipping my ale, or munch­ ing my bread and cheese— now undoing the strings at my breeches’ knees, or a button or two of my waistcoat, until the village clock should strike ten, before which time I make it a rule never to go to bed. A loud knocking, however, interrupted my ordinary process on this occasion, and the voice of mine honest landlord of the George was heard voci­ ferating, “What the deevil, M rs Grimslees, the Captain is no in his bed? and a gentleman at our house has ordered a fowl and minced collops, and a bottle of sherry, and has sent to ask him to supper, to tell him all about the Abbey.” “Na,” answered Luckie Grimslees, in the true sleepy tone of a Scotch matron when ten o’clock is going to strike, “he’s no in his bed, but I’se warrant him no gae out at this time o’ night to keep folks sitting up waiting for him— the Captain’s a decent man.” I plainly perceived this last compliment was made for my hearing, by way both of indicating and of recommending the course of conduct which Mrs Grimslees desired I should pursue. But I had not been knocked about the world for thirty years and odd, and lived a bluff bachelor all the while, to come home and be put under petticoat government by my landlady. Accordingly I opened my chamber-door, and desired my old friend David to walk up stairs. “Captain,” said he, as he entered, “I am as glad to find you up as if I had hooked a twenty pound saumon. There’s a gentleman up yonder that will not sleep sound in his bed this blessed night, unless he has the pleasure to drink a glass of wine with you.”

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“You know, David,” I replied, with becoming dignity, “that I cannot with propriety go out to visit strangers at this time of night, or accept of invitations from people of whom I know nothing.” David swore a round oath, and added, “Was ever the like heard of? He has ordered a fool and egg-sauce, a pancake and minced collops, and a bottle of sherry— D ’ye think I wad come and ask ye to go to keep company with ony bit English rider, that sups on toasted cheese and a cheerer of rum-toddy? This is a gentleman every inch of him— and a virtuoso, a clean virtuoso— A sad-coloured stand of claiths, and a wig like the curled back of a mug-ewe. The very first question he speered was about the auld draw-brig that has been at the bottom of the waeter these twalscore years— I have seen the fundations when we were sticking saumon—and how the deevil suld he ken ony thing about the auld brig, unless he were a virtuoso?” David being a virtuoso in his own way, and moreover a landholder and heritor, was a qualified judge of all who frequented his house, and therefore I could not avoid again tying the strings of my knees. “T hat’s right, Captain,” vociferated David; “you twa will be as thick as three in a bed an’ ance ye foregather. I haena seen the like o’ him my very sell since I saw the great Doctor Samuel Johnson on his tower through Scotland, whilk tower is lying in my back-parlour for the amusement of my guests, wi’ the twa boards tom aff.” “Then the gentleman is a scholar, David?” “I’se uphaud him a scholar,” answered David; “he has a black coat on, or a brown ane at ony rate.” “Is he a clergyman?” “I am thinking no, for he looked after his horse’s supper before he spoke o’ his ain,” replied mine host. “Has he a servant?” demanded I. “Nae servant,” answered David; “but a grand face he has o’ his ain, that wad gar ony body be willing to serve him that looks upon him.” “And what makes him think of disturbing me? Ah, David, this has been some of your chattering. You are perpetually bringing your guests on my shoulders, as if it were my business to entertain every man who comes to the George.” “What the de’il wad ye hae me do, Captain?” answered mine host; “a gentleman lights down, and asks me in a maist earnest manner, what man of sense and learning there is about our town, that can tell him about the antiquities of the place, and specially about the auld Abbey—Ye wadna hae me tell the gentleman a lee, and ye ken weel eneugh there is naebody in the town can say a reasonable word about it, be it no yourseF, except the bedral, and he is as fou as a piper be this time. So, says I, there’s Captain

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Clutterbuck, that’s a very civil gentleman, and has little to do forbye telling a’ the auld cracks about the Abbey, and dwells just hard bye. Then says the gentleman to me, ‘Sir,’ says he, very civilly, ‘have the goodness to step to Captain Clutterbuck with my compliments, and say I am a stranger, who have been led to these parts chiefly by the fame of these ruins, and that I would call upon him, but the hour is late’— and mair he said that I have forgotten, but I weel remember it ended— ‘And, landlord, get a bottle of your best sherry, and supper for two’— Ye wadna have had me refuse to do the gentleman’s bid­ ding, and me a publican?” “Well, David,” said I, “I wish your virtuoso had taken a fitter hour —but as you say he is a gentleman”-----“I’se uphaud him that— the order speaks for itseP— a bottle of sherry—minced collops and a fool— that’s speaking like a gentleman, I trow?— T hat’s right, Captain, button weel up— the night’s raw— but the water’s clearing for a’ that, we’ll be on’t neist night wi’ my Lord’s boats, and we’ll hae ill luck if I dinna send you a kipper to relish your ale at e’en.” In five minutes after this dialogue, I found myself in the parlour of the George, and in the presence of the stranger. He was a grave personage, about my own age, (which we shall call about fifty), and really had, as my friend David expressed it, some­ thing in his face that inclined men to oblige and to serve him. Yet this expression of authority was not at all of the cast which I have seen in the countenance of a general of brigade, neither was the stranger’s dress at all martial. It consisted of an uniform suit of raven-grey clothes, cut in rather an old-fashioned form. His legs were defended with strong leathern gambadoes, which, according to an antiquated contrivance, opened at the sides, and were secured by steel clasps. His countenance was worn as much by toil and sorrow as by age, for it intimated that he had seen and endured much. His address was singu­ larly pleasing and gentleman-like, and the apology which he made for disturbing me at such an hour, and in such a manner, was so well and handsomely expressed, that I could not reply otherwise than by expressing my willingness to be of service to him. “I have been a traveller to-day, sir,” said he, “and I would willingly defer the little I have to say till after our supper, for which I feel rather more appetized than usual.” We sate down to table, and notwithstanding the stranger’s alleged appetite, as well as the gentle preparative of cheese and ale which I had already laid aboard, I really believe that I of the two did the greatest honour to my friend David’s fool and minced collops. When the cloth was removed, and we had each made a tumbler of

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negus of that liquor which hosts call Sherry, and guests Lisbon, I perceived that the stranger seemed pensive, silent, and somewhat embarrassed, as if he had something to communicate which he knew not well how to introduce. T o pave the way for him, I spoke of the ancient ruins of the Monastery, and of their history. But, to my great surprise, I found I had met my match with a witness. The stranger not only knew all that I could tell him, but a great deal more; and, what was still more mortifying, he was able, by reference to dates, charters, and other evidence of facts, that, as Burns says, “downa be confuted,” to correct many of the vague tales which I had adopted on loose and vulgar tradition, as well as to confute more than one of my favourite theories on the subject of the old monks and their dwellings, which I had sported freely in all the presumption of superior information. And here I cannot but remark, that much of the stranger’s arguments and inductions rested upon the authority of M r Deputy Register of Scot­ land, and his lucubrations; a gentleman whose indefatigable research into the national records is like to destroy my trade, and that of all such local antiquaries, by substituting truth instead of legend and romance. Alas, I would the learned gentleman did but know how difficult it is for us dealers in petty wares of antiquity to— Pluck from our memories a rooted “legend,” Raze out the written records o f our brain, Or cleanse our bosoms o f that perilous stuff— —

And so forth. It would, I think, move his pity to think how many old dogs he has set to learn new tricks, how many venerable parrots he hath taught to sing a new song, how many grey heads he has addled by vain attempts to exchange their own old Mumpsimus for his new Sumpsimus. But let it pass— Humanaperpessi sumus—All changes round us, past, present, and to come; that which was history yesterday becomes fable to-day, and the truth of to-day is hatched into a lie by to-morrow. Finding myself like to be overpowered in the Monastery, which I had hitherto regarded as my citadel, I began, like a skilful general, to evacuate that place of defence, and fight my way through the adjacent country. I had recourse to my acquaintance with the families and antiquities of the neighbourhood, ground on which I thought I might skirmish at large without its being possible for the stranger to meet me with advantage. But I was mistaken. T he man in the iron-grey suit shewed a much more minute know­ ledge of these particulars than I had the least pretension to. He could tell the very year in which the family of De Haga first settled on their ancient barony. Not a Thane within reach but he knew his family and connections, how many of his ancestors had fallen by the sword of the

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English, how many in domestic brawl, and how many by the hands of the executioner for march-treason. Their castles he was acquainted with from turret to foundation-stone; and as for the miscellaneous antiquities scattered about the country, he knew every one of them, from a cromlech to a cairn, and could give as good an account of each as if he had lived in the time of the Danes or Druids. I was now in the mortifying predicament of one who suddenly finds himself a scholar where he came to teach, and nothing was left for me but to pick up as much of his conversation as I could, for the benefit of the next company. I told, indeed, Allan Ramsay’s story of the Monk and Miller’s Wife, in order to retreat with some honour under cover of a parting volley. Here, however, my flank was again turned by the eternal stranger. “You are pleased to be facetious, sir,” said he, “but you cannot be ignorant, that the ludicrous incident you have mentioned is the sub­ ject of a tale much older than that of Allan Ramsay.” I nodded, unwilling to acknowledge my ignorance, though, in fact, I knew no more what he meant than did one of my friend David’s posthorses. “I do not allude,” continued my omniscient companion, “to the curious poem published by the learned Pinkerton from the Maitland Manuscript, called the Fryars of Berwick, although it presents a very minute and curious picture of Scottish manners during the reign of James V.; but rather to the Italian novelist, by whom, so far as I know, the story was first printed, although unquestionably he first took his original from some ancientfabliau.” “It is not to be doubted,” answered I, not very well understanding, however, the proposition to which I gave such unqualified assent. “Yet,” continued my companion, “I question much, had you known my situation and profession, whether you would have pitched upon this precise anecdote for my amusement.” This observation he made in a tone of perfect good humour. I pricked up my ears at the hint, and answered as politely as I could, that my ignorance of his condition and rank could be the only cause of my having stumbled on any thing disagreeable; and that I was most will­ ing to apologize for my unintentional offence, so soon as I should know wherein it consisted. “Nay, no offence, sir,” he replied; “offence can only exist where it is taken. I have been too long accustomed to more severe and cruel misconstructions, to be offended at a popular jest, though directed at my profession.” “Am I to understand then,” I answered, “that I am speaking with a Catholic clergyman?”

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“An unworthy Monk of the order of Saint Benedict,” said the stranger, “belonging to a community of your own countrymen, long established in France, and scattered unhappily by the events of the Revolution.” “Then,” said I, “you are a native Scotsman, and from this neigh­ bourhood?” “Not so,” answered the Monk; “I am a Scotsman by extraction only, and never was in this neighbourhood during my whole life.” “Never in this neighbourhood, and yet so minutely acquainted with its history, its traditions, and even its external scenery! You surprise me, sir,” I replied. “It is not surprising,” said he, “that I should have that sort of local information, when it is considered, that my uncle, an excellent man, as well as a good Scotsman, the head also of our religious community, employed much of his leisure in making me acquainted with these particulars; and that I myself, disgusted with what has been passing around me, have for many years amused myself, by digesting and arranging the various scraps of information which I derived from my worthy relative, and other aged brethren of our order.” “I presume, sir,” said I, “though I would by no means intrude the question, that you are now returned to Scotland with a view to settle amongst your countrymen, since the grand political catastrophe of our time has reduced your corps?” “No, sir,” replied the Benedictine, “such is not my intention. A European potentate, who still cherishes the Catholic faith, has offered us a retreat within his dominions, where a few of my scattered breth­ ren are already assembled, to pray to God for blessings on their protector, and pardon to their enemies. No one, I believe, will be able to object to us under our new establishment, that the extent of our revenues will be inconsistent with our vows of poverty and abstinence: let us strive to be thankful to God, that the snare of temporal abund­ ance is removed from us.” “Many of your convents abroad, sir,” said I, “enjoyed very hand­ some incomes— and yet, allowing for times, I question if any were better provided for than the Monastery of this village. It is said to have enjoyed nearly two thousand pounds in yearly money-rent, fourteen chalders and nine bolls of wheat, fifty-six chalders five bolls barley, forty-four chalders and ten bolls oats, capons and poultry, butter, salt, carriage and arriage, peats and hams, wool and ale.” “Even too much of all these temporal goods, sir,” said my compan­ ion, “which, though well intended by the pious donors, served only to make the establishment the envy and the prey of those by whom it was finally devoured.”

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“In the meanwhile, however,” I observed, “the Monks had an easy life of it, and, as the old song goes, made gude kale On Fridays when they fasted.”

“I understand you, sir,” said the Benedictine; “it is difficult, saith the proverb, to carry a full cup without spilling. Unquestionably the wealth of the community, as it endangered the safety of the estab­ lishment by exciting the cupidity of others, was also in frequent instances a snare to the brethren themselves. And yet we have seen the revenues of convents expended, not only in acts of beneficence and hospitality to individuals, but in works of general and permanent advantage to the world at large. The noble folio collection of French historians commenced in 1737, under the inspection and at the expense of the community of Saint Maur, will long shew that the revenues of the Benedictines were not always spent in self-indul­ gence, and that the members of that order did not uniformly slum­ ber in sloth and indolence, when they had discharged the formal duties of their rule.” As I knew nothing earthly at the time about the community of Saint Maur and their learned labours, I could only return a mumbling assent to this proposition. I have since seen this noble work in the library of a distinguished family, and I must own I am ashamed to reflect, that in so wealthy a country as ours, a similar digest of our historians should not be undertaken, under the patronage of the noble and the learned, in rivalry of that which the Benedictines of Paris executed at the expence of their own conventual funds. “I perceive,” said the ex-Benedictine smiling, “that your heretical prejudices are too strong to allow us poor brethren any merit, whether literary or spiritual.” “Far from it, sir,” said I; “I assure you I have been much obliged to Monks in my time. When I was quartered in a Monastery in Flanders, in the campaign of 1793,1 never lived more comfortably in my life. They were jolly dogs the Flemish Canons, and right sorry was I to leave my good quarters, and to know that my honest hosts were to be at the mercy of the Sans-Culottes. Butfortune de la guerre J” The poor Benedictine looked down and was silent. I had unwit­ tingly awakened a train of bitter reflections, or rather I had touched somewhat rudely upon a chord which seldom ceased to vibrate of itself. But he was too much accustomed to this sorrowful train of ideas to suffer it to overcome him. On my part, I hastened to atone for my blunder. “If there were any object of his journey to this country in which I could, with propriety, assist him, I begged to offer him my best services.” I own I laid some little emphasis on the words “with propri­

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ety,” as I felt it would ill become me, a sound protestant, and a servant of government so far as my half-pay was concerned, to implicate myself in any recruiting which my companion might have undertaken in behalf of foreign seminaries, or in any similar design for the advancement of popery, which, whether the Pope be actually the Old Lady of Babylon or no, it did not become me in any manner to advance or countenance. My new friend hastened to relieve my indecision. “I was about to request your assistance, sir,” he said, “in a matter which cannot but interest you as an antiquary, and a person of research. But I assure you it relates entirely to events and persons removed to the distance of two centuries and a half. I have experienced too much evil from the violent unsettlement of the country in which I was born, to be a rash labourer in the work of innovation in that of my ancestors.” I again assured him of my willingness to assist him in any thing that was not contrary to my allegiance or religion. “My proposal,” he replied, “affects neither.— May God bless the reigning family of Britain! They are not, indeed, of that dynasty, to restore which my ancestors struggled and suffered in vain; but the Providence who has conducted his present Majesty to the throne, has given him the virtues necessary to his time— firmness and intrepidity — a true love of his country, and an enlightened view of the dangers by which she is surrounded.—For the religion of these realms, I am contented to hope that the Great Power, whose mysterious dispensa­ tion has rent them from the bosom of the church, will, in his own good time and manner restore them to its holy pale. The efforts of an individual obscure and humble as myself, might well retard, but could never advance a work so mighty.” “May I then enquire, sir,” said I, “with what purpose you seek this country?” Ere my companion replied, he took from his pocket a clasped paper book, about the size of a regimental orderly-book, full, as it seemed, of memoranda; and drawing one of the candles close to him, (for David, in strong proof of his respect for the stranger, had indulged us with two,) he seemed to peruse the contents very earnestly. “There is among the ruins of the western end of the Abbey church,” said he, looking up to me, yet keeping the memorandumbook half open, and occasionally glancing at it, as if to refresh his memory, “a sort of recess or chapel beneath a broken arch, and in the immediate vicinity of one of those shattered Gothic columns which once supported the magnificent roof, whose fall has now encumbered that part of the building with its ruins.” “I think,” said I, “that I know whereabouts you are. Is there not in

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the side wall of the chapel, or recess which you mention, a large carved stone, bearing a coat of arms, which no one hitherto has been able to decypher?” “You are right,” answered the Benedictine, and again consulting his memoranda, he added, “the arms on the dexter side are those of Glendinning, being a cross parted by a cross indented and counter­ charged of the same: and on the sinister three spurrowels for those of Avenel: they are two ancient families, now almost extinct in this country— the arms party perpale.” “I think,” said I, “there is no part of this ancient structure with which you are not as well acquainted as was the mason who built it. But if your information be correct, he who made out these bearings must have had better eyes than mine.” “His eyes,” said the Benedictine, “have been long closed in death; probably when he inspected the monument it was in a more perfect state, or he may have derived his information from the tradition of the place.” “I assure you,” said I, “that no such tradition now exists. I have made several reconnoissances among the old people, in hopes to learn something of the armorial bearings, but I never heard of such a cir­ cumstance. It seems odd that you should have acquired it in a foreign land.” “These trifling particulars,” he replied, “were formerly looked upon as more important, and they were sanctified to the exiles who retained recollection of them, because they related to a place dear indeed to memory, but which their eyes could never again behold. It is possible, in like manner, that on the Potowmack or Susquehana, you may find traditions current concerning places in England, which are utterly forgotten in the neighbourhood where they originated. But to my purpose. In this recess, marked by the armorial bearings, lies buried a treasure, and it is in order to remove it that I have undertaken my present journey.” “A treasure!” echoed I, in astonishment. “Yes,” replied the Monk, “an inestimable treasure, for those who know how to use it rightly.” I own my ears did tingle a little at the word treasure, and that a handsome tilbury, with a neat groom in blue and scarlet livery, having a smart cockade on his glazed hat, seemed as it were to glide across the room before my eyes, while a voice, as of a crier, pronounced in my ears, “Captain Clutterbuck’s tilbury— drive up.” But I resisted the devil, and he fled from me. “I believe,” said I, “all hidden treasure belongs either to the king or the lord of the soil; and as I have served his Majesty, I cannot concern

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*7 myself in any adventure which may have an end in the Court of Exchequer.” “The treasure I seek,” said the stranger smiling, “will not be envied by princes or nobles,— it is simply the heart of an upright man.” “Ah! I understand you,” I answered, “some relique, forgotten in the confusion of the Reformation. I know the value men of your persuasion put upon the bodies and limbs of saints. I have seen the three Kings of Cologne.” “T he reliques which I seek, however,” said the Benedictine, “are not precisely of that nature. The excellent relative whom I have already mentioned, amused his leisure hours with putting into form the traditions of his family, particularly some remarkable occurrences which took place about the first breaking out of the schism of the Church in Scotland. He became so much interested in his own labours, that at length he resolved that the heart of one individual, the hero of his tale, should rest no longer in a land of heresy, now deserted by all his kindred. As he knew where it was deposited, he formed the resolution to revisit his native country for the purpose of recovering this valued relique. But age, and at length disease, interfered with his resolution, and it was on his death-bed that he charged me to under­ take the task in his stead. The various important events which have crowded upon each other, our ruin and our exile, have for many years obliged me to postpone this delegated duty. Why, indeed, transfer the reliques of a holy and worthy man to a country, where religion and virtue are become the mockery of the scomer! I have now a home, which I trust may be permanent, if any thing in this earth can be termed so. Thither will I transport the heart of the good father, and beside the shrine which it shall occupy, I will construct my own grave.” “He must have been indeed an excellent man,” replied I, “whose memory, at so distant a period, calls forth such strong marks of regard.” “He was, as you justly term him,” said the ecclesiastic, “indeed excellent— excellent in his life and doctrine— excellent, above all, in his self-denied and disinterested sacrifice of all that life holds dear, to principle and to friendship. But you shall read his history. I will be happy at once to gratify your curiosity, and to shew my sense of your kindness, if you will have the goodness to procure me the means of accomplishing my object.” I replied to the Benedictine, that, as the rubbish amongst which he proposed to search was no part of the ordinary burial-ground, and as I was on the best terms with the sexton, I had little doubt that I could procure him the means of executing his pious purpose. With this promise, we parted for the night; and on the ensuing

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morning I made it my business to see the sexton, who, for a small gratuity, readily granted permission of search, on condition, however, that he should be present himself, to see that the stranger removed nothing of intrinsic value. “T o banes, and sculls, and hearts, if he can find ony, he shall be welcome,” said this guardian of the ruined Monastery, “there’s plenty o’ them a’ about, an’ he’s curious that way; but if there be ony picts (meaning perhaps pyx) or chalishes, or the like of such Popish veshells of gold and silver, de’il hae me an I conneeve at their being removed.” The sexton also stipulated, that our researches should take place at night, being unwilling to excite observation, or give rise to scandal. My new acquaintance and I spent the day as became lovers of hoar antiquity. We visited every corner of these magnificent ruins again and again during the forenoon; and, having made a comfortable din­ ner at David’s, we walked in the afternoon to such places in the neighbourhood as ancient tradition or modern conjecture had ren­ dered mark-worthy. Night found us in the interior of the ruins, attended by the sexton, who carried a dark lantern, and stumbling alternately over the graves of the dead, and the fragments of that architecture, which they doubtless trusted would have “canopied their bones till doomsday.” I am by no means particularly superstitious, and yet there was something in the present service which I did not very much like. There was something awful in the resolution of disturbing, at such an hour and in such a place, the still, mute sanctity of the grave. My companions were free from this impression— the stranger from his energetic desire to execute the purpose for which he came— and the sexton, from habitual indifference. They soon stood in the aisle, which, by the account of the stranger, contained the bones of the family of Glendinning, and were busily employed in removing the rubbish from a corner which the stranger pointed out. If a half-pay Captain could have represented an ancient Border-knight, or an exBenedictine of the nineteenth century a wizard monk of the sixteenth, we might have aptly enough personified the search after Michael Scott’s lamp and book of magic power. But the sexton would have been de trop in the groupe. Ere the stranger, assisted by the sexton in his task, had been long at work, they came to some hewn stones, which seemed to have made part of a small shrine, though now displaced and destroyed. “Let us remove these with caution, my friend,” said the stranger, “lest we injure that which I come to seek.” “They are prime stanes,” said the sexton, “picked free every ane of

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them;— warse than the best wad never serve the Monks, I ’se war­ rant.” A minute after he had made this observation, he exclaimed, “I hae fund something now that stands again the spade, as if it were neither earth nor stane.” The stranger stooped eagerly to assist him. “Na, na, hail o’ my ain,” said the sexton; “nae halves or quarters;” — and he lifted from amongst the ruins a small leaden box. “You will be disappointed, my friend,” said the Benedictine, “if you expect any thing there but the mouldering dust of a human heart, closed in an inner case of porphyry.” I interposed as a neutral party, and taking the box from the sexton, reminded him that if there were treasure concealed in it, still it could not become the property of the finder. I then proposed, that as the place was too dark to examine the contents of the leaden casket, we should adjourn to David’s, where we might have the advantage of light and fire while carrying on our investigation. The stranger requested us to go before, assuring us that he would follow in a few minutes. I fancy that old Mattocks suspected these few minutes might be employed in effecting further discoveries amongst the tombs, for he glided back through a side-aisle to watch the Benedictine’s motions, but presently returned, and told me in a whisper, that “the gentleman was on his knees amang the cauld stanes, praying like ony saunt.” I stole back, and beheld the old man actually employed as Mattocks had informed me. The language seemed to be Latin; and as the whispered yet solemn accents glided away through the ruined aisles, I could not help reflecting how long it was since they had heard the forms of that religion, for the exercise of which they had been reared at such cost of time, taste, labour, and expence. “Come away— Come away,” said I; “let us leave him to himself, Mattocks, this is no busi­ ness of ours.” “My certes, no, Captain,” said Mattocks; “ne’ertheless, it winna be amiss to keep e’e on him. My father, rest his saul, was a horse-couper, and used to say he never was cheated in a naig in his life, saving by a west-country whig frae Kilmarnock, that said a grace ower a dram o’ whisky. But this gentleman will be a Roman, I’se warrant.” “You are perfectly right in that, Saunders,” said I. “Ay, I hae seen twa or three of their priests that were chaced ower here some score o’ years syne— they just danced like mad when they looked on the friars’ heads, and the nuns’ heads, in the cloister yon­ der; they took to them like auld acquaintance like. Od, he is not stirring yet, mair than he were a through-stane!* I never kenn’d a * A tombstone.

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Roman, to say kenn’d him, but ane— mair by token, he was the only ane in the town to ken— and that was auld Jock of the Pend. It wad hae been lang or ye fand Jock praying in the Abbey in a thick night, wi’ his knees on a cauld stane. Jock liket a kirk wi’ a chimley in it. Mony a merry ploy I hae had wi’ him down at the inn yonder; and when he died, decent I wad hae earded him; but, or I gat his grave weel howkit, some of the quality, that were o’ his ain unhappy persuasion, had the corpse whirried away up the water, and buried him after their ain pleasure doubtless— they kenn’d best. I wad hae made nae great charge. I wadna hae excised Johnie, dead or alive.— Stay, see the strange gentleman is coming.” “Hold the lantern, to assist him, Mattocks,” said I.— “This is rough walking, sir.” “Yes,” replied the Benedictine; “I may say with a poet, who is doubtless familiar to you”-----“I should be surprised if he were,” thought I internally. The stranger continued: “Saint Francis be my speed!how oft to-night Have my old feet stumbled at graves.” “We are now clear of the churchyard,” said I, “and have but a short walk to mine honest friend David’s, where I hope we shall find a cheerful fire to enliven us after our night’s work.” We entered, accordingly, the little parlour, into which Mattocks was also about to push himself with sufficient effrontery, when David, with a most astounding oath, expelled him by head and shoulders, d ning his curiosity, that would not let gentlemen be private in their own inn. Apparently mine host considered his own presence as no intrusion, for he crowded up to the table on which I had laid down the leaden box. It was frail and wasted, as might be guessed, from having lain so many years in the ground. On opening it, we found deposited within, a case made of porphyry, as the stranger had announced to us. “I fancy,” he said, “gentlemen, your curiosity will not be satisfied, perhaps I should say that your suspicions will not be removed, unless I undo this casket; yet it only contains the mouldering remains of a heart once the seat of the noblest thoughts.” He undid the box with great caution; but the shrivelled substance which it contained bore now no resemblance to what it might once have been, the means used to preserve it having been apparently unequal to preserve its shape and colour, although they were adequate to prevent its total decay. We were quite satisfied, notwithstanding, that it was, what the stranger asserted, the remains of a human heart; and David readily promised his influence in the village, which was almost co-ordinate with that of the Baillie himself, to silence all idle

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rumours. He was, moreover, pleased to favour us with his company to supper; and having taken the lion’s share of two bottles of sherry, he not only sanctioned with his plenary authority the stranger’s removal of the heart, but, I believe, would have authorized the removal of the Abbey itself, but that it happens considerably to advantage the worthy publican’s own custom. The object of the Benedictine’s visit to the land of his forefathers being now accomplished, he announced his intention of departing early in the ensuing day, but requested my company to breakfast with him before his departure. I came accordingly, and when we had fin­ ished our morning’s meal, the priest took me apart, and, pulling from his pocket a large bundle of papers, he put them into my hands. “These,” said he, “Captain Clutterbuck, are genuine Memoirs of the sixteenth century, and exhibit in a singular, and, as I think, an interest­ ing point of view, the manners of that period. I am induced to believe that their publication will not be an unacceptable present to the British public; and I willingly make over to you any profit that may accrue from such a transaction.” I stared a little at this annunciation, and observed, that the hand seemed too modern for the date he assigned to the manuscript. “Do not mistake me, sir,” said the Benedictine; “I did not mean to say the Memoirs were written in the sixteenth century, but only, that they were compiled from authentic materials of that period, but writ­ ten in the taste and language of the present day. My uncle commenced this task; and I, partly to improve my habit of English composition, partly to divert melancholy thoughts, amused my leisure hours with continuing and concluding it. You will see the period of the story where my uncle leaves off his narrative, and I commence mine. In fact, they relate in a great measure to different persons, as well as to a different period.” Retaining the papers in my hand, I proceeded to state to him my doubts, whether, as a good Protestant, I could undertake to superin­ tend a publication written probably in the spirit of Popery. “You will find,” he said, “no matter of controversy, sir, in these sheets, nor any sentiments stated, with which, I trust, the good in all persuasions will not be willing to join. I remembered I was writing for a land unhappily divided from the Catholic faith; and I have taken care to say nothing which, justly interpreted, could give ground for accusing me of partiality. But if, upon collating my narrative with the proofs to which I refer you— for you will find copies of many of the original papers in that parcel— you are of opinion that I have been partial to my own faith, I freely give you leave to correct my errors in that respect. I own, however, I am not conscious of this defect, and

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have rather to fear that the Catholics may be of opinion, that I have mentioned circumstances respecting the decay of discipline which preceded, and partly occasioned, the great schism, called by you the Reformation, over which I ought to have drawn a veil. And indeed, this is one reason why I chuse the papers should appear in a foreign land, and pass to the press through the hands of a stranger.” To this I had nothing to reply, unless to object my own incompet­ ence to the task the good father was desirous to impose on me. On this subject he was pleased to say more, I fear, than his knowledge of me fully warranted— more, at any rate, than my modesty will permit me to record. At length he ended with advising me, if I continued to feel the diffidence which I stated, to apply to some veteran of literature, whose experience might supply my deficiencies. Upon these terms we parted, with mutual expressions of regard, and I have never since heard of him. After several attempts to peruse the quires of paper thus singularly conferred on me, in which I was interrupted by the most inexplicable fits of yawning, I at length, in a sort of despair, communicated them to our village club, from whom they found a more favourable reception than the unlucky conformation of my nerves had been able to afford them. They unanimously pronounced the work to be exceedingly good, and assured me that I would be guilty of the greatest possible injury to our flourishing village, if I should suppress what threw such an interesting and radiant light upon the history of the ancient Monas­ tery of Saint Mary. At length, by dint of listening to their opinion, I became dubious of my own; and indeed, when I heard passages read forth by the sonor­ ous voice of our worthy pastor, I was scarce more tired than I have felt myself at some of his own sermons. Such, and so great is the differ­ ence betwixt reading a thing one’s self, making toilsome way through all the difficulties of manuscript, and, as the man says in the play, “having the same read to you,”— it is positively like being wafted over a creek in a boat, or wading through it on your feet, with the mud up to your knees. Still, however, there remained the great difficulty of find­ ing some one who could act as editor, corrector at once of the press and of the language, which, according to the schoolmaster, was abso­ lutely necessary. Since the trees walked forth to chuse themselves a king, never was an honour so bandied about. The parson would not leave the quiet of his chimney-corner— the baillie pleaded the dignity of his situation, and the approach of the great annual fair, as reasons against going to Edinburgh to make arrangements for printing the Benedictine’s Manuscript. The schoolmaster alone seemed of malleable stuff; and,

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desirous perhaps of emulating the fame of Jedidiah Cleishbotham, evinced a wish to undertake this momentous commission. But a remonstrance from three opulent farmers, whose sons he had at bed, board, and schooling, for twenty pounds per annum a-head, came like a frost over the blossoms of his literary ambition, and he was com­ pelled to decline the service. In these circumstances, sir, I apply to you, by the advice of our little council of war, nothing doubting you will not be disinclined to take the duty upon you, as it is much connected with that in which you have distinguished yourself. What I request is, that you will review, or rather revise and correct the enclosed packet, and prepare it for the press, by such alterations, additions, and curtailments, as you think necessary. Forgive my hinting to you, that the deepest well may be exhausted,— the best corps of grenadiers, as our old general of bri­ gade expressed himself, may be used up. A few hints can do you no harm; and, for the prize-money, let the battle be first won, and it shall be parted at the drum head. I hope you will take nothing amiss that I have said. I am a plain soldier, and little accustomed to compliments. I may add, that I should be well contented to march in the front with you — that is, to put my name with your’s on the title-page. I have the honourtobe, Sir ,

Your unknown humble Servt, Cu V

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,

On the 1st day o f A pril 18-— For the Author o f "Waverley, ” £?c. care o f M r John Ballantyne, Hanover Street, Edinburgh.

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ANSWER BY

“T H E A U T H O R OF W AVERLEY,” TO TH E

FOREGOING LET TER FRO M

CA PTA IN C L U T T E R B U C K . D

ear

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D o n o t a d m i r e , that, notwithstanding the distance and ceremony of your address, I return an answer in the terms of familiarity. The truth is, your origin and native country is better known to me than even to yourself. You derive your respectable parentage, if I am not greatly mistaken, from a land which has afforded much pleasure, as well as profit, to those who have traded to it successfully. I mean that part of the terra incognita which is called the province of Utopia. Its produc­ tions, though censured by many (and some who use tea and tobacco without scruple) as idle and unsubstantial luxuries, have nevertheless, like many other luxuries, a general acceptation, and are curiously and secretly enjoyed even by those who express the greatest scorn and dislike of them in public. The dram-drinker is often the first to be shocked at the smell of spirits— it is usual to hear old maidenladies declaim against scandal— the private book-cases of some grave-seeming men would not brook decent eyes— and many, I say not of the wise and learned, but of those most anxious to seem such, when the spring-lock of their library is drawn, their velvet cap pulled over their ears, their steps insinuated into their turkey slippers, are to be found, were their retreats suddenly intruded upon, busily engaged with the last new novel. I have said, the truly wise and learned disdain these shifts, and will open the said novel as openly as they would the lid of their snuff-box. I will quote only one instance, though I know a hundred. Did you know the celebrated Watt of Birmingham, Captain Clutterbuck? I believe not, though, from what I am about to state, he would not have failed to 24

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have sought an acquaintance with you. It was only once my fortune to meet him, whether in body or in spirit it matters not. There were assembled about half a score of our Northern Lights, who had got amongst them, Heaven knows how, a well-known character of your country, Jedidiah Cleishbotham. This worthy person, having come to Edinburgh during the Christmas vacation, had become a sort of lion in the place, and was led in leash from house to house along with the guissards, the stone-eater, and other amusements of the season, which “exhibit their unparalleled feats to private family-parties, if required.” Amidst this company stood M r Watt, the man whose genius discovered the means of multiplying our national resources to a degree beyond perhaps even his own stupendous powers of calculation and combination; bringing the treasures of the abyss to the summit of the earth—-giving the feeble arm of man the momentum of an Afrite— commanding manufactures to arise where he listed, as the rod of the prophet produced water in the desert, affording the means of dispensing with that time and tide which wait for no man, and of sailing without that wind which defied the com­ mands and threats of Xerxes himself.* This potent commander of the elements—this abridger of time and space—this magician, whose cloudy machinery has produced a change on the world, the effects of which, extraordinary as they are, are perhaps only now beginning to be felt— was not only the most profound man of science, the most successful combiner of powers and calculator of numbers, as adapted to practical purposes,— was not only one of the most generally wellinformed, but one of the best and kindest of human beings. There he stood, surrounded by the little band I have mentioned of Northern literati, men not less tenacious, generally speaking, of their own fame and their own opinions, than the national regiments are supposed to be jealous of the high character which they have won upon service. Methinks I yet see and hear what I shall never see or hear again. In his eighty-fifth year, the alert, kind, benevolent old man, had his attention ready at every one’s question, his information at every one’s command. His talent and fancy overflowed on every subject. One gentleman was a deep philologist,—he talked with him on the origin of the alphabet as if he had been coeval with Cadmus; another a celebrated critic,— you would have said the old man had studied political economy and belles-lettres all his life,— of science it * Note by Captain Clutterbuck. Probably the ingenious author alludes to the national adage: T h e king said sail, B ut the wind said no.

Our schoolmaster (who is also a land-surveyor) thinks this whole passage refers to M r W att’s improvements on the steam-engine.

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is unnecessary to speak, it was his own distinguished walk. And yet, Captain Clutterbuck, when he spoke with your countryman Jedidiah Cleishbotham, you would have sworn he had been coeval with Claverse and Burley, with the persecutors and the persecuted, and could number every shot the dragoons had fired at the fugitive covenanters. In fact, we discovered that no novel of the least celebrity escaped his perusal, and that the gifted man of science was as much addicted to the productions of your native country, (the land of Utopia afore­ said;) in other words, as shameless and obstinate a peruser of novels as if he had been a very milliner’s apprentice of eighteen. I know little apology for troubling you with these things, excepting the desire to commemorate a delightful evening, and the wish to encourage you to shake off that modest diffidence which makes you afraid of being supposed connected with the fairy-land of delusive fiction. I will requite your tag of verse, from Horace himself, with a paraphrase for your own use, my dear Captain, and for that of your country club, excepting in reverence the clergyman and schoolmaster:— N e sit ancillce tibi amorfiudori, & c. Take thou no scorn, O f fiction born, Fair fiction’s muse to woo; Old Homer’s theme Was but a dream, Him self a fiction too.

Having told you your country, I must next, my dear Captain Clutterbuck, make free to mention to you your own immediate des­ cent. You are not to suppose your land of prodigies so little known to us as your careful concealment of your origin would seem to imply. But you have it in common with many of your country, studiously and anxiously to hide your connection with it. There is this difference, indeed, betwixt your countrymen and those of our more material world, that many of the most estimable of yours, such as an old Highland gentleman called Ossian, a monk of Bristol named Rowley, and others, are inclined to pass themselves as denizens of the land of reality, whereas most of our fellow-citizens who deny their country are such as that country would be very willing to disclaim. The special circumstances you mention relating to your life and services, impose not upon us. We know the versatility of the unsubstantial species to which you belong permits them to assume all manner of disguises; we have seen them apparelled in the caftan of a Persian, and the silken robe of a Chinese,* and are prepared to suspect their real character under every disguise. But how can we be ignorant of your country and manners, or deceived by the evasions of its inhabitants, when the * See “The Persian Letters,” and “T he Citizen of the W orld.”

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voyages of discovery which have been made to it rival in number those recorded by Purchas or by Hackluyt?* And to shew the skill and perseverance of your navigators and travellers, we have only to name Sindbad, Aboulfouaris, and Robinson Crusoe. These were the men for discoveries. Could we have sent Captain Greenland to look out for the north-west passage, or Peter Wilkins to examine Baffin’s Bay, what discoveries might we not have expected! But there are feats, and these both numerous and extraordinary, performed by the inhabitants of your country, which we read without once attempting to emulate. I wander from my purpose, which was to assure you, that I know you as well as the mother who did not bear you, for M acD uff s peculiarity sticks to your whole race. You are not bom of woman, unless, indeed, in that figurative sense, in which the celebrated Maria Edgeworth may be termed mother of the finest family in England. You belong, sir, to the Editors of the land of Utopia, a sort of persons for whom I have the highest esteem. How is it possible it should be otherwise, when you reckon among your corporation the sage Cid Hamet Benengeli, the short-faced president of the Spectator’s club, poor Ben Silton, and many others, who have acted as gentlemen ushers to works which have chased our heaviest, and added wings to our lightest hours. What I have remarked as peculiar to Editors of the class in which I venture to enrol you, is the happy combination of fortuitous circum­ stances which usually put you in possession of the works which you have the goodness to bring into public notice. One walks on the sea­ shore, and a wave casts on land a small cylindrical trunk or casket, containing a manuscript much damaged with sea-water, which is with difficulty decyphered, and so forth, f Another steps into a chandler’s shop to purchase a pound of butter, and behold! the waste-paper on which it is laid is the manuscript of a cabalist. J A third is so fortunate as to obtain from a woman who lets lodgings, the curious contents of an antique bureau, the property of a deceased lodger.§ All these are certainly possible occurrences; but I know not how it is, they seldom occur to any Editors save those of your country. At least I can answer for myself, that in my solitary walks by the sea, I never saw it cast ashore any thing but dulse and tangle, and now and then a deceased star-fish; my landlady never presented me with any manuscript save her cursed bill; and the most interesting of my discoveries in the way of waste-paper, was finding a favourite passage of one of my own novels wrapt round an ounce of snuff. No, Captain, the funds from which I have drawn any power of amusing the public, have been bought otherwise than by fortuitous adventure. I have buried myselfin * See “Les Voyages Imaginaires.” J Adventures of a Guinea.

f See the History of Automathes. § Adventures of an Atom.

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libraries, to extract from the nonsense of ancient days new nonsense of mine own. I have turned over volumes, which, from the pot-hooks I was obliged to decypher, might have been the cabalistic manuscripts of Cornelius Agrippa, although I never saw “the door open and the devil come in.”* But all the domestic inhabitants of the recesses of the libraries were disturbed by the vehemence of my studies;— From my research the boldest spiders fled, And moths, retreating, trembled as I read.

From this learned sepulchre I emerged like the Magician in the Persian Tales from his twelvemonth’s residence in the mountain, not like him to soar over the heads of the multitude, but to mingle in their crowd, and to elbow amongst the throng, making my way from the highest society to the lowest, undergoing the scorn, or, what is harder to brook, the patronizing condescension of the one, and enduring the vulgar familiarity of the other,—and all, you will say, for what?— why, to collect materials for one of those manuscripts with which mere chance so often accommodates your countrymen; in other words, to write a successful novel.— “O, Athenians, how hard we labour to deserve your praise!” I might stop here, my dear Clutterbuck; it would have a touching effect, and the air of proper deference to our dear Public. But I will not be false with you,— (though falsehood is— excuse the observation— the current coin of your country)— the truth is, that I have studied and lived for the purpose of gratifying my own curiosity, and passing away my own time; and although the result has been, that, in one shape or other, I have been frequently before the Public, perhaps more fre­ quently than prudence warranted, yet I cannot claim from them the favour due to those who have dedicated their ease or leisure to the improvement and entertainment of others. Having communicated thus freely with you, my dear Captain, it follows, of course, that I will gratefully accept of your communication, which, as your Benedictine observed, divides itself both by subject, manner, and age, into two parts. But I am sorry I cannot gratify your literary ambition, by suffering your name to appear upon the titlepage; and I will candidly tell you the reason. The Editors of your country are of such a soft and passive disposi­ tion, that they have frequently done themselves great disgrace by giving up the coadjutors who first brought them into public notice and public favour, and suffering their names to be used by those quacks and impostors who live upon the ideas of others. Thus I shame to tell how the sage Cid Hamet Benengeli was induced by one Juan Avellaneda to play the Turk with the ingenious Miguel Cervantes, and to * See Southey’s Ballad on the young Man that read in a Conjuror’s Books.

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publish a second part of the adventures of his hero the renowned Don Quixote, without the knowledge or co-operation of his principal aforesaid. It is true, the Arabian sage returned to his allegiance, and thereafter composed a genuine continuation of the Knight of La Mancha, in which the said Avellaneda ofTordesillas is severely chas­ tised. For in this you gentlemen, who may be termed Knights of the Straw, resemble the juggler’s disciplined ape, to which a sly old Scots­ man likened James I., “if you have Jackoo in your hand, you can make him bite me; if I have Jackoo in my hand, I can make him bite you.” Yet, notwithstanding the amende honorable thus made by Cid Hamet Benengeli, his temporary defection did not the less occasion the decease of the ingenious Hidalgo Don Quixote, if he can be said to die, whose memory is immortal. Cervantes put him to death, lest he should again fall into bad hands. Awful, yet just consequence of Cid Hamet’s defection! To quote a more modern and much less important instance. I am sorry to observe my old acquaintance Jedidiah Cleishbotham has misbehaved himself so far as to desert his original patron, and set up for himself. I am afraid the poor pedagogue will take little by his new allies, unless the pleasure of entertaining the public, and, for ought I know, the gentlemen of the long robe, with disputes about his iden­ tity.* Observe, therefore, Captain Clutterbuck, that, wise by these great examples, I receive you as a partner, but a sleeping partner only. As I give you no title to employ or use the firm of the copartnery we are about to form, I will announce my property in my title-page, and put my own buistf on my own cattle, which the attorney tells me will be a crime to counterfeit, as much as it would to imitate the autograph of any other empiric— amounting, as advertisements upon little vials assure us, to nothing short of felony. If, therefore, my dear friend, your name should hereafter appear on any title page without mine, readers will know what to think of you. I scorn to use either arguments or threats; but you cannot but be sensible, that, as you owe your literary existence to me on the one hand, so, on the other, your very all is at my disposal. I can at pleasure cut off your annuity, strike your name from the half-pay establishment, nay actually put you to death, without being answerable to any one. These are plain words to a * I am since more correctly informed, that M r Cleishbotham died some months since at Gandercleugh, and that the person assuming his name is an impostor. The real Jedidiah made a most Christian and edifying end; and, as I am credibly informed, having sent for a Cameronian clergyman when he was in extremis, was so fortunate as to convince the good man, that, after all, he had no wish to bring down on the scattered remnants of Mountainfolks, “the bonnets of Bonny Dundee.” Hard! that the speculators in print and paper will not allow a good man to rest quiet in his grave!!! f Buist—The brand or mark set upon sheep or cattle by their owners.

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gentleman who has served through the whole war; but, I am aware, you will take nothing amiss at my hand. And now, my good sir, let us address ourselves to our task, and arrange as we best can the manuscript of your Benedictine, so as to suit the taste of this critical age. You will find I have made very liberal use of his permission, to alter whatever seemed too favourable to the Church of Rome, which, I abominate, were it but for her fasts and penance. Our reader is doubtless impatient, and we must own, with John Bunyan, We have too long detained him in the porch, And kept him from the sunshine with a torch.

Adieu, therefore, my dear Captain— Remember me respectfully to the parson, the schoolmaster, and the baillie, and all friends of the happy club in the village of Kennaquhair. I have never seen, and never will see, one of their faces; and notwithstanding, I believe that as yet I am better acquainted with them than any man who lives.— I will soon introduce you to my jocund friend M r John Ballantyne of TrinityGrove, whom you will find warm from his match at single-stick with a brother publisher. Peace to their differences! it is a wrathful trade, and the irritable genus comprehends the bookselling as well as the book-writing species.— Once more adieu! T

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THE MONASTERY VOLUME I

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Chapter #ne 0 aye! the Monks, the Monks! they did the mischief, Theirs all the grossness, all the superstition O f a most gross and superstitious age— May he be praised that sent the healthful tempest, And scattered all these pestilential vapours! But that we owed them all to yonder Harlot Throned on the seven hills with her cup o f gold, 1 will as soon believe, with kind Sir Roger, That old M oll White took wing with cat and broomstick, And raised the last night’s thunder. Old Play h e v i l l a g e described in the Benedictine’s manuscript by the name of Kennaquhair, bears the same Celtic termination which occurs in Traquhair, Caquhair, and other compounds. The learned Chalmers derives this word Quhair, from the winding course of the stream; a definition which coincides in a remarkable degree with the serpentine turns of the river Tweed near the village of which we speak. It has been long famous for the splendid Monastery of Saint Mary, founded by the first David of Scotland, in whose reign and in the same country were formed the no less splendid establishments of Melrose, Jedburgh, and Kelso. The donations of land with which the King endowed these wealthy fraternities procured him from the Monkish historians the epithet of Saint, and from one of his impover­ ished descendants the splenetic censure, “that he had been a sore saint for the Crown.” It seems probable notwithstanding, that David, who was a wise as well as a pious monarch, was not moved solely by religious motives to those great acts of munificence to the church, but annexed political views to his pious generosity. His possessions in Northumberland and

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Cumberland became precarious after the loss of the Battle of the Standard; and since the comparatively fertile valley of Teviotdale was likely to become the frontier of his kingdom, it is probable he wished to secure at least a part of these valuable possessions by placing them in the hands of the Monks, whose property was for a long time respected, even amidst the rage of a frontier war. In this manner alone had the King some chance of insuring protection and security to the cultivators of the soil; and, in fact, for several ages the possessions of these Abbies were each a sort of Goshen, enjoying the calm light of peace and immunity, while the rest of the country, occupied by wild clans and marauding barons, was one dark scene of confusion, blood, and unremitted outrage. But these immunities did not continue down to the union of the crowns. Long before that period the wars betwixt England and Scot­ land had lost their original character of international hostilities, and had become on the part of the English a war of subjugation, on that of the Scots a desperate and infuriated defence of their liberties. This introduced on both sides a degree of fury and animosity unknown to the earlier period of their history; and as religious scruples soon gave way to national hatred spurred by the love of plunder, the patrimony of the Church was no longer sacred from incursions on either side. Still, however, the tenants and vassals of the great Abbies had many advant­ ages over those of the lay barons, who were harassed by constant military duty, until they became desperate, and lost all relish for the arts of peace. The vassals of the church, on the other hand, were only liable to be called to arms on general occasions, and at other times were permitted in comparative quiet to possess their farms and fe u s* They of course exhibited superior skill in every thing that related to the cultivation of the soil, and were therefore both wealthier and better informed than the military retainers of the restless chiefs and nobles in their neighbourhood. The residence of these church vassals was usually in a small village or hamlet, where, for the sake of mutual aid and protection, some thirty or forty families dwelt together. This was called the Town, and the land belonging to the various families by whom the Town was inhabited, was called the Township. They usually possessed the land in common, though in various proportions, according to their several grants. The part of the Township properly arable, and kept as such * Small possessions conferred upon vassals and their heirs, held for a small quit-rent, or a moderate proportion of the produce. This was a favourite manner, by which the church­ men peopled the patrimony of their convents; and many descendants of such feuars, as they are called, are still to be found in possession of their family inheritances in the neighbourhood of the great Monasteries of Scotland.

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continually under the plough, was called in-field. Here the use of quantities of manure supplied in some degree the exhaustion of the soil, and the feuars raised tolerable oats and bear,* usually sowed on alternate ridges, on which the labour of the whole community was bestowed without distinction, the produce being divided after harvest, agreeable to their respective interests. There was, besides, out-field land, from which it was thought poss­ ible to extract a crop now and then, after which it was abandoned to the “skiey influences,” until the exhausted powers of vegetation were restored. These out-field spots were selected by any feuar at his own choice, amongst the heaths and hills which were always annexed to the Township, to serve as pasturage to the community. The trouble of cultivating these patches of out-field, and the precarious chance that the crop would pay the labour, were considered as giving a right to any feuar, who chose to undertake the adventure, to the produce which might result from it. There remained the pasturage of extensive moors, where the vallies often afforded good grass, and upOn which the whole cattle belonging to the community fed indiscriminately during the summer, under the charge of the Town-herd, who regularly drove them out to pasture in the morning, and brought them back at night, without which precau­ tion they would have fallen a speedy prey to some of the Snatchers in the neighbourhood. These are things to make modem agriculturists hold up their hands and stare; but the same mode of cultivation is not yet entirely in desuetude in some distant parts of North Britain, and may be witnessed in full force and exercise in the Zetland Archipe­ lago. T he habitations of the church-feuars were not less primitive than their agriculture. In each small village or Town were several small towers, having battlements projecting over the side-walls, and usually an advanced angle or two with shot-holes for flanking the door-way, which was always defended by a strong door of oak, studded with nails, and often by an exterior grated door of iron. These small peelhouses were ordinarily inhabited by the principal feuars and their families; but, upon the alarm of approaching danger, the whole inhabitants thronged from their own miserable cottages, which were situated around, to garrison these points of defence. It was then no easy matter for a hostile party to penetrate into the village, for the men were habituated to the use of bows and fire-arms, and the towers being generally so placed, that the discharge from one crossed that of another, it was impossible to assail any of them individually. The interior of these houses were usually sufficiently wretched, for * Or bigg, a coarse kind of barley.

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it would have been folly to have furnished them in a manner which could excite the avarice of their loose neighbours. Yet the families themselves exhibited in their appearance a degree of comfort, information, and independence, which could hardly have been expected. Their in-field supplied them with bread and home-brewed ale, their herds and flocks with beef and mutton, (the extravagance of killing lambs or calves was never thought of.) Each family killed a mart, or fat bullock, in November, which was salted up for winter use, to which the good-wife could, upon great occasions, add a dish of pigeons or a fat capon— the ill-cultivated garden gave “lang-cale,”— and the river gave salmon to relish them during the season of Lent. O f fuel they had plenty, for the bogs afforded turf, and the remains of the abused woods continued to give them logs for burning, as well as timber for the usual domestic purposes. In addition to these com­ forts, the good-man would now and then sally forth to the greenwood, and mark down a buck of season with his gun or his cross-bow; and the Father Confessor seldom refused him absolution for the trespass, if duly invited to take his share of the smoking haunch. Some, yet bolder, made, either with their own domestics, or by associating themselves with the moss-troopers, in the language of shepherds, “a start and owerloup” into England; and the golden ornaments and silken head-gear worn by the females of one or two families of note, were invidiously traced by their neighbours to such successful excur­ sions. This, however, was a more inexpiable crime in the eyes of the Abbot and Community of Saint Mary’s, than the borrowing one of the “gude king’s deer;” and they failed not to discountenance and punish, by every means in their power, offences which were sure to lead to severe retaliation on the property of the church, and which tended to alter the character of their peaceful vassalage. As to the information possessed by those dependants of the Abba­ cies, they might have been truly said to be better fed than taught, even though their feeding had been worse than it was. Still, however, they enjoyed opportunities of knowledge from which others were sec­ luded. T he Monks were in general well acquainted with their vassals and tenants, and familiar in the families of the better class among them, where they were sure to be received with the respect due to their double character of spiritual father and secular landlord. Thus it often happened, when a boy displayed talents and inclination for study, one of the brethren, with a view to his being bred to the church, or out of good nature, or in order to pass away his own idle time if he had no better motive, initiated him into the mysteries of reading and writing, and imparted to him such other knowledge as he himself possessed. And the heads of these allied families, having more time for reflection,

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and more skill, as well as stronger motives for improving their small properties, bore amongst their neighbours the character of shrewd, intelligent men, who claimed respect on account of their comparative wealth, even while they were despised for a less warlike and enterprizing turn than the other Borderers. They lived as much as they well could amongst themselves, avoiding the company of others, and dreading nothing more than to be involved in the deadly feuds and ceaseless contentions of the secular landholders. Such was the general picture of these communities. During the fatal wars in the commencement of Queen Mary’s reign, they had suffered dreadfully by the hostile incursions; for the English, now a Protestant people, were so far from sparing the church-lands, that they forayed them with more unrelenting severity than even the pos­ sessions of the laity. But the peace of 1550 had restored some degree of tranquillity to those distracted and harassed regions, and matters began again gradually to settle upon the former footing. The Monks repaired their ravaged shrines— the feuar again roofed his small fortalice which the enemy had ruined— the poor labourer rebuilt his cottage,—-an easy task, where a few sods, stones, and some pieces of wood from the next copse, furnished all the materials necessary. The cattle, lastly, were driven out of the wastes and thickets in which the remnant of them had been secreted; and the mighty bull moved at the head of his seraglio and their followers, to take possession of their wonted pastures. There ensued peace and quiet, the state of the age and nation considered, to the Monastery of Saint Mary, and its dependencies, for several tranquil years.

CfjapterGTtoo In yon lone vale his early youth was bred, Not solitary then—the bugle-horn Of fell Alecto often waked its windings, From where the brook joins the majestic river, T0 the wild northern bog, the curlieu’s haunt, Where oozes forth its first and feeble streamlet. Old Play

W e h a v e s a i d , that most of the feuars dwelt in the village belonging to their townships. This was not, however, universally the case. A lonely tower, to which the reader must now be introduced, was at least one exception to the general rule. It was of small dimensions, yet larger than those which occurred in the village, as intimating that, in case of assault, the proprietor would have to rely upon his own unassisted strength. Two or three miserable

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huts, at the foot of the fortalice, held the bondsmen and tenants of the feuar. The site was a beautiful green knoll, which started up suddenly in the very throat of a wild and narrow glen, and which, being sur­ rounded, save on one side, by the winding of a small stream, afforded a position of considerable vantage. But the great security of Glendearg, for so the place was called, lay in its secluded and hidden situation. To come at the Tower, it was necessary to travel three miles up the glen, crossing about twenty times the little stream which, twining through the narrow valley, encountered at every hundred yards the opposition of a rock or pre­ cipitous bank on the one side, which altered its direction, and caused it to shoot off in an oblique direction to the other. T he hills which ascend on each side of this glen are very steep, and rise boldly over the stream, which is thus imprisoned within their barriers. The sides of the glen are impracticable for horse, and are only to be traversed by means of the sheep-paths which lie along their sides. It would be difficult to suppose that a road so hopeless and so difficult could lead to any habitation more important than the summer shealing of a shepherd. Yet the glen, though lonely and difficult of access and sterile, was not then absolutely void of beauty. The turf which occupied the little plain ground on the sides of the stream, was as close and verdant as if it had occupied the scythes of a hundred gardeners once a-fortnight; and it was garnished with an embroidery of daisies and wild flowers, which the scythes would certainly have destroyed. The little brook, now confined betwixt closer limits, now left at large to chuse its course through the narrow valley, danced carelessly on from stream to pool, light and unturbid, as that better class of spirits who pass their way through life, yielding to insurmountable obstacles, but as far from being subdued by them as the sailor who meets by chance with an unfavourable wind, and shapes his course so as to be driven back as little as possible. The mountains, as they would have been called in England, Scottice the deep braes, rose abruptly over the little glen, here presenting the grey face of a rock, from which the turf had been peeled by the torrents, and there displaying little patches of wood and copse, which had escaped the waste of the cattle and the sheep and the feuars, and which, feathering naturally up the beds of empty torrents, or occupy­ ing the concave recesses of the bank, gave at once beauty and variety to the landscape. Above these scattered woods rose the hill, in barren, but purple majesty; the dark rich hue, particularly in autumn, con­ trasting beautifully with the thickets of oak and birch, the mountainashes and thorns, the alders and quivering aspens, which chequered

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and varied the descent, and not less with the dark-green and velvet turf, which composed the level part of the narrow glen. Yet, though thus embellished, the scene could neither be strictly termed sublime or beautiful, and scarcely even picturesque or strik­ ing. But its extreme solitude pressed on the heart; the traveller felt that uncertainty whither he was going, or in what so wild a path was to terminate, which, at times, strikes more on the imagination than the grand features of a show-scene, when you know the exact distance of the inn where your dinner is bespoken, and at the moment preparing. These are ideas, however, of a far later age; for at the time we treat of, the picturesque, the beautiful, the sublime, and all their intermediate shades, were ideas absolutely unknown to the inhabitants and occa­ sional visitors of Glendearg. They had, however, attached to the scene feelings fitting the time. Its name, signifying the Red Valley, seems to have been derived, not only from the purple colour of the heath, with which the upper part of the rising banks was profusely cloathed, but also from the dark red colour of the rocks, and of the precipitous earthen banks, which in that country are called scaurs. Another glen, about the head of Ettrick, has acquired the same name from similar circum­ stances; and there are probably more in Scotland to which it has been given. As our Glendearg did not abound in mortal visitants, superstition, that it might not be absolutely destitute of inhabitants, had peopled its recesses with beings belonging to another world. The savage and capricious Brown Man of the Moors, a being which seems the genu­ ine descendant of the northern dwarfs, was supposed to be seen here frequently, especially after the autumnal equinox, when the fogs were thick, and objects not easily distinguished. T he Scottish fairies, too, a whimsical, irritable, and mischievous tribe, who, though at times capriciously benevolent, were more frequently adverse to mor­ tals, were also supposed to have formed a residence in a particularly wild recess of the glen, of which the real name was, in allusion to that circumstance, Corri-nan-shian, which, in corrupted Celtic, signifies the Hollow of the Fairies. But the neighbours were more cautious in speaking about this place, and avoided giving it a name, from an idea common then through all the British and Celtic provinces of Scot­ land, and still retained in many places, that to speak either good or ill of this capricious race of supernatural beings, is to provoke their resentment, and that secrecy and silence is what they chiefly desire from those who may intrude upon their revels, or discover their haunts. A mysterious terror was thus attached to the little dale, which

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afforded access from the broad valley of the Tweed, up the little glen we have described, to the fortalice called the Tower of Glendearg. Beyond the knoll, where, as we have said, the little tower was situated, the hills grew more steep, and narrowed on the slender brook, so as scarce to leave a foot-path; and there the glen terminated in a wild water-fall, where a slender thread of water dashed in a precipitous line of foam over two or three precipices. Yet farther in the same direction, and above these successive cataracts, lay a wild and extens­ ive morass, frequented only by water-fowl, wide, waste, apparently almost interminable, and serving in a great measure to separate the inhabitants of the little glen from those who lived to the northward. To restless and indefatigable moss-troopers, indeed, these mor­ asses were well known, and sometimes afforded a retreat. They often rode down the glen— called at this tower— asked and received hospit­ ality—but still with a sort of reserve on the part of its more peaceful inhabitants, who entertained them as a party of North-American Indians might be received by a new European settler, as much out of fear as from hospitality, while the uppermost wish is the speedy departure of these savage guests. This had not always been the current of feeling in the little valley and its tower. Simon Glendinning, its former inhabitant, boasted his connection by blood with that ancient family of Glendonwyne, on the western border. He was used to narrate, at his fire-side, in the autumn evenings, the feats of the family to which he belonged, one of whom fell by the side of the brave Earl of Douglas at Otterboume. On these occasions Simon usually had upon his knee an ancient broad-sword, which had belonged to his ancestors before any of the family had consented to accept a fief under the peaceful dominion of the Monks of Saint Mary’s. In modem days, Simon might have lived at ease on his own estate, and quietly murmured against the fate that had doomed him to dwell there, and cut off his access to martial renown. But so many opportunities, nay, so many calls there were for him, who in those days spoke big, to make good his words by his actions, that Simon Glendinning was soon under the necessity of marching with the men of the Halidome, as it was called, of Saint Mary’s, on that disastrous campaign which was concluded by the Battle of Pinkie. The Catholic clergy were deeply interested in that national quarrel, the principal object of which was, to prevent the union of the infant Queen Mary with the son of the heretical Henry VIII. The Monks had called out all their vassals, under an experienced leader. Many of themselves had taken arms, and marched to the field, under a banner representing a female, supposed to personify the Scottish Church,

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kneeling in the attitude of prayer, with the legend, Afflictee Sponsae ne obliviscaris* The Scots, however, in all their wars, had more occasion for good and cautious generals than for excitation, whether political or enthusi­ astic. Their headlong and impatient courage uniformly induced them to rush to the action without duly weighing either their own situation, or that of their enemies, and the inevitable consequence was frequent defeat. With the dolorous slaughter of Pinkie we have nothing to do, excepting that, among ten thousand men of low and high degree, Simon Glendinning, of the Tower of Glendearg, bit the dust, no way disparaging in his death that ancient race from which he claimed his descent. When the doleful news, which spread terror and mourning through the whole of Scotland, reached the T ower of Glendearg, the widow of Simon, Elspet Brydone by her family name, was alone in that desolate habitation, excepting a hind or two, alike past martial and agricultural labour, and the helpless widows and families of those who had fallen with their master. The feeling of desolation was universal;— but what availed it? The Monks, their patrons and protectors, were driven from their Abbey by the English forces, who now overrun the country, and compelled at least an appearance of submission on the part of the inhabitants. The Protector, Somerset, formed a strong camp among the ruins of the ancient Castle of Roxburgh, and compelled the neigh­ bouring country to come in, pay tribute, and take assurance from him, as the phrase then went. Indeed, there was no power of resistance remaining, and the few barons, whose high spirit disdained even the appearance of surrender, could only retreat into the wildest fastnesses of the country, leaving their houses and properties to the wrath of the English, who detached parties through the country to distress, by military exaction, those whose chiefs had not made their submission. The Abbot and his community having retreated beyond Forth, their lands were severely forayed, as their sentiments were held peculiarly inimical to the alliance with England. Amongst the troops detached on this service was a small party, commanded by Stawarth Bolton, a captain in the English army, and full of the blunt and unpretending gallantry and generosity which has so often distinguished the nation. Resistance was in vain. Elspet Bry­ done, when she discerned a dozen of horsemen threading their way up the glen, with a man at their head, whose scarlet cloak, bright armour, and dancing plume, proclaimed him a leader, saw no better protection for herself than to issue from the iron grate, covered with a long mourning veil, and holding one of her two sons in each hand, to meet * Forget not the afflicted Spouse.

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the Englishman— state her deserted condition,— place the little tower at his command—and beg for his mercy. She stated her intention in a few brief words, and added, “I submit only because I have nae means of resistance.” “And I do not ask your submission, mistress, for the same reason,” replied the Englishman. “T o be satisfied of your peaceful intentions is all I ask; and, from what you tell me, there is no reason to doubt them.” “At least, sir,” said Elspet Brydone, “take share of what our spence and our garners afford— your horses are tired— your folk want refreshment.” “Not a whit— not a whit,” answered the honest Englishman; “it shall never be said that we disturbed by carousal the widow of a brave soldier, while she was mourning for her husband.— Comrades— faces about.— Yet, stay,” he added, checking his war-horse, “my parties are out in every direction; they must have some token that your family are under my assurance of safety.— Here, my little fellow,” he said, speaking to the eldest boy, who might be about nine or ten years old, “lend me thy bonnet.” The child reddened, looked sulky, and hesitated, while the mother, with many afye and nay pshaw, and such sarsenet chidings as tender mothers give to spoiled children, at length succeeded in snatching the bonnet from him, and handing it to the English leader. Stawarth Bolton took his embroidered red cross from his barretcap, and putting it into the loop of the boy’s bonnet, said to the mistress, (for the title of lady was not given to dames of her degree,) “By this token, which all my people will respect, you will be freed from any importunity on the part of our foragers.” He placed it on the boy’s head; but it was no sooner there, than the little fellow, his veins swelling, and his eyes shooting fire through tears, snatched the bonnet from his head, and, ere his mother could interfere, skimmed it into the brook. T he other boy ran instantly to fish it out again, threw his brother’s bonnet back to him, first taking out the cross, which, with great veneration, he kissed, and put into his bosom. The Englishman was half diverted, half surprised, with the scene. “What mean ye by throwing away Saint George’s red cross?” said he to the elder boy, in a tone betwixt jest and earnest. “Because Saint George is a southern saint,” said the child sulkily. “Good— ” said Stawarth Bolton. “And what did you mean by taking it out of the brook again, my little fellow?” he demanded of the younger. “Because the priest says it is the common sign of salvation to all good Christians.”

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“Why, good again!” said the honest soldier. “I protest unto you, mistress, I envy you these boys— are they both yours?” Stawarth Bolton had reason to put the question, for Halbert Glen­ dinning, the elder of the boys, had hair as dark as the raven’s plumage, black eyes, large, bold, and sparkling, that glittered under eyebrows of the same complexion; a skin deep embrowned, though it could not be termed swarthy, and an air of activity, frankness, and determination far beyond his age. On the other hand, Edward, the younger brother, was light-haired, blue-eyed, and of fairer complexion, in countenance rather pale, and not exhibiting that rosy hue which colours the san­ guine cheek of robust health. Yet the boy had nothing sickly or ill conditioned in his look, but was, on the contrary, a fair and handsome child, with a smiling face, and mild, yet cheerful eye. The mother glanced a proud motherly glance, first at the one, and then at the other, ere she answered the Englishman, “Surely, sir, they are both my children.” “And by the same father, mistress?” said Stawarth; but, seeing a blush of displeasure arise on her brow, he instantly added, “Nay, I meant no offence; I would have asked the same question at any of my gossips in Merry Lincoln.— Well, dame, you have two fair boys; I would I could borrow one, for Dame Bolton and I live childless in our old hall.— Come, little fellows, which of you will go with me?” The trembling mother, half-fearing as he spoke, drew the children towards her, one with either hand, while they both answered the stranger. “I will not go with you,” said Halbert boldly, “for you are a false-hearted Southron; and the Southron killed my father; and I will war on you to the death, when I can draw my father’s sword.” “God-a-mercy, my little levin-bolt,” said Stawarth, “the goodly custom of deadly feud will never go down in thy day, I presume.— And you, my fine white-head, will you not go with me, to ride a cock­ horse?” “No,” said Edward, demurely, “for you are a heretic.” “Why, God-a-mercy still,” said Stawarth Bolton. “Well, dame, I see I shall find no recruits to my troop from you; and yet I do envy you these two little chubby knaves.” He sighed a moment, as was visible, in spite of gorget and corslet, and then added, “And yet, my dame and I would but quarrel which of the knaves we should like best, for I should wish for the black-eyed rogue— and she, I warrant me, for that blue­ eyed, fair-haired darling. Natheless, we must brook our solitary wedlock, and wish joy to those that are more fortunate.— Serjeant Brittson, do thou remain here till recalled— protect this family, as under assurance— do them no wrong, and suffer no wrong to be done to them, as thou wilt answer it.— Dame, Brittson is a married man, old

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and steady; feed him on what you will, but give him not over-much liquor.” Dame Glendinning again offered refreshments, but with a faultering voice, and an obvious desire her invitation should not be accepted. The fact was, that, supposing her boys as precious in the eyes of the Englishman as in her own, (the most ordinary of parental errors,) she was half afraid, that the admiration he expressed of them in his blunt manner might end in his actually carrying off one or other of the little darlings which he appeared to covet so much. She kept hold of their hands, therefore, as if her feeble strength could have been of service, had any violence been intended, and saw, with joy she could not disguise, the little party of horse countermarch, in order to descend the glen. Her feelings did not escape Stawarth Bolton. “I forgive you, dame,” he said, “for being suspicious that an English falcon was hovering over your Scottish moor-brood. But fear not— those who have fewest children have fewest cares; nor does a wise man covet those of another household. Adieu, dame; when the black-eyed rogue is able to ‘drive a prey’ from England, teach him to spare women and children, for the sake of Stawarth Bolton.” “God be with you, gallant Southron,” said Elspet Glendinning, but not till he was out of hearing, spurring on his good horse to regain the head of his party, whose plumage and armour was now glancing and gradually disappearing in the distance, as they winded down the glen. “M other,” said the elder boy, “I will not say amen to a prayer for a Southron.” “M other,” said the younger, more reverentially, “is it right to pray for a heretic?” “The God to whom I pray only knows,” answered poor Elspet; “but these two words, Southron and heretic, have already cost Scotland ten thousand of her best and bravest, and me a husband, and you a father; and, whether blessing or banning, I never wish to hear them more.— Follow us to the Place, sir,” she said to Brittson, “and such as we have to offer you shall be at your disposal.”

CfjaptertEfjree T heylighteddow nonT w eed water, And blew their coals sae het, And fired the March and Teviotdale, All in an evening late. AuldM aitland h e R E P O R T soon spread through the patrimony of Saint Mary’s and its vicinity, that the Mistress of Glendearg had received assurance

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from the English Captain, and that her cattle were not to be driven off, or her corns burned. Among others who heard this report, it reached the ears of a lady, who, once much higher in rank than Elspet Glendinning, was now by the same calamity reduced to even greater mis­ fortune. She was the widow of a brave soldier, Walter Avenel, descended of a very ancient Border family, who once possessed immense estates in Eskdale. These had long since passed from them into other hands, but they still enjoyed an ancient Barony of considerable extent, not very far from the patrimony of Saint Mary’s, and lying upon the same side of the river with the narrow vale of Glendearg, at the head of which was the little tower of the Glendinnings. Here they had lived, bearing a respectable rank amongst the gentry of their province, though nei­ ther wealthy nor powerful. This general regard had been much aug­ mented by the skill, courage, and enterprize which had been displayed by Walter Avenel, the last Baron. When Scotland began to recover from the dreadful shock she had sustained after the battle of Pinkie Cleuch, Avenel was one of the first who, assembling a small force, set an example in these bloody and unsparing skirmishes, which shewed that a nation, though conquered and overrun by invaders, may yet wage against them such a war of detail as shall in the end become fatal to the foreigners. In one of these, however, Walter Avenel fell, and the news which came to the house of his fathers was followed by the distracting intelligence, that a party of Englishmen were coming to plunder the house and lands of his widow, in order by this act of terror to prevent others from follow­ ing the example of the deceased. T he unfortunate lady had no better refuge than the miserable cot­ tage of a shepherd among the hills, to which she was hastily removed, scarce conscious where or for what purpose her terrified attendants were removing her and her infant daughter from her own house. Here she was tended with all the duteous service of ancient times by the shepherd’s wife, Tibb Tacket, who in better days had been her own bower-woman. For a time the lady was unconscious of the extent of her misery; but when the first stunning effect of grief was so far passed away that she could form an estimate of her own situation, the widow of Avenel had cause to envy the lot of her husband in his dark and silent asylum. The domestics who had guided her to her place of refuge, were presently obliged to disperse to consult for their own safety, or to seek for necessary subsistence, and the shepherd and his wife, whose poor cottage she shared, were soon after deprived of the means of affording their late mistress even that coarse sustenance which they had gladly shared with her. Some of the English foragers

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had discovered and driven off the few sheep which had escaped the first researches of their avarice. Two cows shared the fate of the remnant of their stock; they had afforded the family almost their sole support, and now famine appeared to stare them in the face. “We are broken and beggared now, out and out,” said old Martin the Shepherd—and he wrung his hands in the bitterness of agony, “the thieves, the harrying thieves! not a cloot left of the hail hirsel!” “And to see poor Grizzy and Crombie,” said his wife, “turning back their necks to the byre, and routing while the stony-hearted villains were brogging them on wi’ their lances!” “There were but four of them,” said Martin, “and I have seen the day forty wad not have ventured this length. But our strength and manhood is gane with our puir maister.” “For the sake of the holy-rood, whisht man,” said the good wife, “our leddy is half gane already, as ye may see by that flighering of the ee-lid— a word mair and she is gane outright.” “I could almost wish,” said Martin, “we were a’ then gane, for what to do passes my puir wit. I care little for mysel, or you, Tibb,— we can make a fend— work and want— we can do baith, but she can do neither.” They canvassed their situation thus openly before the lady, con­ vinced by the paleness of her looks, her quivering lip and dead-set eye, that she neither heard nor understood what they were saying. “There is a way,” said the shepherd, “but I kenna if she could bring her heart to it,— there’s Simon Glendinning’s widow of the glen yon­ der, has had assurance from the Southron loons, and nae soldier to steer them for one cause or other. Now, if the leddie could bow her mind to take quarters wi’ Elspet Glendinning till better days cast up, nae doubt it wad be doing an honour to the like of her, but”-----“An honour?” answered Tibb, “ay, by my word, sic an honour as wad be pride to her kin mony a lang year after her banes were in the mould. Oh! gudeman, to hear ye even the Lady of Avenel, to seeking quarters wi’ a Kirk-vassal’s widow!” “Loth should I be to wish her to it,” said Martin; “but what may we do?— to stay here is mere starvation; and where to go, I’m sure I ken nae mair than ony tup I ever herded.” “Speak no more of it,” said the widow of Avenel, suddenly joining in the conversation, “I will go to the Tower.— Dame Elspet is of good folk, a widow, and the mother of orphans,— she will give us houseroom until something be thought upon. These evil showers make the worst bush better than no beild.” “See there, see there,” said Martin, “you see the leddy has twice our sense.”

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“And natural it is,” said Tibb, “seeing that she is convent-bred, and can lay silk broidery, forbye white seam and shell-work.” “Do you not think,” said the lady to Martin, still clasping her child to her bosom, and making it clear from what motives she desired the refuge, “that Dame Glendinning will make us welcome.” “Bly thely welcome, bly thely welcome, my leddy,” answered Martin cheerily, “and we will deserve a welcome at her hand. M en are scarce now, my leddy, with these wars, and gie me a thought of time to it, I can do as gude a day’s darg as ever I did in my life— And Tibb can sort cows with ony living woman.” “And muckle mair could I do,” said Tibb, “were it in ony feasible house; but there will be neither pearlins to mend, nor pinners to busk up in Elspet Glendinning’s.” “Whisht wi’ your pride, woman,” said the shepherd; “eneugh ye can do, baith outside and inside, an ye set your mind to it; and hard it is if we twa canna work for threefolks’ meat, forbye my dainty wee leddy there. Come awa—come awa—nae use in staying here langer; we have five Scots mile over moss and ling, and that is nae easy walk for a leddy born and bred.” Household stuff there was little or none to remove or care for; an old poney which had escaped the plunderers, owing partly to its pitiful appearance, partly from the reluctance which it shewed to be caught by strangers, was employed to carry the few blankets, and other trifles which they possessed. When Shagram came to his master’s wellknown whistle, he was surprised to find the poor thing had been wounded, though slightly, by an arrow, which one of the forayers had shot off in anger after he had long chased it in vain. “Ay, Shagram,” said the old man as he applied something to the wound, “must you rue the lang-bow as weel as all of us?” “What comer in Scotland rues it not?” said the Lady of Avenel. “Ay, ay, madam,” said Martin, “God keep the kindly Scot from the cloth-yard shaft, and he will keep himself from the handy stroke. But let us go our way— the trash that is left I can come back for— there is nae ane to stir it but the good neighbours, and they”-----“For the love of God, goodman,” said his wife in a remonstrating tone, “haud your peace! Think what ye’re saying, and we hae sae muckle wild land to go over before we win to the girth-gate.” T he husband nodded acquiescence; for it was deemed highly imprudent to speak of the fairies either by their title of good neighbours or by any other, especially when about to pass the places which they were supposed to haunt. They set forward on their pilgrimage on the last day of October. “This is thy birthday, my sweet Mary,” said the mother, as a sting of

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bitter recollection crossed her mind. “Oh, who could have believed that the head, which, few years since, was cradled amongst so many rejoicing friends, may perhaps this night seek a cover in vain!” The exiled family then set forward. Mary Avenel, a lovely little girl now just six years old, riding gipsey-fashion upon Shagram, betwixt two bundles of bedding, the Lady of Avenel walking by the animal’s side, Tibb leading the bridle, and old Martin a few paces before, looking anxiously round him to explore the way. M artin’s task as guide, after two or three miles walking, became more difficult than he himself had expected, or than he was willing to avow. It happened that the extensive range of pasturage, with which he was conversant, lay to the west, and to get into the little valley of Glendearg he was to proceed easterly. In the wilder districts of Scot­ land, the passage from one vale to another, otherwise than by des­ cending that which you leave, and reascending the other, is often very difficult. Heights and hollows, mosses and rocks intervene, and all those local impediments which throw a traveller out of his course. So that Martin, however sure of his general direction, became conscious, and at length was forced reluctantly to admit, that he had missed the direct road to Glendearg, though he insisted they must be very near it. “If we can but win across this wide bog,” he said, “I shall warrant ye are on the tap of the tower.” But to get across the bog was a point of no small difficulty—the farther they ventured into it, though proceeding with all the caution which M artin’s experience recommended, the more unsound the ground became, until, after they had passed some places of great peril, their best argument for going forward came to be, that they had to encounter equal danger in returning. The Lady of Avenel had been tenderly nurtured, but what will not a woman endure when her child is in danger? Complaining less of the dangers of the road than her attendants, who had been inured to such from their infancy, she kept herself close by the side of the poney, watching its every footstep, and ready, when it was about to flounder in the morass, to snatch her little Mary from its back. At length they came to a place where the guide greatly hesitated, for all around him was now broken lumps of heath, divided from each other by deep sloughs of black tenacious mire. After some considera­ tion, Martin, selecting what he thought the safest path, began himself to lead forward Shagram, in order to afford greater security to the child. But Shagram snorted, laid his ears back, stretched his two feet forwards, and drew his hind feet under him, so as to adopt the best possible posture for obstinate resistance, and refused to move one yard in the direction indicated. Old M artin, much puzzled, now hesi­

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tated whether to exert his absolute authority, or to defer to the contu­ macious obstinacy of Shagram, and was not greatly comforted by his wife’s observation, who, seeing Shagram stare with his eyes, distend his nostrils, and tremble with terror, hinted that “he surely saw more than they could see.” In this dilemma, the child suddenly exclaimed— “Bonny ladie signs to us to come yon gate.” They all looked in the direction where the child pointed, but saw nothing, save a wreath of rising mist, which fancy might form into a human figure, but which afforded to Martin only the sorrowful conviction, that the danger of their situation was about to be increased by a heavy fog. He once more assayed Shagram; but the animal was inflexible in its determination not to move in the direction M artin recommended. “Take your awn way for it then,” said Martin, “and let us see what you can do for us.” Shagram, abandoned to the discretion of his own free will, set off boldly in the direction the little girl had pointed. There was nothing wonderful in this, nor in its bringing them safe to the other side of the dangerous morass; for the instinct of these animals in traversing bogs is one of the most curious parts of their nature, and is a fact generally established. But it was remarkable, that the child more than once mentioned the beautiful lady and her signals, and that Shagram seemed to be in the secret, always moving in the same direction which she indicated. T he lady took little notice at the time, her mind being probably occupied by the instant danger; but her faithful attendants changed expressive looks with each other more than once. “All-Hallow Eve!” said Tibby, in a whisper to Martin. “F or the mercy of Our Lady, not a word of that now,” said Martin in reply. “T ell your beads, woman, if you cannot be silent.” When they got once more on firm ground, M artin recognized cer­ tain land-marks, or cairns, on the tops of neighbouring hills, by which he was enabled to guide his course, and ere long they arrived at the T ower of Glendearg. It was at the first sight of this little fortalice that the misery of her lot pressed hard on the poor Lady of Avenel. When by any accident they had met at church, market, or other place of public resort, she remem­ bered the distant and respectful air with which the wife of the warlike baron was addressed by the spouse of the more humble feuar. And now, so much was her pride humbled, that she was to ask to share the precarious safety of the same feuar’s widow, and her pittance of food, which might perhaps be yet more precarious. Martin probably guessed what was passing in her mind, for he looked at her with a wistful glance, as if to deprecate any change of resolution; and answering to his looks, rather than his words, she said, while the

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sparkle of subdued pride once more glanced from her eye, “If it were for myself alone, I could but die— but for this infant— the last pledge of Avenel”-----“True, my lady, true,” said M artin hastily; and, as if to prevent the possibility of her retracting, he added, “I will step in and see Dame Elspet—I kenn’d her husband weel, and have bought and sold with him, for as great a man as he was.” M artin’s tale was soon told, and met all acceptance from her com­ panion in misfortune. T he Lady of Avenel had been meek and courte­ ous in her prosperity; in adversity, therefore, she met with the greater sympathy. Besides, there was a point of pride in sheltering and sup­ porting a woman of such superior birth and rank. And not to do Elspet Glendinning injustice, she felt sympathy for a woman whose fate resembled her own in so many parts, yet was so much more severe. Every species of hospitality was gladly and respectfully extended to the distressed travellers, and they were kindly requested to stay as long at Glendearg as their circumstances rendered necessary, or their inclination prompted.

Cfjapter f our N e ’er be I found by thee o’er awed,

On that thrice hallow’d eve abroad, When goblins haunt from flood and fen, T he steps o f men. C o l l i n s ’s Ode to Fear

As T H E c o u n t r y became more settled, the lady would have will­ ingly returned to her husband’s mansion. But that was no longer in her power. It was a reign of minority, when the strongest had the best right, and when acts of usurpation were frequent amongst those who had much power and little conscience. Julian Avenel, the younger brother of the deceased Walter, was a person of this description. He hesitated not to seize upon his brother’s house and lands, so soon as the retreat of the English permitted him. At first, he occupied the property in the name of his niece, but when the lady proposed to return with her child to the mansion of its fathers, he gave her to understand that Avenel, being a male fief, descended to the brother, instead of the daughter, of the last possessor. T he ancient philosopher declined a dispute with the emperor who commanded twenty legions, and the widow of Walter Avenel was in no condition to maintain a contest with the leader of twenty moss-troopers. Julian was also a man of service, who could back a friend in case of need, and was sure, therefore, to find protectors among the ruling powers. In short,

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however clear the little Mary’s right to the possessions of her fathers, her mother saw the necessity of giving way, at least for the time, to the usurpation of her uncle. Her patience and forbearance was so far attended with advantage, that Julian, for very shame’s sake, could no longer suffer her to be absolutely dependent on the charity of Elspet Glendinning. A drove of cattle and a bull, (which were probably missed by some English farmer,) were sent to the pastures of Glendearg; presents of raiment and household stuff were sent liberally, and some little money, though with a more sparing hand; for those in the situation of Julian Avenel could come more easily by the goods represented, than the represent­ ing medium of value, and made their payments chiefly in kind. In the meantime, the widows of Walter Avenel and Simon Glen­ dinning had become habituated to each other’s society, and were unwilling to part. The lady could hope no more secret or secure residence than in the Tower of Glendearg, and she was now in a condition to support her share of the mutual house-keeping. Elspet, on the other hand, felt pride, as well as pleasure, in the society of a guest of such distinction, and was at all times willing to pay much greater deference than the Lady of Walter Avenel could be prevailed on to accept. Martin and his wife diligently served the united family in their several vocations, and yielded obedience to both mistresses, though always considering themselves as the especial servants of the Lady of Avenel. This distinction sometimes occasioned a slight degree of difference between Dame Elspet and Tibb; the former being jealous of her own consequence, and the latter apt to lay rather too much stress upon the rank and family of her mistress. But both were alike desirous to conceal such petty squabbles from the lady, her hostess scarce yielding to her old domestic in respect for her person. Neither did the difference exist in such a degree as to interrupt the general harmony of the family, for the one wisely gave way as she saw the other become warm; and Tibb, though she often gave the first provocation, had generally the sense to be the first in relinquishing the argument. T he world which lay beyond was gradually forgotten by the inhabit­ ants of the sequestered glen, and unless when she attended mass at the Monastery Church upon some high holiday, Alice of Avenel almost forgot that she once held an equal rank with the proud wives of the neighbouring barons and nobles who on such occasions crowded to the solemnity. The recollection gave her little pain. She had loved her husband for himself, and in his inestimable loss all lesser subjects of regret had lost the power of interesting her. At times, indeed, she thought of claiming the protection of the Queen Regent (Mary of

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Guise) for her little orphan, but the fear of Julian Avenel always came between. She was sensible that he would have neither scruple nor difficulty in spiriting away the child, (if he did not proceed further,) should he once consider its existence as formidable to his interest. Besides, he was a wild liver, mingling in all feuds and forays, wherever there was a spear to be broken; he evinced no purpose of marrying, and the fate which he continually was braving might at length remove him from his usurped inheritance. Alice of Avenel, therefore, judged it wise to check all ambitious thoughts for the present, and remain quiet in the rude, but peaceable retreat, to which Providence had conducted her. It was upon an All-Hallow’s Eve, when the family had resided together for nearly three years, that the domestic circle was assembled around the blazing turf-fire, in the old narrow hall of the Tower of Glendearg. The idea of the master and mistress of the mansion feed­ ing or living apart from their domestics, was at this period never entertained. The highest end of the board, the most commodious settle by the fire,— these were their only marks of distinction; and the servants mingled with deference indeed, but unreproved and with freedom, in whatever conversation was going forward. But the two or three domestics, kept merely for agricultural purposes, had retired to their own cottages without, and with them a couple of wenches, usu­ ally employed within doors, the daughters of one of the hinds. After their departure, M artin locked, first, the iron grate; and, secondly, the inner door of the tower, when the domestic circle was thus arranged. Dame Elspet sate pulling the thread from her distaff; Tibb watched the progress of scalding the whey, which hung in a large pot upon the crook, a chain terminated by a hook, which was sus­ pended in the chimney to serve the purpose of the modem crane. Martin, while busied in repairing some of the household articles, (for every man in these days was his own carpenter and smith, as well as his own tailor and shoemaker,) kept from time to time a watchful eye upon the three children. They were allowed, however, to exercise their juvenile restlessness by m nning up and down the hall, behind the seats of the elder mem­ bers of the family, with the privilege of occasionally making excursions into one or two small apartments which opened from it, and gave excellent opportunity to play at hide-and-seek. This night, however, the children seemed not disposed to avail themselves of their privilege of visiting these dark regions, but preferred carrying on their gambols in the vicinity of the light. In the mean while, Alice of Avenel, sitting close to an iron candle­ stick, which supported a mis-shapen torch of domestic manufacture,

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read small detached passages from a thick clasped volume, which she preserved with the greatest care. The art of reading, the lady had acquired by her residence in a nunnery during her youth, but she seldom, of late years, put it to any other use than perusing this little volume, which formed her whole library. The family listened to the portions which she selected, as to some good thing which there was a merit in hearing with respect, whether it was fully understood or no. To her daughter, Alice of Avenel had determined to impart their mystery more fully, but the knowledge was at that period attended with great personal danger, and was not rashly to be trusted to a child. The noise of the romping children interrupted, from time to time, the voice of the lady, and drew on the noisy culprits the rebuke of Elspet. “Could they not go farther a-field, if they behoved needs to make such a din, and disturb the lady’s good words?” And this command was backed with the threat of sending the whole party to bed if it was not attended to punctually. Acting under the injunction, the children first played at a greater distance from the party, and more quietly, and then began to stray into the adjacent apartments, as they became impatient of the restraint to which they were subject. But, all at once, the two boys came open-mouthed into the hall, to tell that there was an armed man in the spence. “It must be Christie of Clinthill,” said Martin, rising; “what can have brought him here at this time?” “Or how came he in?” said Elspet. “Alas, what can he seek?” said the Lady of Avenel, to whom this man, a retainer of her husband’s brother, and who sometimes executed his commissions at Glendearg, was an object of secret apprehension and suspicion. “Gracious heaven!” she added, starting up, “where is my child?” All rushed to the spence, Halbert Glendin­ ning first arming himself with a rusty sword, and the younger seizing upon the lady’s book. They hastened to the spence, and were relieved of a part of their anxiety by meeting Mary at the door of the apartment. She did not seem in the slightest degree alarmed, or disturbed. They rushed into the spence, (a sort of interior apartment in which the family eat their victuals in the summer season), but there was no one there. “Where is Christie of Clinthill?” said Martin. “I do not know,” said little Mary; “I never saw him.” “And what made you, ye misleard loons,” said Dame Elspet to her two boys, “come tumbling yon gate into the ha’, roaring like bull-segs, to frighten the leddy, and her far frae strong?” The boys looked at each other in silence and confusion, and their mother proceeded with

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her lecture. “Could ye find nae night for daffin but Hallowe’en, and nae time but when the leddy was reading to us about the holy Saints? May ne’er be in my fingers, if I dinna sort ye baith for it!” The eldest boy bent his eyes on the ground, the youngest began to weep, but neither spoke; and their mother would have proceeded to extremities, but for the interposition of the little maiden. “Dame Elspet, it was my fault— I did cry to them, that I saw a man in the spence.” “And what made you do so, child,” said her mother, “to startle us all thus?” “Because,” said Mary, lowering her voice, “I could not help it.” “Not help it, Mary!— you occasioned all this idle noise, and you could not help it? How mean you by that, minion?” “There really was a man, an armed man, in this spence,” said Mary; “and because I was surprised to see him, I cried out to Halbert and Edward”-----“She has told it herself,” said Halbert Glendinning; “or it had never been told by me.” “Nor by me either,” said Edward emulously. “Mistress Mary,” said Elspet, “you never told us any thing before that was not true; tell us if this was a Hallowe’en cantrip, and make an end of it.” The Lady of Avenel looked as if she would have interfered, but knew not how; and Elspet, who was too eagerly curious to regard any distant hint, persevered in her enquiries. “Was it Christie of the Clinthill?— I would not for a mark that he were about the house, and a body no ken whare.” “It was not Christie,” said Mary; “it was—it was a gentleman— a gentleman with a bright breast-plate, like what I hae seen langsyne, when we dwelt at Avenel”-----“W hat like was he?” continued Tibbie, who now took share in the investigation. “Black-haired, black-eyed, with a peaked black beard,” said the child, “and many a fold of pearling round his neck, and hanging down ower his breast-plate; and he had a beautiful hawk, with silver bells, standing on his left hand, with a crimson silk hood upon its head”-----“Ask her no more questions, for the love of God,” said the anxious menial to Elspet, “but look to my leddy!” But the Lady of Avenel, taking Mary in her hand, turning hastily away, and walking into the hall, gave them no opportunity of remarking in what manner she received the child’s communication, which she thus cut short. What Tibb thought of it appeared from her crossing herself repeatedly, and whispering into Elspet’s ear, “Saint Mary preserve us!— the lassie has seen her father!”

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When they reached the hall, they found the lady holding her daugh­ ter on her knee, and kissing her repeatedly. When they entered, she again arose, as to shun observation, and retired to the little apartment where her child and she occupied the same bed. The boys were also sent to their cabin, and no one remained by the hall fire save the faithful Tibb and Dame Elspet, excellent persons both, but as thorough gossips as ever wagged a tongue. It was but natural that they should instantly resume the subject of the supernatural appearance, for such they deemed it, which had this night alarmed the family. “I could hae wished it had been the de’il himsel—Be good to and preserve us!— rather than Christie o’ the Clin thill,” said the matron of the mansion, “for the word runs rife in the country, that he is ane of the maist masterfu’ thieves ever lap on horse.” “Hout-tout, Dame Elspet,” said Tibb, “fear ye naething frae Christie— tods keep their ain holes clean. You kirk-folk make sic a fasherie about men shifting a wee bit for their living! Our Borderlairds wad ride with few men at their back, if a’ the light-handed lads were out o’ gate.” “Better they rade wi’ nane than distress the country-side the gate they do,” said Dame Elspet. “But wha is to haud back the Southron then,” said Tibb, “if ye take away the lances and broad-swords? I trow we auld wives couldna do that wi’ rock and wheel, and as little the monks wi’ bell and book.” “And sae weel as the lances and broad-swords hae kept them back, I trow!— I was mair beholden to ae Southron, and that was Stawarth Bolton, than to a’ the Border-riders ever wore Saint Andrew’s cross— I reckon their skelping back and forward, and lifting honest men’s gear, hae been a main cause of a’ the breach between us and England, and I am sure that cost me a kind goodman. They speak about the wedding of the Prince and our Queen, but it’s as like to been the driving of the Cumberland folk’s stocking that brought them down on us like dragons.” Tibb would not in other circumstances have failed to answer what she thought reflections disparaging to her country-folks; but she recollected that Dame Elspet was mistress of the family, curbed her own zealous patriotism, and hastened to change the sub­ ject. “And is it not strange,” she said, “that the heiress of Avenel should hae seen her father this blessed night?” “And ye think it was her father then,” said Elspet Glendinning. “What else can I think?” said Tibb. “It may have been something waur, in his likeness,” answered Dame Glendinning.

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“I ken naething about that,” said Tibb,— “but his likeness it was, that I will be sworn to, just as he used to ride out a hawking; for having enemies in the country, he seldom laid off the breast-plate— And, for my part,” added Tibb, “I dinna think a man looks like a man unless he has steel on his breast and by his side too.” “I have no skill of your harness on breast or side either,” said Dame Glendinning; “but I ken there is little luck in Hallowe’en sights, for I have had ane mysell.” “Indeed, Dame Elspet?” said old Tibb, edging her stool closer to the huge elbow-chair occupied by her friend, “I should like to hear about that.” “Ye maun ken then, Tibb,” said Dame Glendinning, “that when I was a hempie of nineteen or twenty, it wasna my fault if I wasna at a’ the merry-makings time about.” “That was very natural,” said Tibb; “but ye hae sobered since that, or ye wadna haud our braw gallants sae lightly.” “I have had that wad sober me or ony ane,” said the matron. “Aweel, Tibb, a lass like me wasna to lack wooers, for I wasna sae ill favoured that the tikes wad bark after me.” “How should that be,” said Tibb, “and you sic a weel-favoured woman at this day?” “Fie, fie! cummer,” said the matron of Glendearg, hitching her seat of honour, in her turn, a little nearer to the cuttie-stool on which Tibb was seated; “weel-favoured is past my time of day. But I might pass then, for I wasna sae tocherless but what I had a bit land at my breastlace.—My father was portioner of Littledearg.” “Ye hae tell’d me that before,” said Tibb; “but anent the Hal­ lowe’en.” “Aweel, aweel, I had mair joes than ane, but I favoured nane o’ them; and sae, at Hallowe’en, Father Nicolas the cellarer— he was cellarer before this father, Father Clement, that now is— was cracking his nuts and drinking his brown beer with us, and as blythe as might be, and they would have me try a cantrip to ken wha suld wed me— And the Monk said there was nae ill in it, and if there was, he wad assoil me for it— and whae but I into the bam to winnow my three weights o’ naething—Sair, sair my min’ misgave me for fear of wrangdoingand wrang-sufferingbaith. But I had aye a bauld spirit. I had not winnowed the last weight clean out, and the moon was shining bright upon the floor, when in stalked the presence of my dear Simon Glen­ dinning, that is now happy. I never saw him plainer in my life than I did that moment— he held up an arrow as he passed me, and I sw arf d awa’ wi’ fright. Muckle wark there was to bring me to mysel again, and sair they tried to make me believe that it was a trick of Father Nicolas

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and Simon between them, and that the arrow was to signify Cupid’s shaft, as the Father called it; and mony a time Simon wad threep it to me after I was married— gude man, he liked not it should be said that he was seen out o’ the body!— But mark the end o’ it, Tibb; we were married, and the grey-goose wing was the death o’ him, after a’.” “As it has been of ower mony brave men,” said Tibb; “I could wish there wasna sic a bird as a goose in the wide warld, forbye the decking that we hae at the burn-side.” “But tell me, Tibb,” said Dame Glendinning, “what does your leddy aye do wi’ that book in her hand?— It’s nae wonder that her bairn sees bogles if she is aye reading on that thick black book wi’ the silver clasps— there are ower mony gude words in it to come frae ony body but a priest— An’ it were about Robin Hood, or some o’ David Lindsay’s ballats, ane wad ken better what to say to it. I am no mis­ doubting your mistress nae way, but I wad like ill to hae a decent house haunted wi’ ghaists and gyre carlines.” “ Ye hae nae reason to doubt my leddy, or ony thing she says or does, Dame Glendinning,” said the faithful Tibb, something offended; “and touching the bairn, it’s weel ken’d she was born on Hallowe’en, was nine years gane, and they that are bom on Hallowe’en whiles see mair than ither folk.” “And that wad be the cause, then, that the bairn didna mak muckle din about what it saw— if it had been my Halbert himsel, forbye Edward, who is of safter nature, he wad hae yammered the hail night of a constancy. But it’s like Mistress Mary has sic sights come mair natural to her.” “That may weel be,” said Tibb; “for on Hallowe’en she was bom, as I tell ye, and our auld parish priest wad fain hae had the night ower, and All-Hallow day begun. But for a’ that, the sweet baim is just like ither bairns, as ye may see yoursel; and except this blessed night, and ance before when we were in that weary bog on the road here, I kenna that it saw mair than ither folk.” “But what saw she in the bog, then,” said Dame Glendinning, “forbye moor-cocks and heather-blutters?” “T he wean saw something like a white leddy that weised us the gate,” said Tibb, “when we were like to hae perished in the mire cleughs— Certain it was that Shagram resisted, and I ken Martin thinks he saw something.” “And what might the white leddy be?” said Elspet; “have ye ony guess o’ that?” “It’s weel ken’d that, Dame Elspet,” said Tibb; “if ye had lived under grit folk, as I hae dune, ye wadnabe to seek in that matter.” “I hae aye keepit my ain ha’ house abune my head,” said Elspet not

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without emphasis, “and if I havena lived wi’ grit folk, grit folk have lived wi’ me.” “Weel, weel, dame,” said Tibb, “your pardon’s prayed, there was nae offence meant. But ye maun ken the great ancient families canna be just served wi’ the ordinary saunts, (praise to them) like Saunt Anthony, Saunt Cuthbert, and the like, that come and gang at every sinner’s bidding, but they hae a sort of saunts or angels, or what not, to themsels; and as for the White Maiden of Avenel, she is ken’d ower the haill country. And she is aye seen to yammer and wail before ony o’ them dies, as was weel ken’d by twenty folk before the death of Walter Avenel, haly be his cast!” “If she can do nae mair than that,” said Elspet somewhat scornfully, “they needna make mony vows to her I trow— can she make nae better fend for them than that, and has naething better to do than wait on them?” “Mony braw services can the White Maiden do for them to the boot of that, and has dune in the auld histories,” said Tibb, “but I mind o’ naething in my day, except it was her that the bairn saw in the bog.” “Aweel, aweel, Tibbie,” quoth Dame Glendinning, rising and lighting the iron lamp, “these are grand privileges of your grand folks. But Our Lady and Saint Paul are good enough saunts for me, and I’se warrant them never leave me in a bog that they can help me out o’, seeing I send four waxen candles to their chapels every Candlemas; and if they are not seen to weep for my death, I’se warrant them smile at my joyful arising again— whilk Heaven send to all of us, Amen.” “Amen,” answered Tibbie devoutly; “and now it’s time I should hap up the wee bit gathering turf, or the fire is ower low.” Busily she set herself to perform this duty. T he relict of Simon Glendinning did but pause a moment and cast a heedful and cautious glance all around the hall, to see that nothing was out of its proper place; then wishing Tibbie good-night, she retired to her repose. “The de’il’s in the carline,” said Tibb to herself, “because she was the wife of a cock-laird, she thinks hersel grander, I trow, than the bower-woman of a lady of that ilk.” Having given vent to her sup­ pressed spleen in this little ejaculation, Tibb also betook herself to slumber.

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C opter $ tbe A priest, ye cry, a priest!— lame shepherds they, How shall they gather in the straggling flock? Dumb dogs which bark not— how shall they compel The loitering vagrants to the Master’s fold? Fitter to bask before the blazing fire, And snuff the mess neat-handed Phillis dresses, Than on the snow-wreath battle with the wolf. Reformation h e h e a l t h of the Lady of Avenel had been gradually decaying ever since her disaster. It seemed, as if the few years which followed her husband’s death had done on her the work of half a century. She lost the fresh elasticity of form, the colour and the mien of health, and became wasted, wan, and feeble. She appeared to have no formed complaint; yet it was evident to those who looked on her, that her strength waned daily. Her lip at length became blanched and her eye dim. Yet she spoke not of any desire to see a priest, until Elspet Glendinning in her zeal could not refrain from touching upon a point which she deemed essential to salvation. Alice of Avenel received her hint kindly, and thanked her for it. “If any good priest would take the trouble of such a journey,” she said, “he should be welcome; for the prayers and lessons of the good must be at all times advantageous.” This quiet acquiescence was not quite what Elspet Glendinning wished or expected. She made up, however, by her own enthusiasm for the lady’s want of eagerness to avail herself of ghostly counsel, and M artin was dispatched with such haste as Shagram could make, to pray one of the religious men of Saint Mary’s to come up to administer the last consolations to the widow of Walter de Avenel. When the Sacristan had announced to the Lord Abbot, that the Lady of the umquhile Walter de Avenel was in very weak health in the Tower of Glendearg, and desired the assistance of a father confessor, the lordly monk paused on the request. “We do remember Walter de Avenel,” he said; “a good knight and a valiant—he was dispossessed of his lands, and slain by the Southron —May not the lady come hither to the sacrament of confession? the road is distant and painful to travel.” “The lady is unwell, holy father,” answered the Sacristan, “and unable to bear the journey.” “True— ay— yes— then must one of our brethren go to her— Knowst thou if she hath aught of a jointure from this Walter de Avenel?”

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“Very little, holy father,” said the Sacristan; “she has resided at Glendearg since her husband’s death, well nigh on the charity of a poor widow, called Elspet Glendinning.” “Why, thou knowst all the widows in the country-side?” said the Abbot. “Ho! ho! ho!” and he shook his portly sides at his own jest. “Ho! Ho! Ho!” echoed the Sacristan, in the tone and tune in which an inferior applauds the jest of his superior.— Then added, with a hypocritical snuffle, and a sly twinkle of his eye, “It is our duty, most holy father, to comfort the widow— he! he! he!” This last laugh was more moderate, until the Abbot should put his sanction on the jest. “Ho! ho!” said the Abbot; “then, to leave jesting, Father Philip, take thou thy riding gear, and go to confess this Dame Avenel.” “But,” said the Sacristan-----“But me no Buts—neither But nor If pass between monk and abbot — Father Philip, the bands of discipline must not be relaxed— heresy gathers force like a snow-ball— the multitude expect confessions and preachings from the Benedictines, as they would from so many beg­ garly friars— And we may not desert the vine-yard, though the toil be grievous unto us— what would all Christendom— what would our brother Eustace think of us!” “And with so little advantage to the holy Monastery,” said the Sacristan. “True, Father Philip; but wot you not that that which preventeth harm doth good? This Julian de Avenel lives a light and evil life, and should we neglect the widow of his brother, he might foray our lands, and we never able to show who hurt us—Moreover there is our duty to an ancient family, who have in their day been benefactors to the Abbey. Away with thee instantly, brother; ride night and day, an it be necessary, and let men see how diligent Abbot Boniface and his faith­ ful children are in the execution of their spiritual duty—toil not deter­ ring them— for the glen is five miles in length— fear not withholding them— for it is said to be haunted of spectres— nothing moving them from pursuit of their spiritual calling; to the confusion of calumnious heretics, and the comfort and edification of all true and faithful sons of the Catholic Church. I wonder what our brother Eustace will say to this?” Breathless with his own picture of the dangers and toil which he was to encounter, and the fame which he was to acquire, both by proxy, the Abbot moved slowly to finish his luncheon in the refectory, and the Sacristan, with no very good will, accompanied old M artin on his return to Glendearg; the greatest impediment in the journey being the trouble of restraining his pampered mule, that she might tread in

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something like an equal pace with poor jaded Shagram. After remaining an hour in private with his penitent, the Monk returned moody and full of thought. Dame Elspet, who had placed for the honoured guest some refreshment in the hall, was struck with the embarrassment which appeared in his countenance. Elspet watched him with great anxiety. She observed there was that in his brow which rather resembled a person come from hearing the confession of some enormous crime, than the look of a confessor who resigns a reconciled penitent, not to earth, but to heaven. After long hesitating, she could not at length refrain from hazarding a question. She was sure, she said, the dear leddy had made an easy shrift. Five years had they resided together, and she could safely say, no woman lived better. “Woman,” said the Sacristan sternly, “thou speakest thou knowst not what— what avails cleansing the outside of the platter, if the inside be foul with heresy?” “Our dishes and trenchers are not so clean as they could be wished, holy father,” said Elspet, but half understanding what he said, and beginning with her apron to wipe the dust from the plates, of which she supposed him to complain. “Forbear, Dame Elspet,” said the Monk; “your plates are clean as wooden trenchers and pewter flagons can well be; the foulness of which I speak is of that pestilential heresy which is daily becoming ingrained in this our Holy Church of Scotland, and as a canker-worm in the rose-garland of the Spouse.” “Holy M other of Heaven!” said Dame Elspet, crossing herself, “have I kept house with a heretic?” “No, Elspet, no,” replied the Monk; “it were too strong a speech for me to make of this unhappy lady, but I would I could say she is free from heretical opinions. Alas, they fly about like the pestilence by noon-day, and infect ever the first and fairest of the flock. For it is easy to see of this dame, that she hath been high in judgment as in rank.” “And she can write and read, I had almost said, as weel as your reverence,” said Elspet. “Whom doth she write to, and what doth she read?” said the Monk eagerly. “Nay,” replied Elspet, “I cannot say I ever saw her write at all, but her maiden that was— she now serves the family— says she can write — And for reading, she has often read to us good things out of a thick black volume with silver clasps.” “Let me see it,” said the Monk, hastily, “on your allegiance as a true vassal— on your faith as a Catholic Christian— instantly—instantly let me see it.”

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The good woman hesitated, alarmed at the tone in which the con­ fessor took up her information; and being moreover of opinion, that what so good a woman as the Lady of Avenel studied so devoutly, could not be of tendency actually evil. But borne down by the clamour, exclamation, and something like threats used by Father Philip, she at length brought him the fatal volume. It was easy to do this without suspicion on the part of the owner, as she lay on her bed exhausted with the fatigue of a long conference with her confessor, and as the small round, or turret closet, in which was the book and her other trifling property, was accessible by another door. O f all her effects the book was the last she would have thought of securing, for of what use or interest could it be in a family who neither read themselves, nor were in the habit of seeing any who did? So that Dame Elspet had no difficulty in possessing herself of the volume, although her heart all the while accused her of an ungenerous and an inhospitable part towards her friend and inmate. The double power of a landlord and a feudal superior were before her eyes; and to say truth, the boldness, with which she might otherwise have resisted this double authority, was, I grieve to say it, much qualified by the curiosity she entertained, as a daughter of Eve, to have some explanation respecting the myster­ ious volume which the lady cherished with so much care, yet whose contents she imparted with such caution. For never had the lady read them any passage from the book in question until the iron door of the tower was locked, and all possibility of intrusion prevented. Even then she had shewn, by the selection of particular passages, that she was more anxious to impress on their minds the precepts which the vol­ ume contained, than to introduce them to it as a new rule of faith. When Elspet, half curious, half remorseful, had placed the book in the Monk’s hands, he exclaimed, after turning over the leaves, “Now, by mine order, it is as I suspected!— My mule, my mule!— I abide no longer here— Well hast thou done, dame, in placing in my hands this perilous volume.” “Is it then witchcraft or devil’s work?” said Dame Elspet, in great agitation. “Nay, God forbid,” said the Monk, signing himself with the cross, “it is the Holy Scripture. But it is rendered into the vulgar tongue, and therefore, by the order of the Holy Catholic Church, unfit to be in the hands of any lay person.” “And yet is the Holy Scripture communicated for our common salvation,” said Elspet; “good father, you must instruct mine ignor­ ance better; but lack of wit cannot be a deadly sin, and truly, to my poor thinking, I should be glad to read the Holy Scripture.” “I dare say thou wouldst,” said the Monk; “and even thus did our

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mother Eve seek to have knowledge of good and evil, and thus Sin came into the world, and Death by Sin.” “I am sure, and it is true,” said Elspet; “O, if she had but dealt by the counsel of Saint Peter and Saint Paul!” “If she had reverenced the command of Heaven,” said the Monk, “which, as it gave her birth, life, and happiness, fixed upon the grant such conditions as best corresponded with its holy pleasure. I tell thee, Elspet, the Wordslayeth— that is, the text alone, read with unskilled eye and unhallowed lips, is like those strong medicines which sick men take by the advice of the learned. Such patients recover and thrive; while those dealing in them at their own hand, shall perish by their own deed.” “Nae doubt, nae doubt,” said the poor woman, “your reverence knows best.” “Not I,” said Father Philip, in a tone as deferential as he thought could possibly become the Sacristan of Saint Mary’s,— “Not I, but the Holy Father of Christendom, and our own holy father the Lord Abbot, know best. I, the poor Sacristan of Saint Mary’s, can but repeat what I hear from others my superiors. Yet of this, good woman, be assured,— the Word— the mere Word slayeth. But the church hath her ministers to gloze and to expound the same unto her faithful congregation— And this I say, not so much, my beloved brethren—I mean, my beloved sister,”-—(for the Sacristan had got into the end of one of his old sermons)— “This I speak not so much of the rectors, curates, and secular clergy— so called because they live after the fash­ ion of the seculum or age—unbound by those ties which sequestrate us from the world; neither do I speak this of the mendicant friars— whether black or grey, whether crossed or uncrossed; but of the Monks— and especially of the Monks Benedictine, reformed on the rule of Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, thence called Cistercian—O f which Monks, Christian brethren— sister I would say— great is the happiness and glory of the country in possessing the holy Monastery of Saint Mary’s, whereof I, though an unworthy brother, may say it hath produced more saints, more bishops, more popes— may our patrons make us thankful!— than any holy foundation in Scotland. Wherefore But I see Martin hath my mule in readiness, and so I will but salute you with the kiss of sisterhood, which maketh not ashamed, and so betake me to my toilsome return, for the glen is of bad reputation for the evil spirits which haunt it—moreover, I may arrive too late at the bridge, whereby I may be obliged to take the river, which I observed to be somewhat woxen.” Accordingly he took his leave of Dame Elspet, confounded by the rapidity of his utterance, and the doctrine he gave forth, and by no

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means easy on the subject of the book, which her conscience told her she should not have communicated to any one, without the knowledge of its owner. Notwithstanding the haste which the Monk as well as his mule made to return to better quarters than they had left at the head of Glendearg; notwithstanding the eager desire Father Philip had to be the very first who should acquaint the Abbot that a copy of the book they most dreaded had been found within the Halidome, or patri­ mony of the Abbey; notwithstanding, moreover, certain feelings which induced him to hurry as fast as possible through the gloomy and evil-reputed glen, still the difficulties of the road, and the rider’s want of habitude to quick motion were such, that twilight came upon him ere he had nearly cleared the narrow valley. It was indeed a gloomy ride. The two sides of the valley were so near, that at every double of the river the shadows from the western sky fell upon, and totally obscured, the eastern bank; the thickets of copsewood seemed to wave with a portentous agitation of boughs and leaves, and the very crags and scaurs seemed higher and grimmer than they had appeared to the Monk while he was travelling in day-light, and in company. Father Philip was heartily rejoiced when, emerging from the narrow glen, he gained the open valley of the Tweed, which held on its majestic course from current to pool, and from pool stretched away to other currents, with a dignity peculiar to itself amongst the Scottish rivers; for whatever may have been the drought of the season, the Tweed usually fills up the space between its banks, seldom leaving these extensive sheets of shingle which deform the margin of many of the celebrated Scottish streams. The Monk, insensible to beauties which the age had not regarded as deserving of notice, was nevertheless, like a prudent general, pleased to find himself out of the narrow glen in which the Enemy might have stolen upon him unperceived. He drew up his bridle, reduced his mule to her natural and luxurious amble, instead of the agitating and broken trot at which she had hitherto proceeded, to his no small inconvenience, and, wiping his brow, gazed forth at leisure on the broad moon, which, now mingling with the lights of evening, was rising over field and forest, village and fortalice, and, above all, over the stately Monastery, seen far and dim amid the yellow light. The worst part of this magnificent view, in the M onk’s apprehen­ sion, was that the Monastery stood on the opposite side of the river, and that of the many fair bridges which have since been built across that classical stream, not one then existed. There was, however, in recompense, a bridge then standing which has since disappeared, although its ruins may be still traced by the curious.

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It was of a very peculiar form. T wo strong abutments were built on either side of the river, at a part where the stream was peculiarly contracted. Upon a rock in the centre of the current was built a solid piece of masonry, constructed like the pier of a bridge, and presenting like a pier an angle to the current of the stream. The masonry continued solid until the pier rose to a level with the two abutments upon either side, and from thence the building arose in the form of a tower. The lower storey of this tower consisted only of an arch-way or passage through the building, over either entrance to which hung a draw-bridge with counter-poises, either of which, when dropped, connected the archway with the opposite abutment, where the further end of the draw-bridge rested. When both bridges were thus lowered, the passage over the river was complete. The bridge-keeper, who was the dependent of a neighbouring baron, resided with his family in the second and third stories of the tower, which, when both draw-bridges were raised, formed an insu­ lated fortalice in the midst of the river. He was entitled to a small toll or custom for the passage, concerning the amount of which disputes sometimes arose betwixt him and the passengers. It is needless to say, that the bridge-ward had usually the better of these disputes, since he could at pleasure detain the traveller on the opposite side, or, suffer­ ing him to pass half the way, keep him prisoner in his tower until they were agreed on the rate of pontage. But it was most frequently with the Monks of Saint Mary’s that the warder had to dispute his perquisites. These holy men insisted for, and at length obtained a right of gratuitous passage to themselves, greatly to the discontent of the bridge-keeper. But when they demanded the same immunity for the numerous pilgrims who visited the shrine, the bridge-keeper waxed restive, and was supported by his lord in his resistance. The controversy grew animated on both sides; the Abbot menaced excommunication, and the keeper of the bridge, though unable to retaliate in kind, yet made each individual Monk who had to cross and re-cross the river, endure a sort of purgatory, ere he would accommodate them with a passage. This was a great incon­ venience, and would have proved a more serious one, but that the river was fordable for man and horse in ordinary weather. It was a fine moonlight night, as we have already said, when Father Philip approached this passage, the singular construction of which gives a curious idea of the insecurity of the times. The river was not in flood, but it was above its ordinary level— a heavy water, as it is called in that country, through which the Monk had no particular inclination to ride, if he could manage the matter better. “Peter, my good friend,” cried the Sacristan, raising his voice; “my

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very excellent friend, Peter, be so kind as to lower the bridge. Peter, I say, does thou not hear?— it is thy gossip, Father Philip, who calls thee.” Peter heard him perfectly well, and saw him into the bargain; but, as he had considered the Sacristan as peculiarly his enemy in his dispute with the convent, he went quietly to bed, after reconnoitring through his loop-hole, observing to his wife, that “a riding the water in a moonlight night would do the Sacristan no harm, and would teach him the value of a brigg the neist time, on whilk a man might pass high and dry, winter and summer, flood and ebb.” After exhausting his voice in entreaties and threats, which were equally unattended by Peter of the Brigg, as he was called, Father Philip at length moved down the river to take the ordinary ford at the end of the next stream. Cursing the rustic obstinacy of Peter, he began, nevertheless, to persuade himself that the passage of the river by the ford was not only safe, but pleasant. The banks and scattered trees were so beautifully reflected from the bosom of the dark stream, the whole cool and delicious picture formed so pleasing a contrast to his late agitation, to the warmth occasioned by his vain endeavours to move the relentless porter of the bridge, that the result was rather agreeable than otherwise. As Father Philip came close to the water’s edge, at the spot where he was to enter it there sat a female under a large broken scathed oak tree, or rather the remains of such a tree, weeping, wringing her hands, and looking earnestly on the current of the river. The Monk was struck with astonishment to see a female here at this time of night. But he was, in all honest service,— and if a step farther, I put it upon his own conscience,— a devoted squire of dames. After observing the maiden for a moment, although she seemed to take no notice of his presence, he was moved by her distress and willing to offer his assist­ ance. “Damsel,” said he, “thou seemest in no ordinary distress; peradventure, like myself, thou hast been refused passage at the bridge by the churlish keeper, and thy crossing may concern thee either for performance of a vow, or for some other weighty charge.” The maiden uttered some inarticulate sounds, looked on the river, and then looked up in the face of the Sacristan. It struck Father Philip at that instant, that a Highland Chief of distinction had been for some time expected to pay his vows at the shrine of Saint M ary’s; and that possibly this fair maiden might be one of his family, travelling alone for accomplishment of a vow, or left behind by some accident, to whom, therefore, it would be but right and courteous to use every civility in his power, especially as she seemed unacquainted with the Lowland tongue. Such at least was the only motive the Sacristan was

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ever known to assign for his courtesy; if there was any other, I once more refer it to his own conscience. T o express himself by signs, the common language of all nations, the courteous Sacristan first pointed to the river, then to his mule’s crupper, and then made, as gracefully as he could, a sign to induce the fair solitary to mount behind him. She seemed to understand his meaning, for she rose up as if to accept his offer, and while the good Monk, who, as we have hinted, was no great cavalier, laboured, with the pressure of the right leg and the use of the left rein, to place his mule with her side to the bank in such a position that the lady might mount with ease, she rose from the ground with rather portentous activity, and at one bound sate behind the Monk upon the animal, much the firmer rider of the two. The mule by no means seemed to approve of this double burthen; she bounded, bolted, and would soon have thrown Father Philip over her head, had not the maiden with a firm hand detained him in the saddle. At length the restive brute changed her humour; and, from refus­ ing to budge off the spot, suddenly stretched her nose homeward, and dashed into the ford as fast as she could scamper. A new terror now invaded the M onk’s mind— the ford seemed unusually deep, the water eddied off in strong ripple from the counter of the mule, and began to rise upon her side. Philip lost his presence of mind, which was at no time his most ready attribute, the mule yielded to the weight of the current, and as the rider was not attentive to keep her head turned up the river, she drifted downward, lost the ford and her footing at once, and began to swim with her head down the stream. And what was sufficiently strange, at the same moment, notwithstand­ ing the extreme peril, the damsel began to sing— thereby increasing, if any thing could increase, the bodily fear of the worthy Sacristan. I. Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright, Both current and ripple are dancing in light. We have roused the night raven, I heard him croak, As we plashed along beneath the oak That flings its broad branches so far and so wide, Their shadows are dancing in midst o f the tide. “Who wakens my nestlings,” the raven he said, “M y beak shall ere m om in his blood be red, For a blue swollen corpse is a dainty meal, And I’ll have my share with the pike and the eel.”

II. Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright, There’s a golden gleam on the distant height; There’s a silver shower on the alders dank, And the drooping willows that wave on the bank.

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I see the Abbey, both turret and tower, It is all astir for the vesper hour; T he Monks for the chapel are leaving each cell, But where’s Father Philip, should toll the bell?

ill. Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright, Downward we drift through shadow and light. Under yon rock the eddies sleep, Calm and silent, dark and deep. T he Kelpy has risen from the fathomless pool, H e has lighted his candle o f death and of dool: Look, Father, look, and you’ll laugh to see How he gapes and glares with his eyes on thee! I V.

Good luck to your fishing— whom watch ye tonight? A man o f mean or a man o f might? Is it layman or priest that must float in your cove, Or lover who crosses to visit his love? Hark! heard ye the Kelpy reply as we passed,— “God’s blessing on the warder, he lock’d the bridge fast! All that come to my cove are sunk, Priest or layman, lover or monk.”

How long the damsel might have continued to sing, or where the terrified M onk’s journey might have ended, is uncertain. As she sung the last stanza, they arrived at, or rather in, a broad tranquil sheet of water, caused by a strong wier or dam-head, running across the river, which dashed in a broad cataract over the barrier. The mule, whether from choice, or influenced by the suction of the cur­ rent, made towards the cut intended to supply the convent mills, and entered it half swimming half wading, and pitching the unlucky Monk to and fro in the saddle at a fearful rate. As his person flew hither and thither, his garment became loose, and in an effort to retain it, his hand lighted on the volume of the Lady of Avenel which was in his bosom. No sooner had he grasped it, than his companion pitched him out of the saddle into the stream, where, still keeping her hand on his collar, she gave him two or three good souses in the watery fluid, so as to ensure that every part of him had its share of wetting, and then quitted her hold when he was so near the side that by a slight effort (of a great one he was incapable), he might scramble on shore. This accordingly he accomplished, and turning his eyes to see what had become of his extraordinary companion, she was no where to be seen, but still he heard as if from the surface of the river, and mixing with the noise of the water breaking over the damhead, a fragment of her wild song, which seemed to run thus: Landed— landed! the black book hath won, Else had you seen Berwick with morning sun!

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Sain ye, and save ye, and blythe mot ye be, For seldom they land that go swimming with me.

T he ecstacy of the Monk’s terror could be endured no longer; his head grew dizzy, and, after staggering a few steps onward and running himself against a wall, he sunk down in a state of insensibility.

Cf)apterg>tx Here let us sit in conclave. That these weeds Be rooted from the vineyard o f the church, That these foul tares be severed from the wheat, We are, I trust, agreed.— Yet how to do this, N or hurt the wholesome crop and tender vine-plants, Craves good avisement. The Reformation h e v e s p e r s e r v i c e in the Monastery Church of Saint Mary’s was now over. T he Abbot had disrobed himself of his magnificent vestures of ceremony, and resumed his ordinary habit, which was a black gown, worn over a white cassock, with a narrow scapulary; a decent and venerable dress, which was well calculated to set off to advantage the portly mien of Abbot Boniface. In quiet times no one could have filled the state of a mitred Abbot, for such was his dignity, more decently than this worthy prelate. He had, no doubt, many of those habits of self-indulgence which men are apt to acquire who live for themselves alone. He was vain, moreover; and when boldly confronted, had sometimes shewn symptoms of tim­ idity, not very consistent with the high claims which he preferred as an eminent member of the church, or with the punctual deference which he exacted from his religious brethren, and all who were placed under his command. But he was hospitable, charitable, perfectly good natured, and by no means of himself disposed to proceed with severity against any one. In short, he would in other times have slumbered out his term of preferment with as much credit as any other “purple Abbot,” who lived easily, but at the same time decorously— slept soundly, and disquieted himself with no dreams. But the wide alarm spread through the whole Church of Rome by the progress of the reformed doctrines, sorely disturbed the repose of Abbot Boniface, and opened to him a wide field of duties and cares which he had never so much as dreamed of. There were opinions to be combatted and refuted, practices to be enquired into, heretics to be detected and punished, the fallen off to be reclaimed, the wavering to be confirmed, scandal to be removed from the clergy, and the vigour of discipline to be re-established. Post upon post arrived at the

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Monastery of Saint Mary’s— horses reeking, and riders exhausted— this from the Privy Council, that from the Primate of Scotland, and this other again from the Queen M other, exhorting, approving, con­ demning, requesting advice upon this subject, and requiring informa­ tion upon that. These missives Abbot Boniface received with an important air of helplessness, or a helpless air of importance, whichever the reader may please to term it, evincing at once gratified vanity, and profound trouble of mind. The sharp-witted Primate of Saint Andrews had foreseen the defi­ ciencies of the Prior of Saint Mary’s, and endeavoured to provide for them by getting admitted into his Monastery as Sub-Prior a brother Cistercian, a man of parts and knowledge, devoted to the service of the Catholic church, and very capable not only to advise the Abbot upon occasions of difficulty, but to make him sensible of his duty in case he should be, from good nature or timidity, disposed to shrink from it. In short, Father Eustace played the same part in the Monastery as the old general who, in foreign armies, is placed at the elbow of the Prince of the Blood, who nominally commands in chief, on condition of attempting nothing without the advice of his dry-nurse; and he shared the fate of all such dry-nurses, being heartily disliked as well as feared by his principal. Still, however, the Primate’s intention was fully answered. Father Eustace became the constant theme and often the bug-bear of the worthy Abbot, who at length hardly dared to turn himself in his bed without considering what Father Eustace would think of it. In every case of difficulty, Father Eustace was summoned, and his opinion asked; and no sooner was the embarrassment removed, than the Abbot’s next thought was how to get rid of his adviser. In every letter which he wrote to those in the government, he recommended Father Eustace to some high church preferment, a bishopric or an abbey; and as they dropped one after another, and were otherwise conferred, he began to think, as he confessed to the Sacristan in the bitterness of his spirit, that the Monastery of Saint M ary’s had got a life-rent lease of their Sub-Prior. Yet more indignant he would have been, had he suspected that Father Eustace’s ambition was fixed upon his own mitre, which, from some attacks of an apoplectic nature, which the Abbot’s friends deemed more serious than he himself, it was supposed might be shortly vacant. But the confidence which, like other dignitaries, he reposed in his own health, prevented Abbot Boniface from imagining that his own health held any concatenation with the motions of Father Eustace. The necessity under which he found himself of consulting with his

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grand adviser, in cases of real difficulty, rendered the worthy Abbot particularly desirous of doing without him in all ordinary cases of administration, though not without considering what Father Eustace would have said of the matter. He scorned, therefore, to give a hint to the Sub-Prior of the bold stroke by which he had detached Brother Philip to Glendearg; but when the vespers came without his re­ appearance he became a little uneasy, the more as other matters weighed upon his mind. T he feud with the warder or keeper of the bridge threatened to be attended with bad consequences, as the man’s quarrel was taken up by the martial Baron under whom he served. And pressing letters of an unpleasant tendency had just arrived from the Primate. Like a gouty man, who catches hold of his crutch while he curses the infirmity which reduces him to use it, the Abbot, however reluctant, found himself obliged to require Eustace’s presence, after the service was over, in his house, or rather palace, which was attached to, and made part of, the Monastery. Abbot Boniface was seated in his high-backed chair, the grotesque carving of which terminated in a mitre, before a fire where two or three large logs were reduced to one red glowing mass of charcoal. At his elbow, on an oaken stand, stood the remains of a roasted capon, on which his reverence had made his evening meal, flanked by a goodly stoup of Bourdeaux of excellent flavour. He was gazing indolently on the fire, partly engaged in meditation on his past and present fortunes, partly occupied by endeavouring to trace towers and steeples in the red embers. “Yes,” thought the Abbot to himself, “in that red perspective I could fancy to myself the peaceful towers of Dundrennan, where I passed my life ere I was called to pomp and to trouble— a quiet brotherhood we were, regular in our monastic duties; and when frail­ ties of humanity prevailed over us, we confessed, and were absolved by each other, and the most formidable part of the penance was the jest of the convent on the culprit. I can almost fancy that I see the cloister-garden, and the pear-trees which I grafted with my own hands. And for what have I changed all this, but to be overwhelmed with business which concerns me not, to be called My Lord Abbot, and to be tutored by Father Eustace? I would these towers were the Abbey of Aberbrothock, and Father Eustace were the Abbot,— or I would he was in the fire on any terms, so I were rid of him. The Primate says our Holy Father the Pope hath an adviser— I am sure he could not live a week with such an adviser as mine—And then there is no learning what Father Eustace thinks till you confess your own difficulties—No hint will bring forth his opinion— he is like a miser, who will not unbuckle his purse to bestow a farthing, until the wretch

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who needs it has owned his excess of poverty, and wrung out the boon by importunity. And thus am I dishonoured in the eyes of my religious brethren, who behold me treated like a child which hath no sense of its own— I will bear it no longer!— Brother Bennet,— (a lay brother answered to his call)— tell Father Eustace that I need not his pres­ ence.” “I came to say to your reverence, that the holy father is entering even now from the cloisters.” “Be it so,” said the Abbot, “he is welcome— remove those things— or rather, place a trencher, the holy father may be a hungry— yet, no— remove them, for there is no good fellowship in him—Let the stoup of wine remain howsoever, and place another cup.” T he lay brother obeyed these contradictory commands in the way he judged most seemly— he removed the carcase of the half-sacked capon, and placed two goblets beside the stoup of Bourdeaux. At the same instant entered Father Eustace. He was a thin, sharp-faced, slight-made, little man, whose keen grey eyes seemed almost to look through the person to whom he addressed himself. His body was emaciated not only with the fasts which he observed with rigid punctuality, but also by the active and unwearied exercise of his sharp and piercing intellect. A fiery soul, which, working out its way, Fretted the puny body to decay, And o’er-informed the tenement o f clay.

He bowed with conventual reverence to the Lord Abbot; and as they stood together, it was scarce possible to see a more complete difference of form and expression. The good-natured rosy face and laughing eye of the Abbot, which even his present anxiety could not greatly ruffle, was a wonderful contrast to the thin pallid cheek and quick penetrating glance of the Monk, in which an eager and keen spirit glanced through eyes to which it seemed to give supernatural lustre. The Abbot opened the conversation by motioning to his Monk to take a stool, and inviting him to a cup of wine. T he courtesy was declined with respect, yet not without a remark, that the vesperservice was past. “For the stomach’s sake, brother,” said the Abbot, colouring a little — “you know the text.” “It is a dangerous one,” answered the Monk, “to handle alone, or at late hours. Cut off from human society, the juice of the grape becomes a perilous companion of solitude, and therefore I shun it.” Abbot Boniface had poured himself out a goblet which might hold about half an English pint; but, either struck with the truth of the

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observation, or ashamed to act in direct opposition to it, he suffered it to remain untasted before him and immediately changed the subject. “The Primate hath written to us,” said he, “to make strict search within our bounds after the heretical persons denounced in this list, who have withdrawn themselves from the justice which their opinions deserve. It is deemed probable that they will attempt to retire to England by our Borders, and the Primate requireth me to watch with vigilance, and what not.” “Assuredly,” said the Monk, “the magistrate should not bear the sword in vain— those be they that turn the world upside down— and doubtless your reverent wisdom will with due diligence second the exertions of the Right Reverend Father in God, being in the peremp­ tory defence of the Holy Church.” “Ay, but how is this to be done?” answered the Abbot; “Saint Mary aid us! The Primate writes to me as if I were a temporal Baron— a man under command, having soldiers under him! He says— send forth— scour the country-—guard the passes—Truly these men do not travel as those who would give their lives for nothing—the last who went south passed the dry-march at the Riding-burn with an escort of thirty spears, as our reverend brother the Abbot of Kelso did write unto us. How are cowls and scapularies to stop the way?” “Your Bailiff is accounted a good man-at-arms, holy father,” said Eustace; “your vassals are obliged to rise for the defence of Holy Kirk — it is the tenure on which they hold their lands— if they will not come forth for the Church which gives them bread, let their possessions be given to others.” “We shall not be wanting,” said the Abbot, collecting himself with importance, “to whatever may advantage Holy Kirk— thyself shall hear the charge to our Bailiff and our officials— but here again is our controversy with the warden of the bridge and the Baron of Meigallot -— Saint Mary! vexations do so multiply upon the House, and upon the generation, that a man wots not where to turn to! Thou didst say, Father Eustace, thou wouldst look into our evidents touching this free passage for the pilgrims.” “I have looked into the Chartulary of the House, holy father,” said Eustace, “and therein I find a written and formal grant of all duties and customs payable at the draw-bridge of Brigton, not only by eccle­ siastics of this foundation, but by every pilgrim truly designed to accomplish his vows at this House, to the Abbot Ailford, and the Monks of the House of Saint Mary in Kennaquhair, from that time and for ever. The deed is dated on Saint Bridget’s Even, in the year of Redemption, 1137, and bears the sign and seal of the granter, Charles of Meigallot, great-great-grandfather of this Baron, and purports to

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be granted for the safety of his own soul, and for the weal of the souls of his father and mother, and of all his precessors and all successors, being Barons of Meigallot.” “But he alleges,” said the Abbot, “that the bridge-wards have been in possession of these dues, and have rendered them available for more than fifty years— and the Baron threatens violence— mean­ while, the journey of the pilgrims is interrupted, to the prejudice of their own souls, and the diminution of the revenues of Saint Mary. The Sacristan advised us to put on a boat; but the warden, whom thou knowest to be a godless man, has sworn the devil tear him, but that if we put on a boat on the laird’s stream, he will rive her board from board— And then some say we should compound the claim for a small sum in silver.” Here the Abbot paused a moment for a reply, but receiving none, he added, “But what thinkest thou, Father Eustace? why art thou silent?” “Because I am surprised at the question which the Lord Abbot of Saint Mary’s asks at the youngest of his brethren.” “Y oungest in time of your abode with us, Brother Eustace,” said the Abbot, “not youngest in years, or I think in experience— Sub-Prior also of this convent.” “I am astonished,” continued Eustace, “that the Abbot of this ven­ erable house should ask of any one, whether he can alienate the patrimony of our holy and divine patroness, or give up to an unconscientious, and perhaps a heretic baron, the rights conferred on this church by his devout progenitor. Popes and councils alike prohibit it — the honour of the living, and the weal of departed souls, alike forbid it—It may not be. To force, if he dare use it, we must surrender; but never by our consent should we see the goods of the church plun­ dered, with as little scruple as he would drive off a herd of English beeves. Rouse yourself, reverend father, and doubt nothing but that the Good Cause shall prevail. Whet the spiritual sword, and direct it against the wicked who would usurp on our holy rights. Whet the temporal sword if it be necessary, and stir up the courage and zeal of your loyal vassals.” The Abbot sighed deeply. “All this,” he said, “is soon spoken by him who hath to act it not; but” He was interrupted by the entrance of Bennet rather hastily. “The mule on which the Sacristan had set out in the morning had returned,” he said, “to the convent stable all over wet, and with the saddle turned round beneath her belly.” “Sancta Maria!” said the Abbot, crossing himself, “our dear brother hath perished from the way.” “It may be not,” said Eustace hastily— “let the bell be tolled— cause

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the brethren to get torches— alarm the village— hurry down to the river— I myself will be the foremost.” The real Abbot stood astonished and agape, when at once he beheld his office filled, and all which he ought to have ordered, going forward at the dictates of the youngest Monk in the convent. But ere the orders of Eustace, which nobody dreamed of disputing, were carried into execution, the necessity was prevented by the sudden apparition of the Sacristan, whose supposed danger excited all the alarm.

Cfiapter Ik b e n Raze out the written troubles o f the brain, Cleanse the foul bosom of the perilous stuff That weighs upon the heart. Macbeth h a t b e t w i x t cold and fright the afflicted Sacristan stood before his Superior, propped on the friendly arm of the convent miller, drenched with water, and scarce able to utter a syllable. After various attempts to speak, the first words he uttered were,

W

“Swim we merrily— the moon shines bright.”

“Swim we merrily!” retorted the Abbot indignantly, “a merry night have ye chosen for swimming, and a becoming salutation to your Superior!” “Our brother is bewildered,” said Eustace; “Speak, Father Philip, how is it with you?” “Good luck to your fishing,”—

continued the Sacristan, with a most dolorous attempt at the tune of his strange companion. “Good luck to your fishing!” repeated the Abbot, still more sur­ prised and displeased; “by my halidome he is drunken with wine, and comes to our presence with his jolly catches in his throat; if bread and water can cure this folly”-----“With your pardon, venerable father,” said the Sub-Prior, “of water our brother has had enough; and methinks, the confusion of his eye is rather that of terror, than of aught unbeseeming his profession. Where didst thou find him, Hob Miller?” “An it please your reverence, I did but go to shut the sluice of my mill— and as I was going to shut the sluice, I heard something groan near to me— but judging it was one of Giles Fletcher’s hogs, for so please you, he never sparreth his gate, I caught up my lever, and was about— Saint Mary forgive me!— to strike where I heard the sound, when, as the saints would have it, I heard the second groan just like

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that of a living man—so I called up my knaves, and found the Father Sacristan lying wet and senseless under the wall of our kiln. So soon as we brought him to himself a bit, he prayed to be brought to your reverence, but I doubt me, his wits have gone a bell-wavering by the road. It was but now that he spoke in somewhat better form.” “Well!” said Brother Eustace, “thou has done well Hob Miller; only begone now, and remember a second time, to pause, ere you strike in the dark.” “Please your reverence, it shall be a lesson to me,” said the miller, “not to mistake a holy man for a hog again, so long as I live.” And making a bow with profound humility, the miller withdrew. “And now that this churl is gone, Father Philip,” said Eustace, “wilt thou tell our venerable Superior what ails thee? Art thou vinogravatus, man? if so, we will have thee to thy cell.” “Water! water! not wine,” muttered the exhausted Sacristan. “Nay,” said the Monk, “if that be thy complaint, wine may perhaps cure thee;” and he reached him a cup, which the patient drank off to his great benefit. “And now,” said the Abbot, “let his garments be changed, or rather let him be carried to the infirmary; for it will prejudice our health, should we hear his narrative while he stands there, steaming like a rising hoar-frost.” “I will hear his adventure,” said Eustace, “and report it to your reverence.” And, accordingly, he attended the Sacristan to his cell. In about half an hour he returned to the Abbot. “How is it with Father Philip?” said the Abbot; “and through what came he into such a state?” “He comes from Glendearg, reverend sir,” said Eustace; “and for the rest, he telleth such a legend, as has not been heard in this Monas­ tery for many a long day.” He then gave the Abbot the outlines of the Sacristan’s adventures in the homeward journey, and added, that for some time he was inclined to think his brain was infirm, seeing he had sung, laughed, and wept, all in the same breath. “A wondrous thing it is to us,” said the Abbot; “that Satan is permitted to put forward his hand thus far on one of our sacred brethren.” “True,” said Father Eustace; “but for every text there is a para­ phrase; and I have my suspicions, that if the drenching of Father Philip cometh of the Evil One, yet it may not have been by his own personal intervention.” “How!” said the Father Abbot; “I will not believe that thou makest doubt that Satan, in former days, hath been permitted to afflict saints and holy men, even as he afflicted the pious Job?”

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“God forbid I should make question of it,” said the Monk, crossing himself; “yet, where there is an exposition of the Sacristan’s tale, which is less than miraculous, I hold it safe to consider it at least, if not to abide by it. Now, this Hob the Miller hath a buxom daughter. Suppose, I say only suppose, that our Sacristan met her at the ford on her return from her uncle’s on the other side, for there she hath this evening been— suppose, that, in courtesy, and to save her stripping hose and shoon, the Sacristan brought her across behind him— sup­ pose he carried his familiarities farther than the maiden was willing to admit— and we may easily suppose, farther, that this wetting was the result of it.” “And this legend invented to deceive us,” said the Superior, red­ dening with wrath; “but most strictly shall it be sifted and enquired into— it is not upon us that Father Philip must hope to pass the result of his own evil practices for doings of Satan. To-morrow cite the wench to appear before us— we will examine, and we will punish.” “Under your Reverence’s favour,” said Eustace, “that were but poor policy. As things now stand with us, the heretics catch hold of each flying report which tends to the scandal of our clergy. We must abate the evil, not only by strengthening discipline, but also by sup­ pressing and stifling the voice of scandal. If my conjectures are true, the miller’s daughter will be silent for her own sake; and your Rever­ ence’s authority may also impose silence on her father, and on the Sacristan. If he is again found to afford room for throwing dishonour on his order, he can be punished with severity, but at the same time with secrecy. For what say the Decretals? Facinora ostendi dumpunientur, flagitia autem abscondi debent. ” A sentence of Latin, as Eustace had before observed, had often much influence on the Abbot, because he understood it not fluently, and was ashamed to acknowledge his ignorance. On these terms they parted for the night. The next day, Abbot Boniface strictly interrogated Philip on the real cause of his disaster of the previous night. But the Sacristan stood firm to his story; nor was he found to vary from any point of it, although the answers he returned were in some degree incoherent, owing to his intermingling with them ever and anon snatches of the strange damsel’s song, which had made such deep impression on his imagination, that he could not prevent himself from imitating it repeatedly in the course of his examination. The Abbot had compas­ sion with the Sacristan’s involuntary frailty, to which something supernatural seemed annexed, and finally became of opinion, that Father Eustace’s more natural explanation was rather plausible than just. And indeed, although we have recorded the adventure as we find

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it written down, we cannot forbear to add that there was a schism on the subject in the Convent, and that several of the brethren pretended to have good reason for thinking that the black-eyed miller’s daughter was at the bottom of the affair after all. Whichever way it might be interpreted, all agreed that it had too ludicrous a sound to be permit­ ted to get abroad, and therefore the Sacristan was charged on his vow of obedience to say no more of his ducking; an injunction which, having once eased his mind by telling his story, it may be well conjec­ tured that he joyfully obeyed. The attention of Father Eustace was much less forcibly arrested by the marvellous tale of the Sacristan’s danger, and his escape, than by the mention of the volume which he had brought with him from the Tower of Glendearg. A copy of the Scriptures, translated into the vulgar tongue, had found its way even into the proper territ­ ory of the church, and had been found in one of the most hidden and sequestered recesses of the Halidome of Saint Mary’s. He anxiously requested to see the volume. In this the Sacristan was unable to gratify him, for he had lost it, as far as he recollected, when the supernatural being, as he conceived her to be, took her departure from him. Father Eustace went down to the spot in person, and searched all around it, in hopes of recovering the volume in question; but his labour was in vain. He returned to the Abbot, and reported that it must have fallen into the river or the mill-stream; “for I will hardly believe,” he said, “that Father Philip’s musical fiend would fly off with a copy of the Holy Scriptures.” “Being,” said the Abbot, “as it is, a heretical translation, it is our thought that Satan may have power over it.” “Ay!” said Father Eustace, “it is indeed his chiefest magazine of artillery, when he inspireth presumptuous and daring men to set forth their own opinions and expositions of Holy Writ. But though thus abused, the Scriptures are the source of our salvation, and are no more to be reckoned unholy, because of these rash m en’s proceed­ ings, than a powerful medicine is to be contemned, or held poisonous, because bold and evil leeches have employed it to the prejudice of their patients. With the permission of your reverence, I would that this matter were looked into more closely. I will myself visit the Tower of Glendearg ere I am many hours older, and we will see if any spectre or white woman of the wild will venture to interrupt my journey or return. Have I your reverend permission and your blessing?” he added, but in a tone that appeared to set no great store by either. “Thou hast both, my brother,” said the Abbot; but no sooner had Eustace left the apartment, than Boniface could not help breathing in the willing ear of the Sacristan his sincere wish, that any spirit, black,

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white, or grey, would read the adviser such a lesson, as to cure him of his presumption in esteeming himself wiser than the whole community' “I wish him no worse lesson,” said the Sacristan, “than to go swim­ ming merrily down the river with a ghost behind, and Kelpie’s nightcrows and mud-eels all waiting to have a snatch at him. Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright! Good luck to your fishing, whom watch you to-night?”

“Brother Philip,” said the Abbot, “we exhort thee to say thy prayers, compose thyself, and banish that foolish chaunt from thy mind;— it is but a deception of the devil’s.” “I will essay, reverend father,” said the Sacristan, “but the tune hangs by my memory like a burr in a beggar’s rags— it mingles with the Psalter—the very bells of the convent seem to repeat the words, and jangle to the tune; and were you to put me to death at this very moment, it is my belief I should die singing it— ‘Now swim we merrily’ — it is as it were a spell upon me.” He then again began to warble “Good luck to your fishing.”

And checking himself in the strain with difficulty, he exclaimed, “It is too certain— I am but a lost priest! Swim we merrily— I will sing it at the very mass— Woe is me! I shall sing all the remainder of my life, and yet never be able to change the tune!” The honest Abbot replied, “he knew many a good fellow in the same condition;” and concluded the remark with “ho! ho! ho!” for his reverence, as the reader may partly have observed, was one of those dull folks who love a quiet joke. The Sacristan, well acquainted with his Superior’s humour, endeavoured to join in the laugh, but his unfortunate canticle came again across his imagination, and interrupted the hilarity of his cus­ tomary echo. “By the rood, Brother Philip,” said the Abbot much moved, “you become altogether intolerable! and I am convinced that such a spell could not subsist over a person of religion, and in a religious house, unless he were under mortal sin. Wherefore, say the seven peniten­ tiary psalms—make diligent use of thy scourge and hair-cloth— refrain for three days from all save bread and water— I myself will shrive thee, and we will see if this singing devil may be driven out of thee; at least I think Father Eustace himself could devise no better exorcism.” The Sacristan sighed deeply, but knew remonstrance was vain. He retired therefore to his cell, to try how far psalmody might be able to drive off the sounds of the syren tune which haunted his memory.

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Meanwhile, Father Eustace proceeded to the draw-bridge, in his way to the lonely valley of Glendearg. In a brief conversation with the churlish warder, he had the address to render him more tractable in the controversy betwixt him and the convent. He reminded him that his father had been a vassal under the community; that his brother was childless; and that their possession would revert to the church on his death, and might be either granted to himself the warder, or to some greater favourite of the Abbot, as matters chanced to stand betwixt them at the time. The Sub-Prior suggested to him also, the necessary connection of interests betwixt the Monastery and the office which this man enjoyed. He listened with temper to his rude and churlish answers; and by keeping his own interest firm pitched in his view, he had the satisfaction to find that Peter gradually softened his tone, and consented to let every pilgrim who travelled upon foot pass free of exaction until Pentecost next; they who travelled on horseback or otherwise, consenting to pay the ordinary custom. Having thus accommodated a matter in which the weal of the convent was so deeply interested, Father Eustace proceeded on his journey.

CfjapterCtgfjt Nay, dally not with time, the wise man’s treasure, Though fools are lavish on’t— the fatal Fisher Hooks souls, while we waste moments. Old P lay

A N o v e m b e r m i s t overspread the little valley, up which slowly but steadily rode the Monk Eustace. He was not insensible to the feeling of melancholy inspired by the scene and by the season. The stream seemed to m urmur with a deep and oppressed note, as if bewailing the departure of Autumn. Amongst the scattered copses which here and there fringed its banks, the oak-trees only retained that pallid green that precedes their russet hue. The leaves of the willows were most of them stripped from the branches, and lay rustling at each breath, and disturbed by every step of the mule; while the foliage of other trees, totally withered, kept still precarious possession of the boughs, wait­ ing the first wind to strew them. The Monk dropped into the natural train of pensive thought which these autumnal emblems of mortal hopes are peculiarly calculated to inspire. “There,” said he, looking at the leaves which lay strewed around, “lie the hopes of early youth, first formed that they may soonest wither, and loveliest in spring to become most contemptible in winter— But you, ye lingerers,” added he, looking to a knot of beeches which still bore their withered leaves, “you are the proud

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plans of adventurous manhood, formed later, and still clinging to the mind of age, although it acknowledges their inanity! None lasts— none endures, save the foliage of the hardy oak, which only begins to shew itself when that of the rest of the forest has enjoyed half its existence. A pale and decayed hue is all it possesses, but still it retains that symptom of vitality to the last.— So be it with Father Eustace! The fairy hopes of my youth I have trodden under foot like those neglected rustlers— to the prouder dreams of my manhood I look back as to lofty chimeras, of which the pith and essence has long since faded —but my religious vows, the faithful profession which I have made in my maturer age, shall retain life while aught of Eustace lives. Danger­ ous it may be— feeble it must be— yet live it shall, the proud deter­ mination to serve the church of which I am a member, and to combat the heresies by which she is assailed.” Thus spoke, at least thus thought, a man zealous according to his imperfect knowledge, con­ founding the vital interests of Christianity with the extravagant and usurped claims of the Church of Rome, and defending his cause with ardour worthy of a better. While moving onwards in this contemplative mood, he could not help thinking more than once, that he saw in his path the form of a female dressed in white, who appeared in the attitude of lamentation. But the impression was only momentary, and whenever he looked steadily to the point where he conceived the figure appeared, it always proved that he had mistaken some natural object, a white crag, or the trunk of a decayed birch tree with its silver bark, for the appearance in question. Father Eustace had dwelt too long in Rome to partake the supersti­ tious feelings of the more ignorant Scottish clergy; yet he certainly thought it extraordinary, that so strong an impression should have been made on his mind by the legend of the Sacristan. “It is strange,” said he to himself, “that this story, which doubtless was the invention of Brother Philip to cover his own impropriety of conduct, should run so much in my head and disturb my more serious thoughts. I am wont, I think, to have more command upon my senses— I will repeat my prayers, and banish such folly from my recollection.” T he Monk accordingly began with devotion to tell his beads, according to the prescribed rule of his order, and was not again disturbed by any wanderings of the imagination, until he found him­ self beneath the little fortalice of Glendearg. Dame Glendinning, who stood at the gate, set up a shout of surprise and joy at seeing the good father. “Martin,” she said, “Jasper, where be a’ the folk?— help the right reverend Sub-Prior to dismount, and take his mule from him— O father! God has sent you in our need— I

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was just going to send man and horse to the Convent— though I ought to be ashamed to give so much trouble to your reverences.” “Our trouble matters not, good dame,” said Father Eustace; “in what can I pleasure you? I came hither to visit the Lady of Avenel.” “Well-a-day!” said Dame Alice, “and it was on her part that I had the boldness to think of summoning you— for the good lady will never be able to wear over the day!— would it please you to go to her chamber?” “Hath she not been shriven by Father Philip?” said the Monk. “Shriven she was,” said the Dame of Glendearg, “and by Father Philip, as your reverence truly says—but— but I wish it may have been a clean shrift— Methought Father Philip looked but moody upon it— and there was a book which he took away with him, that” She paused as if unwilling to proceed. “Speak out, Dame Glendinning,” said the Father; “with us it is your duty to have no secrets.” “Nay, if it please your reverence— it is not that I would keep any thing from your reverence’s knowledge, but I fear I should prejudice the lady in your opinion; for it is an excellent lady— months and years has she dwelt in this tower, and none more exemplary than she; but this matter, doubtless, she will explain it herself to your reverence.” “I desire first to know it from you, Dame Glendinning,” said the Monk; “and I again repeat, it is your duty to explain it to me. This book, which Father Philip removed from Glendearg”-----“Was this morning returned to us in strange manner,” said the good widow. “Returned?” said the Monk; “How mean you?” “I mean,” answered Dame Glendinning, “that it was brought back to this tower of Glendearg, the saints best know how— that same book which Father Philip carried with him but yesterday. Old Martin, that is my tasker and the lady’s servant, was driving out the cows to the pasture— for we have three good milk cows, reverend father, blessed be Saint Waldave, and thanks to the holy Monastery”-----The Monk groaned with impatience; but he remembered that a woman of the good dame’s condition was like a top— if you let it spin on untouched, it will at last come to a pause; but, if you interrupt it by flogging, there is no end to its gyrations. “But to speak no more of the cows, your reverence, though they are likely cattle as ever were tied to a stake, the tasker was driving them out, and the lads, that is my Halbert and my Edward, that your reverence has seen at church on holidays, and especially Halbert,— for you patted him on the head and gave him a broach of Saint Cuthbert, which he wears in his bonnet,— and little Mary Avenel, that is the lady’s daughter, they ran all after the

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cattle, and began to play up and down the pasture as young folk will, your reverence. And at length they lost sight of Martin and the cows; and they began to run up a little cleuch which we call Corinan shian, where there is a wee bit stripe of a bum , and they saw there— Gude guide us!— a white woman sitting on the bum-side wringing her hands— So the bairns were frighted to see a strange woman there— all but Halbert— who will be sixteen come Whitsuntide; and, besides, he never feared ony thing—and when they went up to her—behold she was passed away!” “For shame, good woman!” said Father Eustace; “a woman of your sense and listen to a tale so idle!— the young folks told you a lie, and that was all.” “Nay, sir, it was more than that,” said the old dame; “for, besides that they never told me a lie in their lives, I must warn you that on the very ground where the White Woman was sitting, they found the Lady of Avenel’s book, and brought it back with them to the tower.” “T hat is worthy of mark at least,” said the Monk. “Know you no other copy of this volume within these bounds?” “None, your reverence,” returned Elspet; “why should there?— no one could read it were there twenty.” “Then you are sure it is the very same volume which you gave to Father Philip?” said the Monk. “As sure as that I now speak with your reverence.” “It is most singular!” said the Monk; and he walked across the room in a musing posture. “I have been upon nettles to hear what your reverence would say,” continued Dame Glendinning, “respecting this matter—There is nothing I would not do for the Lady of Avenel and her family, and that has been proved, and for her servants to boot, both Martin and Tibb, although Tibb is not so civil sometimes as altogether I have a right to expect; but I cannot think it beseeming to have angels, or ghosts, or fairies, or the like, waiting upon a leddy when she is in another woman’s house, in respect it is no ways creditable. Onything she had to do was always done to her hand, without costing her either pains or pence, as a country body says; and besides the discredit, I cannot but think that there is no safety in having such unchancy creatures about ane. But I have tied red thread round the baims’s throats, (so her fondness still called them,) and given ilk ane of them a riding wand of rowan tree, forbye sewing up a slip of witch-elm into their doublets; and I wish to know of your reverence if there be ony thing mair that a lone woman can do in the matter of ghosts and fairies?—Be here! that I should have named their unlucky names twice ower!” “Dame Glendinning,” answered the Monk, somewhat abruptly,

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when the good woman had finished her narrative, “I pray you, do you know the miller’s daughter?” “Did I know Kate Happer?” replied the widow; “that I did, as weel as the beggar knows his dish— A canty quean was Kate, and a special cummer of my ain may be twenty years syne.” “She cannot be the wench I mean,” said Father Eustace; “she after whom I enquire is scarce fifteen, a black-eyed girl— you may have seen her at the kirk.” “Your reverence must be in the right; and she is my cummer’s niece, doubtless, that you are pleased to speak of: But I thank God I have always been too duteous in attention to the mass, to know whether young wenches have black eyes or green ones.” The good father had so much of the world about him, that he was unable to avoid smiling, when the dame boasted her absolute resist­ ance to a temptation, which was not quite so liable to beset her as those of the other sex. “Perhaps, then,” he said, “you know her usual dress, Dame Glen­ dinning?” “Ay, ay, Father,” answered the dame readily enough, “a white kirtle the wench wears— for the dust of the mill no doubt— and a blue hood, that might weel be spared, for pridefulness.” “Then may it not be she,” said the Father, “who has brought back this book, and stepped out of the way when the children came near her?” The dame paused— was unwilling to combat the solution suggested by the Monk—but was at a loss to conceive why the lass of the mill should come so far from home into so wild a comer, merely to leave an old book with three children, from whose observation she wished to conceal herself. Above all, she could not understand why, since she had acquaintance of the family, and since the Dame Glendinning had always paid her multures and knaveship duly, the said lass of the mill had not come in to rest herself and eat a morsel, and tell her the current news of the water. These very objections satisfied the Monk that his conjectures were right. “Dame,” he said, “you will be cautious in what you say. This is an instance— I would it were the sole one— of the power of the Enemy in these days. The matter must be sifted with a curious and careful hand.” “Indeed,” said Elspet, trying to catch and chime in with the ideas of the Sub-Prior, “I have often thought the miller’s folks at the Monastery-mill were far over careless in sifting our melder, and in bolting it too— some folks say they will not stick at whiles to put in a handful of ashes amongst Christian folk’s com-meal.”

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83 “That shall be looked after also, dame,” said the Sub-Prior, not displeased to see that the good old woman went off on a false scent; “and now, by your leave, I will see this lady— do you go before, and prepare her to see me.” Dame Glendinning left the lower apartment accordingly, which the Monk paced in anxious reflection how he might best discharge, with humanity as well as with effect, the important duty incumbent on him. He resolved to approach the bed-side of the sick person with reprim­ ands, mitigated only by a feeling for her weak condition— he deter­ mined, in case of her reply, to which late examples of hardened heretics might encourage her, to be prepared with answers to their customary scruples. High fraught, also, with zeal against her unauthorized intrusion into the priestly function, by study of the Sacred Scriptures, he imagined to himself the answers which one of the modern school of heresy might return to him— the victorious refutation which should lay the disputant prostrate at the Confessor’s mercy—and the healing, yet awful exhortation, which, under pain of refusing the last consolations of religion, he designed to make to the penitent, conjuring her, as she loved her own soul’s welfare, to disclose to him what she knew of the dark mystery of iniquity, by which heresies were introduced into the most secluded spots of the very patrimony of the church herself—what agents they had who could thus glide, as it were unseen, from place to place, bring back the volumes which the church had interdicted to the spots from which they had been removed under her express auspices; and who, by encouraging the daring and profane thirst after knowledge forbidden and useless to the laity, had encouraged the fisher of souls to use with effect his old bait of ambition and vain glory. Much of this premeditated disputation escaped the good father, when Elspet returned, her tears flowing faster than her apron could dry them, and made him a signal to follow her. “How,” said the Monk, “is she then so near her end?— nay, the church must not break or bruise, when comfort is yet possible;” and, forgetting his polemics, the good Sub-Prior hastened to the little apartment, where, on the wretched bed which she had occupied since her misfortunes had driven her to the Tower of Glendearg, the widow of Walter Avenel had rendered up her spirit to her Creator. “My God!” said the SubPrior, “and has my unfortunate dallying suffered her to depart without the Church’s consolation? Look to her, dame,” he exclaimed with eager impatience; “is there not yet a sparkle of life left?—may she not be recalled— recalled but for a moment?— Oh! would that she could express, but by the most imperfect word— but by the most feeble motion, her acquiescence in the needful task of penitential prayer!

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Does she not breathe?— art thou sure she doth not?” “She will never breathe more,” said the matron. “O! the poor fatherless girl— now motherless also— O! the kind companion I have had these many years, that I shall never see again! But she is in Heaven for certain, if ever woman went there— for a woman of better life”-----“Woe to me,” said the good Monk, “if indeed she went not hence in good assurance—woe to the reckless shepherd, who suffered the wolf to carry a choice one from the flock, while he busied himself with trimming his sling and his staff to give the monster battle! O! if, in the long Hereafter, ought but weal should that poor spirit share, what has my delay cost?— the value of an immortal soul!” He then approached the body, full of the deep remorse natural to a good man of his persuasion, who devoutly believed the doctrines of the Catholic Church. “Ay,” said he, gazing on the pallid corpse, from which the spirit had parted so placidly as to leave a smile upon the thin blue lips, which had been so long wasted by decay that they had parted with the last breath of animation without the slightest convulsive tremor— “Ay,” said Father Eustace, “there lies the faded tree, and, as it fell, so it lies— awful thought forme, should my neglect have left it to descend in an evil direction.” He then again and again conjured Dame Glendinning to tell him what she knew of the demeanour and ordinary walk of the deceased. All tended to the high honour of the deceased lady; for her com­ panion, who admired her sufficiently while alive, notwithstanding some trifling points of jealousy, now idolized her after her death, and could think of no attribute of praise with which she did not adorn her memory. Indeed, the Lady of Avenel, however she might privately doubt some of the doctrines announced by the Church of Rome, and although she had probably tacitly appealed from that corrupted system of Christianity to the volume on which Christianity itself is founded, had nevertheless been regular in her attendance on the worship of the church, not, perhaps, extending her scruples so far as to break off communion. Such indeed was the first sentiment of the earlier reformers, who seem to have studied, for a time at least, to avoid a schism, until the violence of the Pope rendered it unavoidable. Father Eustace, on the present occasion, listened with eagerness to every thing which could lead to assure him of the lady’s orthodoxy in the main points of belief; for his conscience reproached him sorely, that, instead of protracting conversation with the Dame of Glendearg, he ought instantly to have hastened where his presence was so neces­ sary. “If,” he said, addressing the dead body, “thou art yet free from

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the utmost penalty due to the followers of false doctrine— if thou doest but suffer for a time, to expiate faults done in the body, but partaking of mortal frailty more than deadly sin, fear not that thy abode shall be long in the penal regions to which thou mayst be doomed— if vigils— if masses— if penance— if maceration of my body, till it resembles that extenuated form which the soul hath aban­ doned, may assure thy deliverance. The Holy Church— the godly foundation— our blessed Patroness herself, shall intercede for one whose errors were counterbalanced by so many virtues.— Leave me, dame— here, and by her bed-side, will I perform those duties which this piteous case demands!” Elspet left the Monk, who employed himself in fervent and sincere, though erroneous prayers, for the weal of the departed spirit. For an hour he remained in the apartment of death, and then returned to the hall, where he found the still weeping friend of the deceased. But it would be injustice to M rs Elspet Glendinning’s hospitality, if we suppose her to have been weeping during this long interval, or rather, if we suppose her so entirely absorbed by the tribute of sorrow which she paid frankly and plentifully to her deceased friend, as to be incapable of attending to the rites of hospitality due to her holy visitor — confessor at once, and Sub-Prior— mighty in all religious and secular considerations, so far as the vassals of the Monastery were interested. H er barley-bread had been toasted—her choicest cask of home­ brewed ale had been broached— her best butter had been placed on the hall-table, along with her most savoury ham and her choicest cheese, ere she abandoned herself to the extremity of sorrow; and it was not till she had arranged her little repast neatly on the board, that she sat down in the chimney comer, threw her checked apron over her head, and gave way to the current of tears and sobs. In this there was no grimace or affectation. T he good dame held the honours of her house to be as essential a duty, especially when a Monk was her visitant, as any other pressing call upon her conscience; nor until these were suitably attended to did she find herself at liberty to indulge her sorrow for her departed friend. When she was conscious of the Sub-Prior’s presence, she rose with the same attention to his reception; but he declined all the offers of hospitality with which she endeavoured to tempt him. Not her butter, as yellow as gold, and the best, she assured him, that was made in the patrimony of Saint Mary— not the barley-scones, which “the depar­ ted saint, God sain her! used to say were so good”—not the ale, nor any other cates which poor Elspet’s stores afforded, could prevail on the Sub-Prior to break his fast.

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“This day,” he said, “I must not taste food until the sun go down, happy if, in so doing, I can expiate my own negligence— happier still, if my sufferings of this trifling nature, undertaken in pure faith and singleness of heart, may benefit the soul of the deceased. Yet, dame,” he added, “I may not so far forget the living in my cares for the dead, as to leave behind me that book, which is to the ignorant what, to our first parents, the tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil unhappily proved— excellent indeed in itself, but fatal, because used by those to whom it is prohibited.” “O, blithely, reverend father,” said the widow of Simon Glendin­ ning, “will I give you the book, if so be I can wile it from the bairns; and indeed, poor things, as the case stands with them even now, you might take the heart out of their bodies, and they never find it out, they are sae begrutten.”* “Give them this missal instead, good dame,” said the Father, draw­ ing from his pocket one which was curiously illuminated with paint­ ings, “and I will come myself, or send some one at a fitting time, and teach them the meaning of these pictures.” “The bonnie images,” said Dame Glendinning, forgetting for an instant her grief in her admiration “and weel I wot,” added she, “it is another sort of a book than the poor Lady of Avenel’s— and blessed might we have been this day, if your reverence had found the way up the glen, instead of Father Philip— though the Sacristan is a powerful man too, and speaks as if he would gar the house fly abroad, save that the walls are gay thick— Simon’s forebears (may he and they be blessed!) took care of that.” The Monk ordered his mule, and was about to take his leave; and the good dame was still delaying him with questions about the funeral, when a horseman, armed and accoutred, rode into the little court­ yard which surrounded the Keep. C hapter J to te For since they rode among our doors With splent on spauld and rusty spurs, There grows no fruit into our furs; T hus said John Up-on-land. Bannatyne M S h e S c o t t i s h l a w s , which were as wisely and judiciously made as they were carelessly and ineffectually executed, had in vain endeav­ oured to restrain the damage done to agriculture, by the chiefs and landed proprietors retaining in their service what were called Jack-

T

* Begrutten,—over-weeped.

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men, from the jack, or doublet quilted with iron, which they wore as defensive armour. These military retainers conducted themselves with great insolence towards the industrious part of the community, lived in a great measure by plunder, and were ready to execute any commands of their master, however unlawful. In adopting this mode of life, men resigned the quiet hopes and regular labours of industry, for an unsettled, precarious, and dangerous trade, which yet had such charms for those who once became accustomed to it, that they became incapable of following any other. Hence the complaint of John Upland, a fictitious character, representing a countryman, into whose mouth the poets of the day put their general satires upon men and manners: They ride about in such a rage, By forest, frith and field, With buckler, bow, and brand. Lo! where they ride out through the rye! T he Devil mot save the company, Q uothjohn Up-on-land.

Christie of Clinthill, the horseman who now arrived at the little tower of Glendearg, was one of the hopeful company of whom the poet complains, as was indicated by his “splent on spauld,” (ironplates on his shoulder,) his rusted spurs, and his long lance. An iron scull-cap, none of the brightest, bore for distinction a sprig of the holly, which was AvenePs badge. A long two-edged straight sword, having a handle made of polished oak, hung down by his side. The meagre condition of his horse, and the wild and emaciated look of the rider, shewed their occupation could not be accounted an easy or a thriving one. He saluted Dame Glendinning with little courtesy, and the Monk with less; for the growing disrespect to the religious orders had not failed to extend itself among a class of men of such disorderly habits, although it may be supposed they were altogether indifferent alike to the new or the ancient doctrines. “So, our lady is dead, Dame Glendinning,” said the jack-man; “my master sent you even now a fat bullock for her mart— it may serve for her funeral. I have left him in the upper cleuch, as he is somewhat ken-speckle,* and is marked both with cut and birn—the sooner the skin is off, and he is in saultfat, the less like you are to have trouble— you understand me. Let me have a peck of com for my horse, and beef and beer for myself, for I must go on to the Monastery— though I think this Monk here might do mine errand.” “Thine errand, ju d e man,” said the Sub-Prior, knitting his brows-----“For God’s sake!” said poor Dame Glendinning, terrified at the * Ken-speckle— that which is easily recognised by the eye.

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idea of a quarrel betwixt them,— “O Christie! it is the Sub Prior— O reverend sir, it is Christie of Clinthill, the laird’s chief jackman— ye know that little havings can be expected from the like o’ them.” “Are you a retainer of the laird of Avenel?” said the Monk, address­ ing himself to the horseman; “and do you speak thus rude to a brother of Saint Mary’s, to whom thy master is so much beholden?” “He means to be yet more beholden to your house, Sir Monk,” answered the fellow; “for hearing his sister-in-law, the widow of Walter of Avenel, was on her death-bed, he sent me to say to the Father Abbot and the brethren, that he will hold the funeral-feast at their convent, and invites himself thereto with a score of horse, and some friends, to abide there for three days and three nights,— having horse-meat and men’s meat at the charge of the community; of which his intention he sends this due notice, that fitting preparation may be timeously made.” “Friend,” said the Sub-Prior, “believe not that I will do to the Father Abbot the indignity of delivering such an errand— think’st thou the goods of the church were bestowed upon her by holy princes and pious nobles, now dead and gone, to be consumed in revelry by every profligate layman who numbers in his train more followers than he can support by honest means, or by his own incomings? Tell thy master, from the Sub-Prior of Saint M ary’s, that the Primate hath issued his commands to us that we submit no longer to this compuls­ ory exaction of hospitality on slight or false pretences. Our lands and goods were given to relieve pilgrims and pious persons, not to feast bands of rude soldiers.” “This to me!” said the rude spear-man, “this to me and to my master?— Look to yourself then, Sir Priest, and try if Ave and Credo will keep bullocks from wandering, and hay-stacks from burning.” “Doest thou menace the holy Church’s patrimony with waste and fire-raising,” said the Sub Prior, “and that in the face of the sun? I call on all who hear me to bear witness to the words this ruffian has spoken. Remember how the Lord James drowned such as you by scores in the black pool at Jeddart.— T o him and to the Primate will I complain.” The soldier shifted the position of his lance, and brought it down to a level with the Monk’s body. Dame Glendinning began to shriek for assistance. “Tibb Tacket! Martin! where be ye all?— Christie, for the love of God, consider— he is a man of holy kirk.” “I care not for his spear,” said the Sub-Prior; “if I am slain in defending the rights and privileges of my community, the Primate will know how to take vengeance.” “Let him look to himself,” said Christie, but at the same time

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depositing his lance against the wall of the tower; “if the Fife men spoke true who came hither with the Governor in the last raid, Nor­ man Leslie has him at feud, and is like to set him hard. We know Norman—a true blood-hound, who will never quit the slot. But I had no design to offend the holy father,” he added, thinking perhaps he had gone a little too far; “I am a rude man, bred to lance and stirrup, and not used to deal with book-learned men and priests— and I am willing to ask his forgiveness and blessing, if I have said aught amiss.” “For God’s sake, your reverence,” said the widow of Glendearg apart to the Sub-Prior, “bestow on him your forgiveness— how shall we poor folks sleep in security in the dark nights, if the Convent is at feud with such men as he is?” “You are right, dame,” said the Sub-Prior, “your safety should, and must be in the first instance consulted.— Soldier, I forgive thee, and may God bless thee and send thee honesty.” Christie of the Clinthill made an unwilling inclination with his head, and muttered apart, “that is as much as to say, God send thee starvation.—But now to my master’s demand, Sir Priest? What answer am I to return?” “That the body of the widow of Walter of Avenel,” answered the Father, “shall be interred as becomes her rank, and in the tomb of her valiant husband. For your master’s proffered visit of three days, with such a company and retinue, I have no authority to reply to it; you must intimate your Chiefs purpose to the Reverend Lord Abbot.” “That will cost me a farther ride,” said the man, “but it is all in the day’s work.— How now, my lad,” said he to Halbert, who was hand­ ling the long lance which he had laid aside; “how do you like such a play-thing?— will you go with me and be a moss-trooper?” “The Saints in their mercy forbid!” said the poor mother; and then, afraid of having displeased Christie by the vivacity of her exclamation, she followed it up by explaining, that since Simon’s death she could not look on a spear or a bow, or any implement of destruction, without trembling. “Pshaw!” answered Christie, “thou should’st take another hus­ band, dame, and drive such follies out of thy thoughts—What say’st thou to such a strapping lad as I? Why, this old tower of thine is fencible enough, and there is no want of cleughs, and craggs, and bogs, and thickets, if one was set hard; a man might bide here and keep his half-score of lads, and as many geldings, and live on what he could lay his hand on, and be kind to thee, old wench.” “Alas! Master Christie, that you would talk to a lone woman in such a fashion, and death in the house besides!” “Lone woman!— why, that is the very reason thou should’st take a

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mate. T hy old friend is dead— why good— chuse thee another of somewhat tougher frame, and that will not die of the pip like a young chicken.— Better still— Come, dame, let me have something to eat, and we will talk more of this.” Dame Elspet, though she well knew the man’s character, which in fact she both disliked and feared, could not help simpering at the personal address which he thought proper to make to her. She whis­ pered to the Sub-Prior, “ony thing just to keep him quiet,” and went into the tower to set before the soldier the food he desired, trusting, betwixt good cheer and the power of her own charms, to keep Christie of the Clinthill so well amused, that the altercation betwixt him and the holy father should not be renewed. T he Sub-Prior was equally unwilling to hazard any unnecessary rupture betwixt the community and such a person as Julian of Avenel. He was sensible that moderation, as well as firmness, was necessary to support the tottering cause of the Church of Rome; and that, contrary to the former ages, the quarrels betwixt the clergy and laity had, in the present, usually terminated to the advantage of the latter. He resolved, therefore, to avoid further strife by withdrawing, but failed not, in the first place, to possess himself of the volume which the Sacristan had carried off the evening before, and which had been returned to the glen in such a marvellous manner. Edward, the younger of Dame Elspet’s boys, made great objections to the book being removed, in which Mary would probably have joined, but that she was now in her little sleeping chamber with Tibb, who was exerting her simple skill to console the young lady for her mother’s death. But the younger Glendinning stood up in defence of her property, and with a positiveness which had hitherto made no part of his character, declared, that now the kind lady was dead, the book was Mary’s, and no one but Mary should have it. “But if it is not a fit book for Mary to read, my dear boy,” said the Father gently; “you would not wish it to remain with her.” “The lady read it,” answered the young champion of property; “and so it could not be wrong—it shall not be taken away.—I wonder where Halbert is?— listening to the bravading tales of gay Christie, I reckon— he is always wishing for fighting, and now he is out of the way.” “Why, Edward, you would not fight with me, who am both a priest and an old man?” “If you were as good a priest as the Pope, and as old as the hills to boot, you shall not carry away Mary’s book without her leave. I will do battle for it.” “But see you, my love,” said the Monk, amused with the resolute

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friendship manifested by the boy, “I do not take it; I only borrow it; and I leave in its place my own gay missal, as a pledge I will bring it again.” Edward opened the missal with eager curiosity, and glanced at the pictures with which it was illustrated. “Saint George and the dragon — Halbert will like that— and Saint Michael brandishing his sword over the head of the Wicked One— and that will do for Halbert too— And see the Saint John leading his lamb in the wilderness, with his little cross made of reeds, and his scrip and staff—that shall be my favourite—and where shall we find one for poor Mary?— here is a beautiful woman weeping and lamenting herself.” “T hat is Saint Mary Magdalen repenting of her sins, my dear boy,” said the Father. “T hat will not suit our Mary; for she commits no faults, and is never angry with us, but when we do something wrong.” “T hen,” said the Father, “I will shew you a Mary, who will protect her and you, and all good children. See how fairly she is represented with her gown covered with golden stars.” The boy was lost in wonder at the portrait of the Virgin, which the Sub-Prior turned up to him. “This,” he said, “is really like our sweet Mary; and I think I will let you take away the black book, that has no such goodly shews in it, and leave this for Mary instead. But you must promise to bring back the book, good Father— for now I think upon it, Mary may like that best which was her mother’s.” “I will certainly return,” said the Monk, evading his answer, “and perhaps I may teach you to write and read such beautiful letters as you see there written, and to paint them blue, green, and yellow, and to blazon them with gold.” “Ay, and to make such figures as these blessed Saints, and espe­ cially these two Marys?” said the boy. “With their blessing,” said the Sub-Prior, “I can teach you that art too, so far as I am myself capable of shewing, and you of learning it.” “T hen,” said Edward, “will I paint Mary’s picture— And remem­ ber you are to bring back the black book; that you must promise me.” T he Sub-Prior, anxious to get rid of the boy’s pertinacity, and to set forward on his return to the convent, without having any farther interview with Christie the galloper, answered by giving the promise Edward required, mounted his mule, and set forth on his return homeward. T he November day was well spent ere the Sub-Prior resumed his journey; for the difficulty of the road, and the various delays which he had met with at the tower, had detained him longer than he purposed.

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A chill easterly wind was sighing among the withered leaves, and stripping some of them from the hold they had yet retained on the parent trees. “Even so,” said the Monk, “our prospects in this vale of time grow more disconsolate as the stream of years passes on. Little have I gained by my journey, save the certainty that heresy is busy amongst us with more than her usual activity, and that the spirit of insulting religious orders, and plundering the Church’s property, so general in the eastern districts of Scotland, has now come nearer home.” The tread of a horse which came up behind him, interrupted his reverie, and he soon saw he was mounted by the same wild rider whom he had left at the tower. “Good even, my son, and benedicite,” said the Sub-Prior as he passed; but the rude soldier scarce acknowledged the greeting, by bending his head; and dashing the spurs into his horse, went on at a pace which soon left the Monk and his mule far behind. “And there,” thought the Sub-Prior, “goes another plague of the times— a fellow whose birth designed him to cultivate the earth, but who is perverted by the unhallowed and unchristian divisions of the country, into a daring dissolute robber. The barons of Scotland are now turned mas­ terful thieves and ruffians, oppressing the poor by violence, and wast­ ing the Church, by extorting free-quarters from abbeys and priories, without either shame or reason.— I fear me I shall be too late to counsel the Abbot to make a stand against these daring somers*— I must make haste.” He struck his mule with the riding-wand accord­ ingly; but, instead of mending her pace, the animal suddenly started from the path, and the rider’s utmost efforts could not force her forward. “Art thou, too, infected with the spirit of the times?” said the SubPrior; “thou wert wont to be ready and serviceable, and art now as restive as any wild jack-man or stubborn heretic of them all.” While he was contending with the startled animal, a voice, like that of a female, chaunted in his ear, or at least very close to it, “Good evening, Sir Priest, and so late as you ride, With your mule so fair, and your mantle so wide; But ride you through valley, or ride you o’er hill, There is one that has warrant to wait on you still. Back, back, T he volume black! I have a warrant to carry it back. ” * T o some, in Scotland, is to exact free quarters against the will of the landlord. It is declared equivalent to theft by a statute passed in the year 1455. T he great chieftains oppressed the Monasteries very much by exactions of this nature. T he community of Aberbrothwick complained of an Earl of Angus, I think, who was in the regular habit of visiting them once a year, with a train of a thousand horse, and abiding till the whole winter provisions of the convent were exhausted.

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93 The Sub-Prior looked around, but neither bush nor brake was near which could conceal an ambushed songstress. “May Our Lady have mercy on me!” he said; “I trust my senses have not forsaken me—yet how my thoughts should arrange themselves into rhimes which I despise, and music which I care nought for, or why there should be the sound of a female voice in ears, to which its melody has been so long indifferent, baffles my comprehension, and almost realizes the vision of Philip the Sacristan.— Come, good mule, betake thee to the path, and let us hence while our judgment serves us.” But the mule stood as if it had been rooted to the spot, backed from the point to which it was pressed by its rider, and by her ears laid close into her neck, and her eyes almost starting from their sockets, testified that she was under great terror. While the Sub-Prior, by alternate threats and soothing, endeav­ oured to reclaim the wayward animal to her duty, the wild musical voice was again heard close beside him. “What ho! Sir Prior, and came you but here T o c onjure a book from a dead w om an’s bier?

Sain you, and save you, be wary and wise, Ride back with the book or you’ll pay for your prize. Back, back, There’s death on the track! In the name o f my master, I bid thee bear back.”

“In the name ofMY Master,” said the astonished Monk, “that name before which all created things tremble, I conjure thee to say what thou art that hauntest me thus?” The same voice replied, “That which is neither ill nor well, That which belongs not to Heaven nor to hell, A wreath o f the mist, a bubble o f the stream, ’T wixt a waking thought and a sleeping dream; A form that men spy With the half shut eye, In the beams o f the setting sun am I.”

“This is more than simple fantasy,” said the Sub-Prior rousing himself; though, notwithstanding the natural hardihood of his tem­ per, the sensible presence of a supernatural being so near him, failed not to make his blood run cold and his hair bristle. “I charge thee,” he said aloud, “be thine errand what it will, to depart and trouble me no more!—False spirit, thou canst not appal any save those who do the work negligently.” The voice immediately answered; “Vainly, Sir Prior, would’st thou bar me my right! Like the star when it shoots, I can dart through the night; I can dance on the torrent and ride on the air,

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And travel the world with the bonnie night-mare. Again, again, At the crook o f the glen, Where bickers the burnie, I’ll meet thee again.”

The road was now apparently left open; for the mule collected herself, and changed from her posture of terror to one which prom­ ised advance, although a profuse perspiration, and general trembling of the joints, indicated the bodily terror she had undergone. “I used to doubt the existence of Cabalists and Rosicrucians,” thought the Sub-Prior, “but by my Holy Order, I know no longer what to say!— My pulse beats temperately— my hand is cool— I am fasting from every thing but sin, and possessed of my ordinary faculties. Either some fiend is permitted to bewilder me, or the tales of Cor­ nelius Agrippa, Paracelsus, and others who treat of occult philosophy, are not without foundation. At the crook of the glen?—I could have well desired to avoid a second meeting, but I am on the service of the church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against me.” He moved onward accordingly, but with precaution, and not with­ out fear; for he neither knew the manner in which, or the place where, his journey might be next interrupted by his invisible attendant. He descended the glen without interruption for about a mile further, when, just at a spot where the brook approached the steep hill, with a winding so abrupt as to leave scarcely room for a horse to pass, the mule was again visited with the same symptoms of terror which had before interrupted her course. Better acquainted than before with the cause of her restiveness, the Priest employed no effort to make her proceed, but addressed himself to the object, which he doubted not was the same that had formerly interrupted him, in the words of solemn exorcism prescribed by the church of Rome on such occa­ sions. In reply to his demand, the voice again sung;— “M en o f good are bold as sackless,* M en of rude are wild and reckless. Lie thou still In the nook o f the hill, For those are before thee that wish thee ill.”

While the Sub-Prior listened, with his head turned in the direction from which the sounds seemed to come, he felt as if something rushed against him; and ere he could discover the cause, he was pushed from his saddle with gentle but irresistible force. Before he reached the ground his senses were gone, and he lay long in a state of insensibility; for the sunset had not ceased to gild the top of the distant hill when he fell,— and when he again became conscious of existence, the pale * Sackless— Innocent.

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moon was gleaming on the landscape. He awakened in a state of terror, from which, for a few minutes, he found it difficult to shake himself free. At length he sate up on the grass, and became sensible, by repeated exertion, that the only personal injury which he had sustained was the numbness arising from extreme cold. The motion of something near him made the blood again run to his heart, and by a sudden effort he started up, and, looking around, saw to his relief that the noise was occasioned by the footsteps of his own mule. The peaceable animal had remained quietly beside her master during his trance, browsing on the grass which grew plentifully in that seques­ tered nook. With some exertion he collected himself, remounted the animal, and meditating upon his wild adventure, descended the glen till its junction with the broader valley through which the Tweed winds. The draw-bridge was readily dropped at his first summons, and so much had he won upon the heart of the churlish warden, that Peter appeared himself with a lantern to shew the Sub-Prior his way over the perilous pass. “By my sooth, sir,” he said, holding the light up to Father Eust­ ace’s face; “you look sore travelled and deadly pale— but a little matter serves to weary you out, you men of the cell. I now who speak to you— I have ridden— before I was perched up here on this pillar betwixt wind and water— it may be thirty Scots miles before I broke my fast, and have had the red of a bramble rose in my cheek all the while— But will you taste some food, or a cup of distilled waters?” “I may not,” said Father Eustace, “being under a vow—but I thank you for your kindness, and pray you to give what I may not accept to the next poor pilgrim who comes hither pale and fainting, for so it shall be the better both with him here, and with you hereafter.” “By my faith, and I will do so,” said Peter Bridge-Ward, “even for thy sake— It is strange now, how this Sub-Prior gets round one’s heart more than the rest of these cowled gentry, that think of nothing but quaffing and stuffing—Wife, I say— wife— we will give a cup of dis­ tilled waters and a crust of bread unto the next pilgrim that comes over; and ye may keep for the purpose the grunds of the last grey­ beard,* and the ill-baked bannock which the bairns couldna eat.” While Peter issued these charitable, and, at the same time, prudent injunctions, the Sub-Prior, whose mild interference had awakened the Bridge-Ward to such an act of unwonted generosity, was pacing onward to the Monastery. In the way, he had to commune with and subdue his own rebellious heart, an enemy, he was sensible, more * An old-fashioned name for an earthen jar for holding spirits.

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formidable than any which the external powers of Satan could place in his way. Father Eustace had indeed strong temptation to suppress the extra­ ordinary incident which had befallen him, which he was the more reluctant to confess, because he had passed so severe a judgment upon Father Philip, who, as he was now not unwilling to allow, had, on his return from Glendearg, encountered obstacles somewhat similar to his own. O f this the Sub-Prior was the more convinced, when, feeling in his bosom for the Book which he had brought off from the Tower of Glendearg, he found it was amissing, which he could only account for by supposing it had been stolen from him during his trance. “If I confess this strange visitation,” thought the Sub-Prior, “I become the ridicule of all my brethren— I whom the Primate sent hither to be a watch, as it were, and a check upon their follies. I give the Abbot an advantage over me which I shall never again recover, and Heaven only knows how he may abuse it, in his foolish simplicity, to the dishonour and loss of Holy Kirk.— But then, if I make not true confession of my shame, with what face can I again presume to admonish or restrain others?—Avow, proud heart,” con­ tinued he, addressing himself, “that the weal of Holy Church interests thee less in this matter than thine own humiliation— Yes, Heaven has punished thee even in that point in which thou didst deem thyself most strong, in thy spiritual pride and thy carnal wis­ dom. Thou has laughed at, and derided the inexperience of thy brethren— stoop thyself in turn to their derision— tell what they may not believe— affirm that which they will ascribe to idle fear, or perhaps to wilful falsehood— sustain the disgrace of a silly visionary, or a wilful deceiver.— Be it so; I will do my duty, and make ample confession to my Superior— if the discharge of this duty destroys my usefulness in this house, God and Our Lady will send me where I can better serve them.” There was no little merit in the resolution thus piously and gener­ ously formed by Father Eustace. To men of any rank the esteem of their order is naturally most dear; but in the monastic establishment, cut off, as the brethren are, from other objects of ambition, as well as from all exterior friendship and relationship, the place which they hold in the opinion of each other is all in all. But the consciousness how much he should rejoice the Abbot and most of the other Monks of Saint Mary’s, who were impatient of the unauthorized yet irresistible controul, which he was wont to exercise in the affairs of the convent by a confession which would put him in a ludicrous, or perhaps even in a criminal point of view, could not weigh

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with Father Eustace in comparison with the duty which his belief enjoined. As, strong in his feelings of duty, he approached the exterior gate of the Monastery, he was surprised to see torches gleaming, and men assembled around it, some on horseback, some on foot, while several of the Monks, distinguished through the night by their white scapularies, were making themselves busy amongst the crowd. The SubPrior was received with a unanimous shout of joy, which at once made him sensible that he had himself been the object of their anxiety. “There he is! there he is! God be thanked— there he is, hale and fear!” exclaimed the vassals; while the Monks exclaimed “ 7V Deutn laudamus— the blood of thy servants is precious in thy sight!” “What is the matter, children? what is the matter, my brethren?” said Father Eustace, dismounting at the gate. “Nay, brother, if thou know’st not, we will not tell thee till thou art in the refectory,” answered the Monks; “Suffice it that the Lord Abbot had ordered these, our zealous and faithful vassals, instantly to set forth to guard thee from imminent peril— Ye may ungirth your horses, children, and dismiss— and, to-morrow, each who was at this rendezvous may send to the convent kitchen for a quarter of a yard of roast-beef, and a black-jack full of double ale.” The vassals dispersed with joyful acclamation, and the Monks with equal jubilee, conducted the Sub-Prior into the refectory. CfjaptertEen Here we stand— Woundless and well, may Heaven’s high name be bless’d for’t! As erst, ere treason couch’d a lance against us. D

ecker

N o s o o n e r was the Sub-Prior carried into the refectory by his rejoicing companions, than the first person on whom he fixed his eye proved to be Christie of the Clinthill. He was seated in the chimneycorner, fettered and guarded, his features drawn into that air of sulky and turbid resolution with which those hardened in guilt are accus­ tomed to view the approach of punishment. But as the Sub-Prior drew near to him, his face assumed a more wild and startled expression, while he exclaimed— “The devil! the devil himself, brings the dead back upon the living!” “Nay,” said a Monk to him, “say rather, that Our Lady foils the attempts of the wicked on her faithful servants— our dear brother lives and moves.” “Lives and moves!” said the ruffian, rising and shuffling towards

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the Sub-Prior as well as his chains would permit; “nay, then I will never trust ashen shaft and steel point more—It is even so,” he added, as he gazed on the Sub-Prior with astonishment; “neither wem nor wound— not so much as a rent in his frock!” “And whence should my wound have come?” said Father Eustace. “From the good lance that never failed me so foully before,” replied Christie of the Clinthill. “Heaven absolve thee for thy purpose!” said the Sub-Prior; “wouldst thou have slain a servant of the altar?” “To choose!” answered Christie, “the Fifemen say, an’ the whole pack of ye were slain, there were more lost at Flodden.” “Villain! art thou heretic as well as murderer?” “Not I, by Saint Giles,” replied the rider; “I listened blithely enough to the Laird of Monance, when he told me ye were all cheats and knaves; but when he would have had me go hear one Wiseheart, a gospeller, as they call him, he might as well have persuaded the wild colt that had flung one rider to kneel down and help another into the saddle.” “There is some goodness about him yet,” said the Sacristan to the Abbot, who at that moment entered— “He refused to hear a heretic preacher.” “The better for him in the next world,” answered the Abbot. “Pre­ pare for death, my son— we deliver thee over to the secular arm of our Baillie, for execution on the Gallow-hill by peep of light.” “Amen!” said the ruffian; “’tis the end I must have come by sooner or later— and what care I whether I feed the crows at Saint M ary’s or at Carlisle?” “Let me implore your reverent patience for an instant,” said the Sub-Prior; “until I shall enquire”-----“What!” exclaimed the Abbot, observing him for the first time— “Our dear brother restored to us when his life was unhoped for!— nay, kneel not to a sinner like me— stand up— thou hast my blessing. When this villain came to the gate, accused by his own evil conscience, and crying out he had murdered thee, I thought that the pillar of our main aisle had fallen— no more shall a life so precious be exposed to such risks, as occur in this Border country; no longer shall one beloved and rescued of Heaven hold so low a station in the church, as that of a poor Sub-Prior— I will write by express to the Primate for thy speedy removal and advancement.” “Nay, but let me understand,” said the Sub-Prior; “did this soldier say that he had slain me?” “T hat he had transfixed you,” answered the Abbot, “in full career with his lance— but it seems he had taken an indifferent aim. But no

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sooner didst thou fall to the ground mortally gored, as he deemed, with his weapon, than our blessed Patroness appeared to him, as he averred”-----“I averred no such thing,” said the prisoner; “I said a woman in white interrupted me, as I was about to examine the priest’s cassock, for they are usually well lined— she had a bull-rush in her hand, with one touch of which she struck me from my horse, as I might strike down a child of four years old with an iron mace—and then, like a singing fiend as she was, she sung to me, ‘Thank the holly-bush That nods on thy brow; Or with this slender rush I had strangled thee now.’

I gathered myself up with fear and difficulty, threw myself on my horse, and came hither like a fool to get myself hanged for a rogue.” “Thou seest, honoured brother,” said the Abbot to the Sub-Prior, “in what favour thou art with our blessed Patroness, that she herself becomes the guardian of thy paths— Not since the days of our blessed founder hath she shewn such grace to any one. All unworthy were we to hold spiritual superiority over thee, and we pray thee to prepare for thy speedy removal to Aberbrothock.” “Alas! my lord and father,” said the Sub-Prior, “your words pierce my very soul— under the seal of confession will I presently tell thee why I conceive myself rather the baffled sport of a spirit of another sort, than the protected favourite of the heavenly powers. But first let me ask this unhappy man a question or two.” “Do as ye list,” replied the Abbot— “but you shall not convince me that it is fitting you remain in this inferior office in the convent of Saint Mary.” “I would ask of this poor man,” said Father Eustace, “for what purpose he nourished the thought of putting to death one who never did him evil.” “Ay! but thou didst menace me with evil,” said the ruffian, “and no one but a fool is menaced twice. Doest thou not remember what you said touching the Primate and Lord James, and the black pool of Jedwood? Didst thou think me fool enough to wait till thou hadst betrayed me to the sack and the fork? There were small wisdom in that methinks— as little as in coming hither to tell my own misdeeds— I think the devil was in me when I took this road— I might have remembered the proverb, ‘Never Friar forgot feud.’” “And was it solely for that— for that only hasty word of mine, uttered in a moment of impatience, and forgotten ere it was well spoken?” said Father Eustace.

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“Ay! for that, and for the love of thy gold crucifix,” said Christie of the Clinthill. “Gracious heaven! and could the yellow metal— the glittering earth — so far overcome every sense of what is thereby represented?— Father Abbot, I pray, as a dear boon, you will deliver this guilty person to my mercy.” “Nay, brother,” interposed the Sacristan, “to your doom if you will, not to your mercy— remember, we are not all equally favoured by our blessed Lady, nor is it likely that every frock in the Convent will serve as a coat of proof when a lance is couched against it.” “For that very reason,” said the Sub-Prior, “I would not that for my worthless self the community were to fall at feud with Julian of Avenel, this man’s master.” “Our Lady forbid!” said the Sacristan, “he is a second Julian the Apostate.” “With our reverend father the Abbot’s permission then,” said Father Eustace, “I desire this man be freed from his chains, and suffered to depart uninjured;—And here, friend,” he added, giving him the golden crucifix, “is the image for which thou wert willing to stain thy hands with murther— view it well, and may it inspire thee with other and better thoughts than those which referred to it as a piece of bullion. Part with it, nevertheless, if thy necessities require, and get thee one of such coarse substance that mammon shall have no share in any of the reflections to which it gives rise. It was the bequest of a dear friend to me; but dearer service can-it never do than that of winning a soul to heaven.” The Borderer, now freed from his chains, stood gazing alternately on the Sub-Prior and on the golden crucifix. “By Saint Giles,” said he, “I understand ye not!— an ye give me gold for couching my lance at thee, what would you give me to level it at a heretic?” “The Church,” said the Sub-Prior, “will try the effect of her spir­ itual censures to bring these stray sheep again into the fold, ere she employ the edge of the sword of Saint Peter.” “Ay, but,” said the ruffian, “they say the Primate recommends a little strangling and burning in aid both of censure and of sword. But fare ye weel, I owe you a life, and it may be I will not forget my debt.” The Baillie now came bustling in, dressed in his blue coat and bandaliers, and attended by two or three halberdiers. “I have been a thought too late in waiting upon your reverend lordship. I am grown somewhat fatter since the field of Pinkie, and my leathern coat slips not on so soon as it was wont— but the dungeon is ready, and though, as I said, I have been some what late”------

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Here his intended prisoner walked gravely up to the officer’s nose, to his great amazement. “You have been indeed somewhat late, Baillie,” said he, “and I am greatly obligated to your buff-coat, and to the time you took to put it on. If the secular arm had arrived some quarter of an hour sooner, I had been out of the reach of spiritual grace—but as it is, I wish you good even, and a safe riddance out of your garment of durance, in which you have much the air of a hog in armour.” Wroth was the Baillie with this comparison, and exclaimed in ire “An’ it were not for the presence of the venerable Lord Abbot, thou knave”-----“Nay, an’ thou would’st try conclusions,” said Christie of the Clinthill, “I will meet thee at day-break by Saint Mary’s well.” “Hardened wretch,” said Father Eustace, “art thou but this instant delivered from death, and doest thou so soon nurse thoughts of slaughter?” “I shall meet with thee ere it be long, thou knave,” said the Baillie, “and teach thee thine Oremus.” “I shall meet thy cattle in a moonlight night, before that day,” said he of the Clinthill. “I shall have thee by the neck one misty morning, thou strong thief,” answered the secular officer of the church. “Thou art thyself as strong a thief as ever rode,” retorted Christie; “and if the worms were once feasting on that fat carcase of thine, I might well hope to have thine office, by favour of these reverend men.” “A cast of their office, and a cast of mine,” answered the Baillie; “a cord and a confessor, that is all thou wilt have from us.” “Sirs,” said the Sub-Prior, observing that his brethren began to take more interest than was exactly decorous in this wrangling betwixt justice and iniquity, “I pray you both to depart— Master Baillie, retire with your halberdiers, and trouble not the man whom we have dis­ missed.— And thou, Christie, or whatever be thy name, take thy departure, and remember thou owest thy life to the Lord Abbot’s clemency.” “Nay, as to that,” answered Christie, “I judge that I owe it to your own— but impute it to whom ye list, I owe a life among ye, and there is an end.” And whistling as he went, he left the apartment, seeming as if he held the life which he had forfeited not worthy farther thanks. “Obstinate even to brutality!” said Father Eustace; “and yet who knows but some better ore may lie under so rude an exterior.” “Save a thief from the gallows,” said the Sacristan— “you know the rest of the proverb; and admitting, as may Heaven grant, that our life

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and limb are safe from this outrageous knave, who shall insure our meal and our malt, our herds and our flocks?” “Marry, that will I, my brethren,” said an aged Monk. “Ah, breth­ ren, you little know what may be made of a repentant robber. In Abbot Ingelram’s days—ay, and I remember them as it were yesterday— the freebooters were the best welcome men that came to Saint Mary’s. Ay, they paid tithe of every drove that they brought over from the South, and because they were something lightly come by, I have known them make the tithe a seventh— that is, if their confessor knew his business — ay, when we saw from the tower a score of fat bullocks, or a drove of sheep coming down the valley, with two or three stout men-at-arms behind them, with their glittering steel caps, and their black-jacks, and their long lances, the good Lord Abbot Ingelram was wont to say — he was a merry man— there come the tithes of the spoilers of the Egyptians! Ay, and I have seen the famous John the Armstrang,— a fair man he was and a goodly, the more pity that hemp was ever heckled for him—I have seen him come into the Abbey-Church with nine tassells of gold in his bonnet, and every tassell made of nine English nobles, and he would go from chapel to chapel, and from image to image, and from altar to altar, on his knees— and leave here a tassell, and there a noble, till there was as little gold on his bonnet as on my hood— you will find no such Border thieves now!” “No truly, Brother Nicolas,” answered the Abbot; “they are more apt to take any gold the Church has left, than to bequeath or bestow any— and for cattle, beshrew me if I think they care whether beeves have fed on the meadows of Lanercost Abbey or of Saint Mary’s.” “There is no good thing left in them,” said Father Nicolas; “they are clean naught—Ah, the thieves that I have seen!— such proper men! and as pitiful as proper, and as pious as pitiful!” “It skills not talking of it, Brother Nicolas,” said the Abbot; “and I will now dismiss you, my brethren, holding your meeting upon this our inquisition concerning the danger of our reverend SubPrior, instead of the attendance on the lauds this evening— Yet let the bells be duly rung for the edification of the laymen without, and also that the novices may give due reverence.—And now, benedicite, brethren! the cellarer will bestow on each a grace-cup and a morsel as ye pass the buttery, for ye have been turmoiled and anxious, and dangerous it is to fall asleep in such case on an empty stomach.” “Gratias agimus quum maxitnas, Domine reverendissime,” replied the brethren, departing in their due order. But the Sub-Prior remained behind, and falling on his knees before the Abbot, as he was about to withdraw, craved him to hear under the seal of confession the adventures of the day. The reverend Lord

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Abbot yawned, and would have alleged fatigue; but to Father Eustace, of all men, he was ashamed to shew indifference in his religious duties. The confession, therefore, proceeded, in which Father Eust­ ace told all the extraordinary circumstances which had befallen him during the journey. And being questioned by the Abbot, whether he was not conscious of any secret sin, through which he might have been subjected for a time to the delusions of evil spirits, the Sub-Prior admitted with frank avowal, that he thought he might have deserved such a penance for having judged with unfratemal rigour of the report of Father Philip the Sacristan. “Heaven,” said the penitent, “may have been willing to convince me, not only that he can at pleasure open a communication betwixt us and beings of a different, and, as we word it, supernatural class, but also to punish our pride of superior wisdom, or superior courage, or superior learning.” It is well said that virtue is its own reward; and I question if duty was ever more completely recompensed, than by the audience which the reverend Abbot so unwillingly yielded to the confession of his SubPrior. To find the object of his fear shall we say, or of his envy, or of both, accusing himself of the very error with which he had so often tacitly charged him, was at once a corroboration of his judgment, a soothing of his pride, and an allaying of his fears. The sense of triumph, however, rather increased than diminished his natural goodhumour; and so far was Abbot Boniface from being disposed to tyrannize over his Sub-Prior, in consequence of this discovery, that in his exhortation he hovered somewhat ludicrously betwixt the natural expression of his own gratified vanity, and his timid reluctance to hurt the feelings of Father Eustace. “My brother,” said he, ex cathedra, “it cannot have escaped your judicious observation, that we have often declined our own judgment in favour of your opinion, even about those matters which most nearly concerned the community. Nevertheless, grieved were we, could you think that we did this either because we deemed our own opinion less pregnant, or our wit more shallow, than that of our other brethren. For it is done exclusively to give our younger brethren, such as your much esteemed self, my dearest brother, that courage which is neces­ sary to a free deliverance of your opinion,— we oftimes setting apart our proper judgment, that our inferiors, and especially our dear brother the Sub-Prior, may be comforted and encouraged in propos­ ing valiantly his own thoughts. Which our deference and humility may, in some sort, have produced in your mind, most reverend brother, that self-opinion of parts and knowledge, which hath led unfortunately to your over-estimating your own faculties, and thereby

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subjecting yourself, as is but too visible, to the japes and mockeries of evil spirits. For it is assured that Heaven always holdeth us in the least esteem when we deem of ourselves most highly; and also, on the other hand, it may be that we have somewhat departed from what became our high seat in this Abbey, in suffering ourself to be too much guided, and even as it were controuled, by the voice of our inferior. Where­ fore,” continued the Lord Abbot, “in both of us such faults shall and must be amended— you hereafter presuming less upon your gifts and carnal wisdom, and I taking heed not so easily to relinquish mine own opinion for that of one lower in place and in office. Nevertheless, we would not that we should thereby lose the high advantage which we have derived, and may yet derive, from your wise counsel, which hath been so often recommended to us by our most reverend Primate. Wherefore, on affairs of high moment, we will call you to our presence in private and listen to your opinion, which, if it shall agree with our own, we will deliver to the chapter, as emanating directly from our­ selves; thus sparing you, dearest brother, that seeming victory which is so apt to engender spiritual pride, and avoiding ourselves the temp­ tation of falling into that modest facility of opinion, whereby our office is lessened and our person (were that of consequence) rendered less important in the eyes of the community over which we preside.” Notwithstanding the high notions which, as a rigid Catholic, Father Eustace entertained of the sacrament, as his church call it, of confes­ sion, there was some danger that a sense of the ridiculous might have stolen on him, when he heard his Superior, with such simple cunning, lay out a little plan for availing himself of the Sub-Prior’s wisdom and experience, while he took the whole credit to himself. Yet his con­ science immediately told him that he was right. “I should have thought more,” he reflected, “of the spiritual Super­ ior, and less of the individual. I should have spread my mantle over the frailties of my spiritual father, and done what I might to support his character, and, of course, to extend his utility among the brethren, as well as with others. T he Abbot cannot be humbled, but what the community must be humbled in his person. Her boast is, that over all her children, especially over those called to places of distinction, she can diffuse those gifts which are necessary to render them illustrious.” Actuated by these sentiments, Father Eustace frankly assented to the charge which his Superior, even in that moment of authority, had rather intimated than made, and signified his humble acquiescence in any mode of communicating his counsel which might be most agree­ able to the Lord Abbot, and might best remove from himself all temptation to glory in his own wisdom. He then prayed the reverend father to assign him such penance as might best suit his offence,

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intimating at the same time, that he had already fasted the whole day. “And it is that I complain of,” answered the Abbot, instead of giving him credit for his abstinence; “it is of these very penances, fasts, and vigils, which we complain; as tending only to generate air and fumes of vanity, which, ascending from the stomach into the head, do but puff us up with vain glory and self opinion. It is meet and beseeming that novices should undergo fasts and vigils; for some part of every com­ munity must fast, and young stomachs may best endure it. Besides, in them it abates wicked thoughts, and the desire of worldly delights. But, reverend brother, for those to fast who are dead and mortified to the world, as I and thou, is work of supererogation, and is but the mother of spiritual pride. Wherefore, I enjoin thee, most reverend brother, go to the buttery, and drink two cups at least of good wine, eating withal a comfortable morsel, such as may best suit thy taste and stomach. And in respect that thine own opinion of thy own wisdom hath at times made thee less conformable to, and companionable with, thy weaker and less learned brethren, I enjoin thee, during the said repast, to chuse for thy companion, our reverend brother Nicolas, and, without interruption or impatience, to listen for a stricken hour to his narratives, concerning those things which befell in the times of our venerable predecessor, Abbot Ingelram, on whose soul may Heaven have mercy! And for such holy exercises as may further advantage your soul, and expiate the fault whereof you have contritely and humbly avowed yourself guilty, we will ponder upon that matter, and announce our will to you the next morning.” It was remarkable, that after this memorable evening, the feelings of the worthy Abbot towards his adviser were much more kindly and friendly than when he deemed the Sub-Prior the impeccable and infallible person, in whose garment of virtue and wisdom no flaw was to be discerned. It seemed as if this avowal of his own imperfections had recommended Father Eustace to the friendship of his Superior, although at the same time this increase of benevolence was attended with some circumstances, which, to a man of the Sub-Prior’s natural elevation of mind and temper, were more grievous than even under­ going the legends of the dull and verbose Father Nicolas. For instance, the Abbot seldom mentioned him to the other monks, with­ out designing him our beloved Brother Eustace, poor man!—And now and then he used to warn the younger brethren against the snares of vain-glory and spiritual pride, which Satan sets for the more rigidly righteous, with such looks and demonstrations as did all but expressly designate the Sub-Prior as one who had fallen at one time under such delusions. Upon such occasions, it required all the votive obedience of a monk, all the philosophical discipline of the schools, and all the

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patience of a Christian, to enable Father Eustace to endure the pom­ pous and patronizing parade of his honest, but somewhat thick­ headed Superior. He began himself to be desirous of leaving the Monastery, or at least he manifestly declined to interfere with its affairs, in that marked and authoritative manner, which he had at first practised.

CfiapterCltfaen You call this education, do you not? Why ’tis the forced march o f a herd o f bullocks Before a shouting drover. T he glad van M ove on at ease, and pause a while to snatch A passing morsel from the dewy green-sward, While all the blows, the oaths, the indignation, Fall on the croupe o f the ill-fated laggard That cripples in the rear. Old Play

T w o o r t h r e e y e a r s glided on, during which the storm of the approaching alteration in church government became each day louder and more perilous. Owing to the circumstances which we have intim­ ated in the end of the last chapter, the Sub-Prior Eustace appeared to have altered considerably his habits of life. He afforded, on all extra­ ordinary occasions, to the Abbot, whether privately, or in the assem­ bled chapter, the support of his wisdom and experience. But in his ordinary habits he seemed now to live more for himself, and less for the community, than had been his former practice. He often absented himself for whole days from the convent; and as the adventure of Glendearg dwelt deeply on his memory, he was repeatedly induced to visit that lonely tower, and to take an interest in the orphans who had their shelter under its roof. Besides, he felt a deep anxiety to know whether the volume which he had lost, when so strangely preserved from the lance of the murderer, had again found its way back to the tower of Glendearg. “It was strange,” he thought, “that a spirit,” for such he could not help judging the being whose voice he had heard, “should, on the one side, seek the advancement of heresy, and, on the other, interpose to save the life of a zealous Catholic priest.” But from no enquiry which he made at the various inhabitants of the Tower of Glendearg could he learn that the copy of the translated Scriptures, after which he made such diligent enquiry, had again been seen by any of them. In the meanwhile the good father’s occasional visits were of no small consequence to Edward Glendinning and to Mary Avenel. The

[Chap. 11]

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former displayed a power for apprehending and retaining whatever was taught him, which filled Father Eustace with admiration. He was at once acute and industrious, alert and accurate; one of those rare combinations of talent and industry, which are seldom combined save in the most fortunate subjects. It was the earnest desire of Father Eustace that the excellent qual­ ities thus early displayed by Edward should be educated to the service of the church, to which he thought the youth’s own consent might be easily attained, as he was of a calm, contemplative, retired habit, and seemed to consider knowledge as the principal object, and its enlarge­ ment as the greatest pleasure, in life. As to the mother, the Sub-Prior had little doubt that, trained as she was to view the Monks of Saint Mary’s with such profound reverence, she would be but too happy in an opportunity of enrolling one of her sons in its honoured com­ munity. But the good Father proved to be mistaken in both these particulars. When he spoke to Elspet Glendinning of that which a mother best loves to hear— the proficiency and abilities of her son— she listened with a delighted ear. But when Father Eustace hinted at the duty of dedicating to the service of the church, talents which seemed fitted to defend and to adorn it, the dame endeavoured always to shift the subject; and if pressed farther, enlarged on her own incapacity, as a lone woman, to manage the feu— on the advantage which her neigh­ bours of the township were often taking of her unprotected state, and on the wish she had that Edward might fill his father’s place, remain in the little tower, and close her eyes. On such occasions the Sub-Prior would answer, that even in a worldly point of view the welfare of the family would be best consulted by one of the sons entering into the community of St Mary’s, as it was not to be supposed that he would fail to afford his family the important protection which he could then easily extend towards them. What could be a more pleasing prospect than to see him high in honour? or what more sweet than to have the last duties rendered to her by a son, revered for his holiness of life and exemplary manners? Besides, he endeavoured to impress upon the dame that her eldest son, Halbert, whose bold temper and headstrong indulgence of a wandering humour rendered him incapable of learning, was for that reason, as well as that he was her eldest bom, fittest to bustle through the affairs of the world, and manage the little fief. Elspet durst not directly dissent from what was proposed, for fear of giving displeasure, and yet she always had something to say against it. Halbert, she said, was not like any of the neighbour boys; he was taller by the head, and stronger by the half, than any boy of his years within

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the Halidome. But he was fit for no peaceful work that could be devised. If he liked a book ill, he liked a plough or a pattle worse. He had scoured his father’s old broad-sword, suspended it by a belt round his waist, and seldom stirred without it. He was a sweet boy and a gentle if speak him fair, but cross him and he was a born devil. “In a word,” she said, bursting into tears, “deprive me of Edward, good father, and ye bereave my house of prop and pillar; for my heart tells me that Halbert will take to his father’s gait, and die his father’s death.” When the conversation came to this crisis, the good-humoured Monk was always content to drop the discussion for the time, trusting some opportunity would occur of removing her prejudices, for such he thought them, against Edward’s proposed destination. When, leaving the mother, the Sub-Prior addressed himself to the son, animating his zeal for knowledge, and pointing out how amply it might be gratified should he agree to take holy orders, he found the same repugnance which Dame Elspet had exhibited. Edward pleaded a want of sufficient vocation to so serious a profession, his reluctance to leave his mother and other objections, which the Sub-Prior treated as evasive. “I plainly perceive,” said he one day, in answer to them, “that the devil has his factors as well as Heaven, and that they are equally, or alas! perhaps more active, in bespeaking for their master the first of the market. I trust, young man, that neither idleness, nor licentious pleasure, nor the love of worldly gain and worldly grandeur, the chief baits with which the great Fisher of souls conceals his hook, are the causes of your declining the career to which I would incite you. But above all I trust—but above all I hope— that the vanity of superior knowledge, a sin with which those who have made proficiency in learning are most frequently beset, has not led you into the awful hazard of listening to the dangerous doctrines which are now afloat concerning religion. Better for you that you were as grossly ignorant as the beasts which perish, than that the pride of knowledge should induce you to lend ear to the voice of the heretics.” Edward Glendin­ ning listened to the rebuke with a downcast look, and failed not, when it was concluded, earnestly to vindicate himself from the charge of having pushed his studies into any subjects which the Church inhib­ ited; and so the Monk was left to form vain conjectures respecting the cause of his reluctance to embrace the monastic state. It is an old proverb, used by Chaucer, and quoted by Elizabeth, that “the greatest clerks are not the wisest men;” and it is as true as if the poet had not rhimed, or the queen reasoned on it. If Father Eustace had not had his thoughts turned so much to the progress of heresy,

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and so little to what was passing in the little tower, he might have read, in the speaking eye of Mary Avenel, now a girl of fourteen or fifteen, reasons which might disincline her youthful companion towards the monastic vows. I have said, that she also was a promising pupil of the good father, upon whom her innocent and infantine beauty had an effect of which he was himself, perhaps, unconscious. Her rank and expectations entitled her to be taught the arts of reading and writing, and each lesson which the Monk assigned her was conned over in company with Edward, and by him explained and re-explained, and again illustrated, until she became perfectly mistress of it. In the beginning of their studies, Halbert had been their school companion. But the boldness and impatience of his disposition soon quarrelled with an occupation, in which, without assiduity and unremitted attention, no progress was to be expected. The SubPrior’s visits were at irregular intervals, and often weeks would inter­ vene between them, in which case Halbert was sure to forget all that had been prescribed for him to learn, and much which he had partly acquired before. His deficiences on these occasions gave him pain, but it was not of that sort which produces amendment. For a time, like all who are fond of idleness, he endeavoured to detach the attention of his brother and Mary Avenel from their task, rather than to learn his own, and such dialogues as the following would ensue. “Take your bonnet, Edward, and make haste— the Laird of H unter’s-hope is at the head of the glen with his hounds.” “I care not, Halbert,” answered the younger brother; “two brace of dogs may kill a deer without my being there to see them, and I must help Mary Avenel with her lesson.” “Ay! you will labour at the Monk’s lessons till you turn monk yourself,” answered Halbert.— “Mary, will you with me, and I will shew you the cushat’s nest I told you of?” “I cannot go with you, Halbert,” answered Mary, “because I must study this lesson— it will take me long to learn it—I am sorry I am so dull, for if I could get my task as fast as Edward, I should like to go with you.” “Should you, indeed?” said Halbert; “then I will wait for you—and, what is more, I will try to get my lesson also.” With a smile and a sigh he took up the primer, and began heavily to con over the task which had been assigned him. As if banished from the society of the two others, he sate sad and solitary in one of the deep window-recesses, and after in vain struggling with the diffi­ culties of his task, and his disinclination to learn it, he found himself involuntarily engaged in watching the movements of the other two

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students, instead of toiling any longer. The picture which Halbert looked upon was delightful in itself, but somehow or other it afforded very little pleasure to him. The beautiful girl, with looks of simple, yet earnest anxiety, was bent on disentang­ ling those intricacies which obstructed her progress to knowledge, and looking ever and anon to Edward for assistance, while, seated close by her side, and watchful to remove every obstacle from her way, he seemed at once to be proud of the progress which his pupil made, and of the assistance which he was able to render her. There was a bond betwixt them, a strong and interesting tie, the desire of obtaining knowledge, the pride of surmounting difficulties. Feeling most acutely, yet ignorant of the nature and source of his own emotion, Halbert could no longer endure to look upon this quiet scene, but, starting up, dashed his book from him, and exclaimed aloud,— “To the fiend I bequeath all books, and the dreamers that make them!— I would a score of Southron would come up the glen, and we should learn how little all this muttering and scribbling is worth.” Mary Avenel and his brother both started, and looked at Halbert with surprise, while he went on with great animation, his features swelling, and the tears starting into his eyes as he spoke.— “Yes, Mary — I wish a score of Southron came up the glen this very day; and you should see one good hand, and one good sword, do more to protect you than all the books that were ever opened, and all the pens that ever grew on a goose’s wing.” Mary looked a little surprised and a little frightened at his vehe­ mence, but instantly replied affectionately, “You are vexed, Halbert, because you do not get your lesson so fast as Edward can— and so am I, for I am as stupid as you— But come, and Edward shall sit betwixt us and teach us.” “He shall not teach me,” said Halbert, in the same angry mood; “I never can teach him to do any thing that is honourable and manly, and he shall not teach me any of his monkish tricks.— I hate the Monks, with their drawling nasal tone like so many frogs, and their long black petticoats like so many women, and their reverences, and their lord­ ships, and their lazy vassals, that do nothing but paddle in the mire with plough and harrow, from Yule to Michaelmass. I will call none lord, but him who wears a sword to make his title good; and I will call none man, but he that can bear himself manlike and masterful.” “For Heaven’s sake, peace, brother,” said Edward; “if such words were taken and reported out of the house, they would be our mother’s ruin.” “Report them yourself then, and they will be your making, and

[Chap. n ]

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nobody’s marring save mine own. Say, that Halbert Glendinning will never be vassal to an old man with a cowl and a shaven crown, while there are twenty barons who wear casque and plume that lack bold followers. Let them grant you these wretched acres, and much meal may they bear you to make your peasantly brochan.” He left the room hastily, but instantly returned, and continued to speak with the same tone of quick and irritated feeling. “And you need not think so much, neither of you, and especially you, Edward, need not think so much of your parchment book there, and your cunning in reading it. By my faith I will soon learn to read as well as you— for I know a better teacher than your grim old Monk, and a better book than his painted breviary—and since you like scholar-craft so well, Mary Avenel, you will see whether Edward or I have most of it.” He left the apartment and came not again. “What can be the matter with him?” said Mary, following Halbert with her eyes from the window, as with hasty and unequal steps he ran up the wild glen.— “Where can your brother be going, Edward?— what book?—what teacher does he talk of?” “It avails not guessing,” said Edward. “Halbert is angry he knows not why, and speaks of he knows not what— let us go again to our lessons, and he will come home when he has tired himself with scram­ bling among the crags as usual.” But Mary’s anxiety on account of Halbert seemed more deeply rooted. She declined prosecuting the task in which they had been so pleasingly engaged, under the excuse of a head-ache; nor could Edward prevail upon her to resume it again that morning. Meanwhile Halbert, his head unbonnetted, his features swelled with jealous anger, and the tear still in his eye, sped up the wild and upper extremity of the little valley of Glendearg with the speed of a roe-buck, chusing, as if in desperate defiance of the difficulties of the way, the wildest and most dangerous paths, and voluntarily exposing himself an hundred times to dangers which he might have escaped by turning a little aside from them. It seemed as if he wished his course to be as straight as that of the arrow to its mark. He arrived at length in a narrow and secluded cleugh, or deep ravine, which ran down into the valley, and contributed a scanty rivulet to the supply of the brook by which Glendearg is watered. Up this he sped with the same precipitate haste which had marked his departure from the tower, nor did he pause and look around, until he had reached the fountain from which the rivulet had its rise. Here Halbert stopped short, and cast a gloomy, and almost a fright­ ened glance around him. A huge rock rose in front, from a cleft of which grew a wild holly-tree, whose dark green branches rustled over

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the spring which arose beneath. The banks on either hand rose so high, and approached each other so closely, that it was only when the sun was in its meridian height, and during the summer solstice, that its rays could reach the bottom of the chasm in which he now stood. But it was now summer, and the hour was noon, so that the unwonted reflection of the sun was dancing in the pellucid fountain. “It is the season and the hour,” said Halbert to himself; “and now if I dared I might soon become wiser than Edward with all his pains! Mary should see whether he alone is fit to be consulted, and to sit by her side, and hang over her as she reads, and point out every word and every letter. And she loves me better than him—I am sure she does— for she comes of noble blood, and scorns sloth and cowardice.— And do I myself not stand here slothful and cowardly as any priest of them all?—Why should I fear to call upon this form—this shape?— Already have I endured the vision, and why not again?— What can it do to me, who am a man of lith and limb, and have by my side my father’s sword? Does my heart beat— do my hairs bristle, at the thought of calling up a painted shadow, and how should I face a band of Southron in flesh and blood? By the soul of the first Glendonwyne I will make proof of the charm!” He cast the leathern brogue or buskin from his right foot, planted himself in a firm posture, unsheathed his sword, and first looking around to collect his resolution, he bowed three times deliberately towards the holly-tree, and as often to the little fountain, repeating at the same time, with a determined voice, the following rhymes: “Thrice to the holly brake— Thrice to the well:— I bid thee awake, White Maid o f Avenel! Noon gleams on the Lake— Noon glows on the Fell— Wake thee, O wake, White Maid o f Avenel.”

These lines were hardly uttered, when there stood the figure of a female clothed in white, within three steps of Halbert Glendinning. I guess ’twas frightful there to see A lady richly clad as she— Beautiful exceedingly.* END OF VOLUME FIRST

* Coleridge’s Christabelle.

THE MONASTERY V O L U M E II

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2 7 4 .2 1

f r ie n d : (m s ) / f r ie n d ; M y s in d a ? (M s )/M y s in d a ,

274.28 warrant him stop ( m s) / warrant he will stop 274.28 t h a t ( m s ) / w h i c h 274.39 r i s k s ( m s ) / r i s k 274.43 p e r i o d s ( m s ) / p e r i o d 275.6 Edinburgh— I ( m s ) / Edinburgh; I 276.4 r e v e r e n t ( M S ) / r e v e r e n d 2 7 6 .2 2

B u t (m

s

) /b u t

277.11 Eustace had also ( m s ) / Eustace also 277.36 not indisposed to place them ( m s ) / disposed to place himself 278.7 a m o n g s t ( m s ) / a m o n g 278.22 peculiar quality ( m s ) / peculiarity 278.22 h a d m a d e h e r ( m s ) / m a d e h e r n o w 278.39 doest(M S)/dost 279.27 p r e c a u t i o n ( m s ) / p r e c a u t i o n s 279.30 t u r n ( m s ) / t o n e 280.13 w a s v e r y g r e a t ( m s) / w a s g r e a t 2 8 1 .5 2 8 1 .2 4

a s s u r e (m s h o u t (m

s

) / a ssu re s

s)

/ s h o u ts

281.32 beneath ( m s ) / around 281.39 What ho! m y ( m s ) /W h at, ho!— m y 2 8 2 .3

282.9 282.13 283.3 283.13 283.20 283.23 283.28 2 8 3 .2 9

o f(M s )/in out— and ( m

s) / out. And

m a n y such g r a t e s ( m s ) / m a n y g r a t e s s a i d he ( m s ) / h e s a i d

that (m s ) / which I said ( m s ) / I have said Father,” answered ( m s father” answerd) / Father, “answered hollowing ( m s ) / hallooing it(M s )/It

283.33 w h i l k ( m s ) / w h i c h 283.33 any o l d c a r l e ’s c r u t c h ( m s any o l d 283.34 nought ( m s ) /n oth in g 2 8 4 .1 o

w ith a n a ir o f g r e a t (m

284.14 kens ( m s) / knows 284.17 further ( m s ) / farther

s)

c a rle s c ru tc h )

/ w ith g r e a t

/ an o l d

c ru tc h

EM E N D A TIO N LIST

285.39 heart naturally ( m s ) / heart, naturally 287.5 honourofFatherEustace’sheartmorethanhis(M sderived: honour more of father Eustaces (consisten) t heart more 4 than 1 (of) I his) / honour more of Father Eustace’s heart than o f his 288.7 o p p o s e d ( m s ) / o p p o s i t e 288.9 Wellwood!”— the (m s Wellwood” the) / Wellwood!” and the 288.23 hands (m s ) / hand 288.28 career?— and ( m s career and) / career?— And 289.16 chosen— the ( m s ) / chosen; the 289.30 err ( m s ) / error 289.35 keys, and like ( m s keys and like) / keys, like 289.36 bribes” ( m s ) / bribes, and”------289.42 thine ancient ( m s ) / thy former 290.2 doubt— thou ( m s ) /d o u b t— Thou 290.3 b y ( M s ) / a t 290.5 friends— our ( m s friends our) / friends. Our 291.12 further (m s ) /farther 291.25 mayst( m s ) / mayest 291.28 Satan— in ( m s ) / Satan. In 292.37 lives!— there ( m s lives— there) / lives!— There 292.38 grave— the ( m s grave the) / grave. The 292.40 there— he ( m s ) / there. He 293.11 i f d u n g e o n ( M s ) / i f a d u n g e o n 293.36 w e r e ( M s ) / b e 293.40 t e r m e d : t h e ( m s t e r m d : t h e ) / t e r m e d — t h e 294.15 m o t i o n s . ” ( M S d e r i v e d : m o t i o n s — ”) / m o t i o n s ? ” 294.42 t h i n k s t ( M S ) / t h i n k e s t 295.18 d o e s ( m s ) / d o s t 295.37 has taught, and ( m s has taught and) / hast taughtme, and 295.40 it me (m s ) / it to me 296.10 pray, compose ( m s pray compose) / pray, and compose 296.14 p a s s i o n s ? — n o ( M s ) / p a s s i o n s ? — N o 296.15 j o y — a l l ( M S ) / j o y — A l l 296.16 menials— She ( m s ) / menials— she 296.17 And I?— I ( m s And I? I) /a n d I— I 296.33 Love ( m s ) /lo v e 296.33 Heraldry ( m s ) /heraldry 296.36 her!— but ( m s her— b u t)/h er! But 297.4 h e a d l o n g ( m s ) / h e a d s t r o n g 297.7 h a s ( M s ) / h a s t 297.30 r e s o l v e d ( M S r e s o l v d ) / r e s o l u t e 297.38 Wisdomand to Goodness ( m s ) / wisdom and to goodness 298.3 you— let ( m s ) /y o u ; let 298.15 “Go, then,” said (ms “ G o then said) / “Even now, if thou wilt,” said 2 9 8 .1 8

d a r t e d (m

s

) / h a s te n e d

299.37 remembrance. . . as ( m s remembrance though only once heard as) / remembrance, as 300.15 desirest— thou ( m s ) / desirest; thou 3 0 0 .1 8

r u d e (m

301.15 301.15 301.16 301.23

ony Piercie ( m s ) / ony Sir Piercie a’— they (m s ) / a’. They liked, but ( m s derived: liked but) / liked; but lamentation ( m s ) / lamentations

s

) / b o ld

3 0 1 .3 8

h im s e lf(M S )/h im

302.1

soul— and ( m s ) /sou l: And

427

428

302.3 302.5 302.26 302.27 302.41 303.7 303.26 303.31 304.5 304.9 304.12 304.19 304.23 304.26 305.9 305.11 305.18 305.20 305.31 305.32 306.38 307.6 307.12 307.14 307.21 308.10 308.13 308.21 308.41 309.4 309.8 309.31 309.35 309.39 3 0 9 .4 0

310.24 310.37 311.33 312.10 312.12 312.13 312.18 312.19 312.22 312.24 312.33 313.8 313.25 313.43 3 1 4 .9

E M E N D A T IO N LIST

heretics, such ( m s heretics such) / heretics, yet such wheat. But ( m s) / wheat; but e r r i n g (m

s)

/ ow n

done. Remember ( m th i s (m

s

s)

/ done Remember

) / th e

polemics?— it might ( m s polemics— it m ig h t)/ polemics?— might was more enthusiastic (m s) / was enthusiastic w h ile (M s )/a n d

door and outer-door ( m

s)

/ outer door and inner door

a l a n g ( M s ) / a lo n g

these (m s ) / their his reverence ( m S his Reverence) / the Sub-Prior if ( m s ) / whether wark ( m s ) / work as I am myself ( m s ) / as myself a l o n e (m

s)

/ a lo n g

he said (m s ) / said he brother— may ( m s brother Halbert— may) / brother? May Edward and (ms Edward &) / Edward, and him— sometimes ( m s ) / him, sometimes the plain truth ( m s ) / the truth assuredly ( m s ) / surely teind-sheaves ( m s ) / land-sheaves interjected ( m s ) / intersected force. But ( m s ) /force; but h a s (M S )/h a s t rear— why ( m s )

/rear— Why guest hall and treated ( m s Guest hall and treated) / great hall, and be treated Eustace— and ( m s ) / Eustace— And cannons ( m s cannon t s I ) / cannon walls ( m s ) / wall and alb ( m s ) /o r alb has ( m s ) / hath soul!— we ( m s soul— we) / soul!— [end o f line] — we

y o u (M s )/y e o n (M s )/u p o n

conveneruntin unum( m s ) / conveneruntunum brought up— we (ms brought— we) / brought up. We a b o r n (m

s)

/ b o rn a

Scotland— t h e r e ( M s ) / Scotland.T h e r e o n — if ( M S ) /o n .I f where (ms ) / W here Meigallot— he ( m s ) / Meigallot; he p in c h (m

s)

/ p o in t

vain. Let ( m s ) / vain— Let c o u ld — i n (m s ) / c o u l d ; in office— and (ms ) / office And e v e r (m

s)

/ even

have stronger (m s ) / have a stronger m a y (M S )/M a y

314.14 a n ( M s ) / t h e 314.19 arise ( m s ) / rise 3 1 4 .2 6 3 1 5 .2 4

a tta in e d (m s a t t a i n d ) / o b t a i n e d a n y (m s ) / “ a n y

E M E N D A T IO N LIST

316.1 316.20 316.28 316.30 317.9 317.41 318.15 318.27 319.7 319.9 319.11 3 1 9 .1 4

320.3 320.5 320.10 320.16 320.24 320.37 320.39 321.5

429

firth— i f ( m s firth i f ) /firth — I f where well-favoured (m s where well favourd) / where a well-favoured knowst(MS)/knowest i t (m

s

) / th e tr a c k

S et(M s)/L et th i s (m

s)

/ th e

a wink ( m s ) / the wink their ( m s ) /t h e Glasgow— here ( m s ) / Glasgow. Here t h e m — u n le s s (m s ) / th e m , u n le s s th is (M s )/th e m e r c h a n t (m s ) / m e n d i c a n t t h e b a s t a r d (m s ) / s o m e quarrel ( m s ) /quarrels b a c k (m

s)

w ild k in s m a n

/ backs

deep (m s ) / deeply sting— the ( m s ) / sting, the harlotrie— and ( m s ) / harlotrie. And accompanied— and ( m s ) / accompanied. And But, the majority being ( m s derived: But the majority being) / But the majority, being would (m s ) / should s h a r e d m i g h t (m s ) / s h a r e d , m i g h t forwards (m s ) / forward c i r c u m s t a n c e ( m s) / c i r c u m s t a n c e s a n d o f m a n ( m s) / o f m a n h i s h a n d - f a s t e d c o n c u b i n e (m s ) / h is c o n c u b in e sun-burned ( m s sun-burnd) / sun-burnt forwards ( m s ) / forward Nay, nay— leave ( m s derived: Nay nay leave) / Nay— nay— leave h e r a l d s — in ( m s ) / h e r a l d s . In house ( m s House) / horse antichamber ( m s ) / antichambed Teviotdale— and ( m s ) / Teviotdale; and

321.19 321.30 321.31 3 22.29 3 23.8 323.16 323.39 324.5 324.18 324.18 324.39 325.20 325.23 326.3 b r o w s ( m s ) / b r o w 326.43 painful (ms ) / fatal 327.2 streets (m s ) / street 327.15 We had (M S ) / we had 327.15 w i t h u t m o s t ( m s ) / w i t h t h e u t m o s t 327.18 Northumberland!— he ( m s Northumberland— he) / Northum­ berland!— He 328.18 strikes stroke (ms ) / strikes a stroke 328.21 spare not the spur for (Magnum) / spare the spur, for ( m s as Ed i ) 329.11 pursuit ( m s ) / field 329.35 r e t r e a t a n d ( m s ) / r e t r e a t , a n d 329.42 relatives ( m s ) / relations 330.12 She ( m s ) /T h e mourner 330.22 over: ( m s ) / over, 330.33 him, “Speak ( m s derived: him “Speak) / him to “speak 330.38 how ( m s ) /H o w 330.42 answered ( m s answered) / said 331.4 last. It ( m s derived: last— It) / last? it 331.13 a c c o m p t ( M S ) / a c c o u n t 331.40 i n ( M s ) / o n 332.6 r e a s o n , e v e r y (M S r e a s o n e v e r y ) / r e a s o n , w i t h e v e r y

430

332.32 333-3 333.11 333.24 333.27 334.14 335.6 335.6 335.13 336.10 336.22 336.31 336.34 337.1 337.20 337.41 338.5 338.6 338.11 338.12 338.13 338.41 338.43 339.42 340.3 340.16 340.17 340.20 340.23 340.27 341.5 341.5 341.31 342.5 342.6 342.8 342.15 342.17 342.18 342.26 342.30 342.34 342.37 342.38 342.40 342.40 342.42 342.43 343.3 343.18 343.19 343.19

E M E N D A T IO N LIST l i f e — t h e (m

s

) / life ; th e

conference— And ( m s derived: conference— and) / conference, and danger o f ( m s ) / danger and of you ( M S ) / y e Earl thus accosted ( m s ) / Earl accosted hold with ( m s ) / hold opinion with lik e (m

s

) / lik e ly

between (m s ) / betwixt You ( m s ) /y o u couldest ( m s ) / couldst woman’s (ms womans) / women’s t h r o u g h (m

s)

/ am ong

officer. The ( m s ) / officer; the ruins ( m s ) / ruin as it may to (ms ) / as may be to interrupting, “our ( m s derived: interrupting our) / interrupting him, “our th e s e ( M S ) /th e c o u n t r y m e n — a n d ( M S c o u n t r y m e n ( ” )— a n d ) / c o u n t r y m e n ; a n d g o o d . But ( m s ) / g o o d ; but

resist; and to waste ( m s resist and to waste) / resist, and may not waste vain opposition ( m s ) / vain— Fruitless opposition o n (M S )/o f is a l l n o t h i n g ( m yet ( m s ) / still

s

e n g a g e m e n t (m

) / e n g a g e m e n ts

s

) / is n o t h i n g

an ( m s ) /t h e anger!— thou that (m s ) / anger! yes, it is thy voice that until ( m s untill) / till as light ( m s) / as did light thou hadst ( m s thou (and should) hadst) / it hadwon ( m s ) / misled to (m s ) / in to th is (m s ) / th e

tressure— quartered, as ( m s tressure— and as) / tressure, quartered, as can ( m s ) / Can Moray— he ( m s Moray h e)/M o ra y . He son— as ( m s) / son, as us— a ( M s ) / u s . A faith— such (m s) / faith. Such God, my child, who ( m s God my child who) / God, who forget— but ( m s ) / forget; but service— for ( m s ) / service; for tr a c k (m s ) / e r e c t Awaken (m s ) / awaken not— yet (m s ) / not, yet lose?. . . Look at ( m S iose Look round this fair fabric (the) gorgeous beyond the skill and wealth o f our degenerate days Look at) / lose?— Look at saints have dwelt ( m s) / saints dwelt think ( m s ) / Think fate— I ( m s ) / fate. I days— they ( m s ) / days.— They cloisters, and (M s derived: cloisters and) / cloisters; and th a n l( M S ) / th a n w h e re I

E M E N D A T IO N LIST

344.15 344.24 344.41 345.16 345.20 346.15 346.23 346.25 346.33 347.6 348.42 348.43 349.5 349.41 349.43 350.9 350.25 350.31 350.32 350.35 350.35 351.12 352.7 352.16 352.19 353.8 353.21 353.22

lamentation (m s ) / lamentations entered two ( m s enterd two) / entered, two obdured ( m s ) / obdurate and, being (m s and being) / and which, being this kinsman ( m s ) / the kinsman what ( m s ) /W h a t Master— it is shame ( m s ) / Master. It is a shame Bethink how ( m s ) / Bethink you how hath right ( m s ) / hath spoken right p r o te c ts (m

s

) / p ro te c t

o f the Queen o f England ( m s ) / o f England those (m s ) / these impunity; give ( m s ) / impunity. Give Cross-stitch (Editorial) / Overstitch See Essay on the Text, 395. k e e p s t(M S )/k e e p e s t s ) / p ris o n e rs Bolton, to ( m s Bolton to) / Bolton, he to brown varlet ( m s ) / Brown Varlet white-head ( m s ) /W h ite Head evil ( m s ) /E v il dame— better ( m s ) / dame. Better disposed at ( m s) / disposedofat

p r e s e n c e (m

p a r t s . ” (m

s

) /p a rts .

him,” said (8vo) / him,’ said ( m s him said) this ( m s ) /t h e p r e t e n s i o n (m

s

) / p re te n c e

said. “S h e ( m s said. She) / said; “she o u g h t (m

s

) / aught

EN D-OF-LINE HYPHENS

All end-of-line hyphens in the present text are soft unless included in the list below. The hyphens listed are hard and should be retained when quoting. 6.24 7.2 12.18 1537 18.33 24.21 25.25 27.24 28.24 29.41 30.18 33-33

36.42 40.24 4 1 -3 0 4 1 -3 8

44-39 45-24 53-17 54-25 5436

55-14

66.43 69.6 70.35 77-5 8 3 -3 7

85.24 86.29 86.40 87.21 92.29 95 36 97-9 97-31

102.32 103.18 103.23 109.14 121.13 121.29 121.37 122.18 125-5

half-pay half-bred post-horses memorandum-book ex-Benedictine maiden-ladies well-informed sea-shore title-page Mountain-folks Trinity-Grove peel-houses mountain-ashes barret-cap cock-horse blue-eyed house-room well-known Border-lairds breast-lace wrang-doing mis-doubting dam-head re-appearance vesper-service night-crows Sub-Prior home-brewed court-yard Jack-men iron-plates Sub-Prior grey-beard Sub-Prior chimney-corner Sub-Prior Sub-Prior good-humour Sub-Prior corn-stack Sub-Prior dark-eyed may-pole cloak-pins

1 2 5 -3 1

127.38 128.36 130.30 130.41 136.27 1 3 8 -7

141.23 142.13 147.14 147.29 151.26 I 5 I .39 153-12

157.26 158.19 160.33 165.7 170.35

174.19 175-7

178.6 182.11 184.30 187.12 188.25 189.22 189.28 194.26 196.31 198.42 203.28 206.1 207.24 222.12 225-3 232.3 233 25

23634 2 3 9 -3 8

248.22 252.17 25742

265.11 432

single-soled Loch-Lomond All-hallow well-mounted shot-window be-remembered foster-brother morning-meal pre-eminence court-like well-earned to-morrow de-Lion evil-appetite Border-prickers free-booting easy-chair nan-Shian double-piled office-bearers Sub-Prior well-constituted double-dealing court-yard day-break be-imitated to-morrow to-morrow cross-bow court-yard unutterably-skilful falcon-gentle hussar-cloaks earth-heap market-woman oat-cakes knights-errant shot-hole pock-puddings belly-god hob-nailed Sub-Prior court-yard birch-tree

END-OF-LINE HYPHENS

265.37 270.11 272.41 281.40 282.4 282.30 283.14 283.32 283.39 291.26 306.35 307.12 308.26 310. i

common-place hastily-roasted rose-noble Howlet-hirst Sub-Prior Howlet-hirst wild-duck hack-but court-yard task-work moss-trooper teind-sheaves Pinkie-cleugh Sub-Prior

312.11 Border-warden bed-fast 313-6 3 I 5-29 tide-even 316.2 sleuth-dog 316.25 out-break 316.21 day-light 3 I 7-40 pedder-coffe 320.24 main-body 323.29 Anti-Christ 327.26 at-arms 334-28 horse-boys 337-36 cox-comb 342.28 cast-away

HISTO RICA L NOTE

Chronology. As Scott himself points out, The Monastery does not map its plot directly onto actual historical events: ‘the dates cannot be exactly reconciled with those of the most accredited histories’ (354.6-7). Going by the historical markers mentioned, but not dated, in the text, the story is spread from the Battle of Pinkie in 1547 to at least 1562—the date at which Lord James Stewart became Earl of Moray. This gives a time-span of about fifteen years, but if the narrative is traced according to its own internal chronology the duration is somewhat shorter: Halbert is about nine or ten years old at 40.18 and about 19 from 176.15 until the end of the novel, spanning a period of nine or ten years. The only date specified in the text is ‘the peace of 1550’ (35.14). Perhaps Scott intended the reader to associate this with the immediate aftermath of Pinkie, for which no date is given, reducing the time scale by three years. A further implicit reduction (in line with Halbert’s age) brings the date of the novel’s close to about 1559, at the start of the Scottish Reformation. Alternatively, a strict calculation from 1547 would see the novel ending in 1557, with a number of historical references brought forward. Such a temporal compression has the effect of moving events closer together and defining factions and oppositions. Most strikingly, the reign of Elizabeth I, who came to the throne in 1558, is moved back to coincide with the events of the novel. Although Mary Queen of Scots remains a rather shadowy figure in The Monastery her presence is nevertheless brought into focus: Scott implies that she is resident in Edinburgh (where Halbert aspires to see her at 216.29-30) whereas historically she spent the years 1548-61 in France. In terms of the development of Protestantism in Scotland Scott is again unspecific. Julian Avenel refers to the Lords of the Congregation, a group of Protestant nobles who acquired this title when they signed the ‘First Band’ committing themselves to the establishing of Protestantism in 1557 (224.19-20). The novel refers rather vaguely to the outburst of iconoclasm that led to the sacking of monasteries beginning in the summer of 1559: ‘In many large towns, the monasteries had been suppressed by the fury of the populace’ (285.9-10). But here again the novel does not foreground the events of history. H istorical Context. Scott clearly does not expect the reader to pay too much attention to dates; nevertheless the novel situates itself in some specific historical conditions. Opening shortly after the defeat of the Scots at the Battle of Pinkie, The Monastery alludes to the circum­ stances leading up to that climactic event. The death of James V, shortly after the early heavy defeat of the Scots by the English at the Battle of Solway Moss in 1542, left Scotland in a weakened state. 434

HISTORICAL NOTE

435 James was succeeded by his week-old daughter Mary, causing a power vacuum which was to be filled by regents during her minority reign. The infant Mary’s future was fought over by factions seeking appease­ ment of or alliances with England and France. In 1543 James Hamilton, 2nd Earl of Arran, who was governor of Scotland from 1543 to 1554, agreed to the Treaties of Greenwich which promised the infant Mary as bride for Edward, heir of Henry VIII, but Henry increased his demands, and the Scottish Parliament rejected the treaties, instead confirming those with France. The following year saw Henry taking military action to try to enforce the marriage. This so-called ‘Rough Wooing’ (38.38-40), led by the Earl of Hertford, had the specific aim of causing as much destruction as possible and devastated the lands of Lothian and the Borders, leaving them in the condition lamented by Elspet in the novel’s early chapters. A Scottish victory at Ancrum in 1545 was followed by another wave of English incursions which des­ troyed much farm-land by crop-burning. In 1547 Henry sent a further invading force under the leadership of Hertford, now Duke of Somer­ set. It was met on 10 September by a larger but significantly less well equipped Scottish army at Pinkie, the battle in which The Monastery's Simon Glendinning loses his life (39.8-12). Their retreat cut off by the sea on one side and the river Esk on the other, the Scots suffered massive losses, and the subsequent occupation of a number of Scottish towns during the next two years gave the English a base for further harassment of Lothian and the Borders.1 Arran’s rival for power was the widow of James V, Mary of Guise, who took over the regency in 1554. The daughter of the French Count of Guise, she sought to strengthen Scotland’s position through alliances with France, long a part of Scottish political strategy. Meanwhile, her opponents among the Scottish ruling class (including a number of Border lairds), established alignments with the English. The SubPrior comments on the divided loyalties of the Scots: ‘the one part French, the other part English, considering their dear native country merely as a prize-fighting stage’ (160.11-13). The novel’s political background is thus marked by a tense factionalism between a Catholic group pursuing the ‘auld alliance’ with France, and a pro-English group who were embracing Protestantism and seeking to limit the powers which the Catholic Queen Mary could wield on taking up her personal rule. Most of Scott’s characters in The Monastery are fictional, and histor­ ical figures such as Queen Mary or John Knox remain firmly in the background. The principal historical character to make an appear­ ance is James Stewart, illegitimate son of James V and Earl of Moray from 1562. Even in his case, however, Scott reserves most of Moray’s historically documented activities to The Monastery's sequel, The Abbot. Moray appears only in the third volume of The Monastery on his way to sort out a rather vaguely reported ‘tuilzie in Ayrshire’ between the powerful Kennedy family and the Sempills (318.5). Moray never reaches the south-west corner of Scotland, being waylaid by the hostil­ ities sparked off by the Monastery’s sheltering of the Catholic Piercie

HISTORICAL NOTE 436 Shafton, so Scott is not obliged to fill in the details of the Earl’s activities in Ayrshire. Although Scott had available to him sources from John Knox to William Robertson detailing the abuses practised by the monastic orders prior to the Reformation, he is comparatively mild in his descrip­ tion of the religious life at St Mary’s.2 The Monastery's most prominent censure of Catholicism targets the Church’s opposition to the transla­ tion of the Bible into English. Scott’s ‘Black Book’ is not easy to identify: no vernacular Bible was printed in Scotland until 1579. Wil­ liam Tyndale’s translation of the New Testament was available in Scotland from about 1527, but as the text in The Monastery appears to be the whole Bible we must assume that Scott did not intend the reader to identify any particular translation.3 Scott makes dark allusions to the fate of those caught reading the English text, yet the practice was made lawful from 1543 in an Act of Parliament by which, as Knox put it, ‘it was made free to all men and women to read the Scriptures in their own tongue’.4 Scott may, however, be conflating other examples from Knox who cites an earlier case of a man named Forrest, burned at the stake ‘for none other crime but because he had a New Testament in English’.5 Knox goes on to quote an Act of Parliament which stated ‘That under pain of heresy, no man should read any part of the Scrip­ tures in the English tongue’, but no such Act is recorded.6 There was, however, an Act of 1541 which forbade meetings in private houses to discuss the scripture without the presence of a University-educated theologian, which may account for the Lady of Avenel’s nervousness in reading the scriptures to her assembled household. While events of international and national politics inform The Monas­ tery, the novel foregrounds some of the more localised events and practices in the Eastern part of the Scottish Border over which the centralised government had great difficulty maintaining control. The sixteenth-century Borders were characterised by cross-frontier raids and cattle-thefts as well as violent and protracted feuds between (and sometimes within) families. Order was imposed on the region by Scot­ tish law-enforcing expeditions (a number of them conducted by the Earl of Moray) which targeted particular areas where known felons would be apprehended and frequently executed. Both Hawick and Jedburgh were the sites of the rounding-up and mass execution of Borderers. In addition to these forays, the territory on each side of the Border was divided into the East, Middle, and West Marches. Each March was governed by a Warden, usually supplied by prominent Border families, a number of whom appear or are mentioned in The Monastery.1 Opposing Wardens from Scotland and England would meet from time to time on Days of Truce on which grievances could be heard, debts settled, and prisoners exchanged. Nevertheless, despite these systems for keeping order, the Borders remained a wild and unregulated area throughout the 1550s and 1560s.

Sources. The Monastery does not follow any formal written histories very closely, but it refers throughout to the local history Scott had

HISTORICAL NOTE

437

already documented in his collection of ballads Minstrelsy o f the Scottish Border (1802-03), his notes to The Lay o f the Last Minstrel (1805: a poem also set in the neighbourhood of Melrose), and his essay on ‘Border Antiquities’ which prefaced the two-volume The Border An­ tiquities o f England and Scotland (1814). Characters with old Border names, some of them featuring in ballads, are scattered throughout the text, although Scott does not make much use of any single story. There are some echoes, however, in the stand-off between Moray and Sir John Foster (Ch. 36), of ‘The Raid of the Reidswire’, a ballad com­ memorating a Day of Truce which got out of hand in 1575. In his introduction to this ballad in the Minstrelsy, Scott describes how the two Wardens, Sir John Carmichael and the same John Foster who appears in The Monastery, levelled accusations at each other, resulting in a bloody skirmish between Foster’s Tynedale men and a body of Jedburgh townsfolk who turned up to swell the ranks of the Scots.8 Scott’s principal source for information about sixteenth-century monastic life was Fosbrooke’s British Monachism of 1802 (enlarged in 1817), a staunchly Protestant, and not very accurate, account of the habits, customs, and regulations of monastic orders, and the duties of various offices within the monastery. Apart from Abbot Ambrosius’s love of food and wine (Fosbrooke comments on the monks’ gluttony),9 Scott is less critical of monastic behaviour than is Fosbrooke. Of par­ ticular note here is Scott’s omission of the details, recorded in British Monachism, that the monks of Melrose had private gardens, and that they extracted private pensions from the revenue from the Abbey’s feuars, or tenant farmers.10 For his characterisation of Sir Piercie Shafton, Scott refers the reader to works that appeared about twenty years after the events of the novel, John Lyly’s Euphues: The Anatomy o f Wit (1578) and Euphues and his England (1580). These tell the story of a fictional rake, but the plot is really the vehicle for debates, letters, and speeches demonstrating formal rhetorical patterns. Scott does not follow Lyly very closely, how ever, preferring to satirise Sir Piercie with the assistance of Jonson and Shakespeare, both of whose plays (identified in the Explanatory Notes) include portraits of pretentious users of over-wrought language. Sir Piercie further complicates the novel’s historical chronology by referring to Philip Sidney, born in 1554, as if he were a grown man, and as Graham Tulloch points out, he is best seen as a composite of Elizabethan linguistic exuberance.11 Like Sir Piercie, the White Lady did not fare well in the early reviews of the novel. In a section of the Magnum introduction in which Scott attempts to account for her lack of success with the public, he suggests that she was based on the German writer Friedrich de La Motte Fouque’s early nineteenth-century tale of the water-nymph Un­ dine, overlaid with some Celtic mythology, while Coleman Parsons has traced yet more influences from folklore and literature. The White Lady is a very heterogeneous creation indeed.13 Much of Scott’s description in Clutterbuck’s Introductory Epistle of ‘Kennaquair’, based on his local town of Melrose, is likely to have

43 §

HISTORICAL NOTE

come from personal observation, though he owned at least two guide­ books.13 Although there is no official record before 1836, John Mason, in his Border Tour of 1826, estimated the population of Melrose at 500 people.14 By the 1820s it was a prosperous settlement. Landowners had already profited from the ‘improving operations’ mentioned at 5.7, by which formerly common ground was enclosed and cultivated.15The town’s increasingly well-known charms drew several wealthy families who, like Scott, also had residences in Edinburgh. A number of retired soldiers, like Captain Clutterbuck, settled there, prompting Scott to remark that ‘the inhabitants of Melrose . . . always have a gaudeamus [convivial gathering], like honest men, on the anniversary of Waterloo’.16 But the principal feature of Melrose was its Abbey. Melrose Abbey was founded by David I in 1136 and continued to expand until devastated by an English army in 1385 when the Abbey church was almost completely destroyed. The church was rebuilt on a bigger scale over the next century. Scott represents the Abbey in a better state of repair than it really was in the sixteenth century, and he also allows the monks a greater degree of autonomy than obtained following the enforced deposition of the last Abbot in 1541 and the appointment of the infant James Stewart (a younger half-brother of the Earl of Moray) as its Commendator (a secular position which allowed him to profit from the Abbey’s revenues). Renewed hostilities from England during the ‘Rough Wooing’ saw the further desecration of the Abbey church, and despite the monks’ protests to their Com­ mendator no repairs were forthcoming. Following the Reformation in 1560 the monks renounced monasticism, but a dwindling number of them continued to live in the Abbey buildings until 1590. Although the Abbey lands were sold off by the Crown, the Abbey church continued to be used by the townspeople of Melrose and a makeshift roof and screen walls were constructed within the old nave. In 1803 Dorothy Wordsworth, visiting the Abbey in the company of Scott, commented: ‘within these beautiful walls is the ugliest church that was ever beheld’.17 Nevertheless, the Abbey was becoming a not­ able tourist attraction, encouraged by Scott’s own well-known descrip­ tion of it in the very popular Lay ofthe Last Minstrel. With the completion of a new parish church in 1810 repairs to the Abbey could be contem­ plated. The old makeshift church was cleared and eventually Scott, with the assistance of the Abbey’s owner, the Duke of Buccleuch, was to oversee restoration work starting in 1822. Architecturally, Melrose was of an exceptionally complex and lavish design. Captain Clutterbuck refers vaguely to a historically composite style of ‘Gothic or Saxon architraves, mullions and flying buttresses’ (7.25-26). In fact, little remained of the Romanesque twelfth-century church, and the Gothic design of the arches was mixed with the influences of the English Perpendicular style, evident in the tall windows with their flowing tracery. John Bower’s 1813 guide to the Abbey (lavishly dedicated to Scott) describes it as ‘one of the most magnificent pieces of Gothic architecture in the kingdom, and the admiration of every beholder, for the lightness of its pillars, the variety of its sculpture, the beauty of its

HISTORICAL NOTE

439

stones, and the symmetry of its parts’.18Although most of the monastic buildings had vanished, the church itself presented a substantial ruin with only the west end and the western part of the North wall gone.19 NOTES

1 2

3

4 5

6 7

8 9 10 11

See David H. Caldwell, ‘The Battle o f Pinkie’, in Scotland and War a d 7 g -ig i8 , ed. Norman Macdougall (Edinburgh, 1991), 61-94. The Abbotsford library has two editions o f John Knox’s The Historie o f the Reformation ofthe Church o f Scotland dated 1644 (the first edition) and 1732 (C LA , 2). It also contains the third edition o f William Robertson’s The History o f Scotland during the Reigns o f Queen M ary and o f King James VI, published in 1760 (CLA, 4): Robertson’s History was first published in 1759. For translations of the Bible circulating in Scotland see Jenny Wormald, Court, Kirk, and Community: Scotland 1470-1625 (London, 1981), 104-05. John Knox, History o f the Reformation in Scotland, ed. William Croft Dickinson, 2 vols (London, 1949), 1.45. Knox implies that this took place in 1524 but this seems to be a mistake for 1533, the date given in Robert Keith, The History o f the Affairs o f ChurchandState in Scotland (Edinburgh, 1834), 9. See Knox, History o f the Reformation in Scotland, 1.22 and note. Knox, History o f the Reformation in Scotland, 1.43 and note 6. Scott gives a description o f the divisions o f the Border and their Wardens in his ‘Essay on Border Antiquities’: The Prose Works o f S ir Walter Scott, Bart., 28 vols (Edinburgh, 1834-36), 7.2-153 (98-108). Minstrelsy o f the Scottish Border, ed. T . F. Henderson, 4 vols (Edinburgh, 1902), 2.18-19. Thomas Dudley Fosbrooke, British Monachism, new enlarged edn (Lon­ don, 1817), 297-304. British Monachism, 375. For a detailed study o f Shafton’s speech see Graham Tulloch, ‘Sir Walter Scott’s Excursion into Euphuism’, NeuphilologischeMitteilungen, 78 ( 1977), 65-76-

12 13

14 15 16 17 18

Coleman O. Parsons, Witchcraft and Demonology in Scott’s Fiction (Edin­ burgh, 1964), 158-62. [Adam Milne], A Description ofthe Parish o f Melrose (Edinburgh, i743)and John Bower, Descriptions ofthe Abbeys o f Melrose and Old Melrose with their Traditions (Kelso, 1813): both CLA, 6. [JohnMason], The Border Tour (Edinburgh, 1826), 121. John H. Romanes, ‘An Enclosure Proceeding in Melrose in the Year 1742’, Scottish Historical Review, 13(1916), 101—08. J. G. Lockhart, Memoirs ofthe Life o f S ir Walter Scott, Bart., 7 vols (Edinburgh, 1837), 5.188. Dorothy Wordsworth, Recollections ofa Tourmade in Scotland, ed. Carol Kyros Walker (New Haven, 1997), 206-07. Descriptions ofthe Abbeys o f Melrose and Old Melrose with their Traditions, 28.

440

19

HISTORICAL NOTE

For Melrose and its Abbey see Marguerite Wood and J. S. Richardson, Melrose Abbey (HM SO 1932: rev. edn Historic Scotland, 1995); Richard Fawcett, Scottish Abbeys and Priories (London, 1994); Ian B. Cowan and David E. Easson, M edieval Religious Houses, Scotland, 2nd edn (London, 1976); Melrose 1826, ed. D . M. Hood (Melrose, [1978]); Mark Dilworth, Scottish Monasteries in the Late Middle Ages (Edinburgh, 1995).

EXPLANATORY NOTES

In these notes a comprehensive attempt is made to identify Scott’s sources, and all quotations, references, historical events, and historical personages, to explain proverbs, and to translate difficult or obscure language. (Phrases are explained in the notes while single words are treated in the glossary.) The notes are brief; they offer information rather than critical comment or exposition. When a quotation has not been recognised this is stated: any new information from readers will be welcomed. References are to standard editions, or to the editions Scott him self used. Books in the Abbotsford Library are identified by reference to the appropriate page o f the Catalogue o f the Library at Abbotsford. When quotations reproduce their sources accurately, the reference is given without comment. Verbal differences in the source are indicated by a prefatory ‘see’, while a general rather than a verbal indebtedness is indicated by ‘compare’. Biblical references are to the Authorised Version. Plays by Shakespeare are cited without authorial ascription, and references are to William Shakespeare: The Complete Works, edited by Peter Alexander (London and Glasgow, 1951, frequently reprinted). The following publications are distinguished by abbreviations, or are given without the names o f their authors: Berners [Juliana Berners], The Book Containing the Treatises o f Hawking; Hunting; Coat-armour; Fishing; and Biasing o f Arms, t d. Joseph Hasle wood (1496; repr. London, 1810): CLA, 208. ‘Border Antiquities’ ‘Essay on Border Antiquities’ (1814), in Prose Works, 7-3-153-

Canterbury Tales Geoffrey Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales (written c. I3^7-i40o), in The Riverside Chaucer, 3rd edn, ed. Larry D . Benson (Oxford, 1988): see CLA, 42,154,155,172,239. Chambers Robert Chambers, The Popular Rhymes o f Scotland (Edinburgh, 1826). Cheviot Andrew Cheviot, Proverbs, Proverbial Expressions and Popular Rhymes o f Scotland (London, 1896). CLA [J. G. Cochrane], Catalogue o f the Library at Abbotsford (Edinburgh, r938)-

The Edinburgh Edition o f the Waverley Novels (Edinburgh, 1993-). Fosbrooke Thomas Dudley Fosbrooke, British Monachism; or, Manners and Customs ofthe Monks and Nuns ofEngland, new enlarged edn (London, 1817): see CAT, 184. Letters The Letters ofSir Walter Scott, ed. H.J. C. Grierson and others, i2vols (London, 1932-37). L L M Walter Scott, The Lay o f the Last Minstrel (Edinburgh, 1805). Lockhart J. G. Lockhart, Memoirs ofthe Life o f S ir Walter Scott, Bart., 7 vols (Edinburgh, 1837). Lyly Complete Works o f John L yly, cd. R. Warwick Bond, 3 vols (Oxford, 1902). Magnum Walter Scott, Waverley Novels, 48 vols (Edinburgh, 1829-33). Minstrelsy Minstrelsy o f the Scottish Border, ed. T. F. Henderson, 4 vols (Edin­ burgh, 1902). eew n

441

442

EXPLANATORY NOTES

ODEP The Oxford Dictionary o f English Proverbs, 3rd edn, rev. F. P. Wilson (Oxford, 1970). Percy Reliques o f Ancient English Poetry, [ed. Thomas Percy], 3 vols (London, 1765); see CLA, 172. Poetical Works The Poetical Works o f S ir Walter Scott, B art.,[e d. J. G. Lockhart], 12 vols (Edinburgh, 1833-34). Prose Works The Prose Works o f S ir Walter Scott, Bart., 28 vols (Edinburgh, 1834-36). Ray John Ray, A Compleat Collection o f English Proverbs, 3rd edn (London, i 737 ): CLA, 169. Tales ofthe East Tales ofthe East, ed. Henry William Weber, 3 vols (Edin­ burgh, 1812): CLA, 43. title-p a g e Waverley (1814) was Scott’s first novel. His eighth novel, Ivanhoe (1820), was the first to be called a ‘romance’: it inaugurated Scott’s movement into pre-17th-century (and sometimes non-Scottish) subject areas. 3.3 C lutterbuck the name carries connotations both of untidiness and o f a beau or dandy. 3.8-11 p reten d t o . . . p reten d to c la im ... lay claim to. 3.14 last in te r v ie w . . . sister Fergus and Flora Maclvor are the Jacobite siblings in Waverley (1814). In fact F ergus carefully spares Flora the distress of a last interview before his execution (Ch. 69). 3.15-16 D a n d ie D in m o n t a character in Guy Mannermg (1815). 3.24 three v o lu m es the usual method of novel publication in the early 19 th century. 3.29-4.3 C ap tain G r o se . . . ca ll it see Robert Burns,‘ On the Late Captain Grose’s Peregrinations thro’ Scotland, collecting the Antiquities of that Kingdom’ (1789; rev. 1793), lines 25-30. T he reference is to the celebrated antiquary F rancis Grose (1731 ?—91). 4.6 th e S cots F u zileers theR egim entofScotsFuzileers,raisedin 1678, numbered the 21st Regiment o f Foot in 1751. 4.7-8 old D a v id S tiles, C lerk to h is M a jesty ’s S ign et no such person is listed as a Writer to the Signet. 4.20 a red coat the standard uniform for the British soldier. 4.41 h a lf-p ay pension paid to officers after their retirement from the services. Half-pay for a captain in an infantry regiment at this time was set at 55. a day or £92 a year. Half-pay, like full-pay, was supposed to be paid monthly but frequently fell into arrears. 4.42 set up h is s t a ff o f rest settled down. See Henry Brooke, The Fool o f Quality, 5 vols (Dublin, 1765-70), 3.242. 5.7 im p ro vin g op eration s schemes to enclose and cultivate common ground; see also Historical N ote, 438. 5.8-9 tr u s te e -m e e tin g s. . . ju stices the reference is to public and legal responsibilities of a laird. T he most important boards o f trustees at the period were the turnpike trusts concerned with the construction o f new roads. Meetings would be held between the Lord Lieutenant o f the county (an office established in 1794) and his deputies, most often concerned with the maintenance of public order in a period o f social unrest. Head-courts were normally held three times a year: all freeholders were expected to attend, and their most important function was to oversee the annual revision o f the elect­ oral register. The local Justices o f the Peace would meet quarterly to supervise the revenue, settle wages, and ensure the maintenance o f existing transport facilities. 5.17 th e Serm on s o f M r P ed en Alexander Peden( 1626-86) was a Presby­ terian minister with a reputation for prophecy, persecuted by the Crown. His

EXPLANATORY NOTES

443

sermons were published as The Lord’s Trumpet [Glasgow, 1720]: CLA, 67, and (Glasgow, 1739): CLA, 75. 5.17-19 L ife o fja c k th e G ia n t-Q u e lle r . . . w orth y this legendary char­ acter was the subject of many 18th-century chap-books. H e was usually known as ‘Giant-Killer’, but ‘Queller’ was also current as in the ballad opera Jack the Giant-Queller (1749: libretto by H. Brooke, composer anonymous). The ‘Essay’ is almost certainly fictitious. 5.21-22 d oin g s o m e th in g . . . u n d o n e compare the General Confession for morning and evening prayer in the Book o f Common Prayer: ‘We have left undone those things which we ought to have done; And we have done those things which we ought not to have done’. 5.24 a b lue coat w ith a red n eck from the evidence o f his dress, Captain Doolittle may have been an officer in the Royal Artillery. See D . Alistair Camp­ bell, The Dress ofthe Royal Artillery (London, i9 7 i) ,9 - io . 5.27 th e sy stem o f H elv etiu s Claude-Adrien Helvetius (1715-71), a French philosopher, taught, in his posthumously published treatise De VHomme, de sesfacultes intellectuelles et de son education (On Man, his Facuities and his Edu­ cation), 2 vols (London, 1773), that education should follow natural inclinations. 5.43-6.2 the E ast and W est I n d ie s ... T h e F ren ch Captain Clutterbuck is a veteran of the French Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars between 1793-1802 and 1803-15, during which the French and British fought for control o f the trade routes to India and the West Indies. The British army conducted campaigns in Egypt in 1801 and 1807. 6.3 h ussars mounted regiments noted for their ferocity. 6.5 th e three per cents, consolidated annuities: government securities con­ solidated in 1751 into a single stock yielding an interest o f three per cent. 6.9 K ennaquhair the subject of this pun on ‘ kenna where’ (‘know not where’) is finally identified as Melrose in a note in the Magnum (18.xlvii). 6.11 o tiu m c u m d ig n ita te Latin honourable leisure. The phrase is used by Cicero in a letter to one of his friends describing his own withdrawal from active political life in 54 b c : adFam., 1.9.21. 6.30 p leasan t m e n o f T ev io td a le the song has not been traced. Teviotdale is the valley of the River T eviot, which flows through Hawick and joins the Tweed at Kelso. 6.39-41 circu latin g lib r a r y . . . p e o p le circulating libraries rented out books to all-comers and attracted a more frivolous reputation than subscription libraries which had a closed membership. 7.1 a h alf-b ou n d trash y n o v el novels were sold in boards and bound by the purchaser; half-binding means binding the spine and the corners in leather. 7.19 C icerone a guide skilled at explaining antiquities, after the Roman politician and orator Cicero. 7.25 G othic or Saxon arch itraves architraves zee the mouldings round an arch (a 19th-century use o f the term). ‘Saxon’ referred, confusingly, to the Romanesque architecture of the Norman period, characterised by weighty pil­ lars and semi-circular arches. T his gave way to a lighter, more elaborate design known as ‘Gothic’ which employed pointed arches and formed most o f the design of Melrose Abbey. See Historical Note, 438. 8.12 M orpheus the Greek god o f dreams. 8.13 D u g d a le’s M o n a stico n Monasticon Anglicanum: An Inventory o f Abbeys and Monasteries, chiefly in England and Wales, by William Dugdale (1605-86). The Monasticon was first published in Latin in 3 volumes (London, 1:655—73 ) followed by an abridgement in English (London, 1693). Tw o further volumes were added by John Stevens in 1722-23. Melrose Abbey is not listed. 8.13 th e library at A a coded reference to Scott’s own library at Abbotsford. Dugdale’s Monasticon is not listed in CLA.

444

EXPLANATORY NOTES

8.17 V an d erh agen ’s b est a le Francis Vanhagen was the proprietor of Melrose’s brewery in 1820. 8.24 m in e h o n e s t. . . th e G eorge inaM agnum note(i8.xlvii-xlviii) Scott identifies the inn as the George, still in Melrose, and the landlord with its former proprietor and local character David Kyle. 8.25 M r sG r im sle e s the name has no clear significance: possible over­ tones include ‘grey-sleeves’, ‘grim lies’, and ‘grey shelter’ (as in such local Melrose place-names as Abbotslee and Broomielees). 8.26-27 m in c e d collop s a dish o f chopped meat. 8.36 an d od d and a few more. 8-37-38 p e ttic o a t govern m en t rule by a woman. 9.9 sad -colou red stan d o f cla ith s set o f dark- or sober-coloured clothes. 9.11 th e au ld draw -brig see note to 62.42-43. 9.13 stick in g sa u m o n engaging in the sport o f salmon-spearing, popular in the Borders. 9.17 th e strin g s o f m y k n ees the drawstrings to secure breeches at the knee. 9.18-19 as th ick as three in a b ed proverbial: John Poole, TheHoleinthe Wall (London, 1813), 26. 9.20-21 D o cto r S am u el J o h n so n . . . S cotlan d Johnson’s record o f this tour undertaken in 1773 was published in 1775 as A Journey to the Western Islands o f Scotland. 9.43 a s fo u as a p ip er proverbial: Cheviot, 158. 10.16-17 m y L ord’s b oats in a Magnum note ( i 8 .1ii) Scott identifies parties for spearing salmon arranged by ‘the late kind and amiable Lord Sommerville, an intimate friend o f the author’. John Southey Somerville (1765-1819),15th Baron Somerville, built a sporting lodge on the Tweed for this purpose. 10.18 a t e ’en in the evening. 10.28—29 g a m b a d o e s. . . steel cla sp s gambadoes were heavy leather protectors for a rider’s leg, secured by clasps. Moulded to fit over riding boots, and resembling the outer halves o f boots, they were attached to the saddle and harness. In fashion from the 17th century, they were still being improved at the time of the novel: in the Annual Register for 1823 (316), one R. Green is recorded as having obtained a patent ‘for improvements in constructing gambadoes, or mud boots, and attaching spurs thereto’. For an illustration, see Doreen Yarwood, The Encyclopaedia ofWorld Costume (London, 1978),43. 11.1 S h e r r y . . . L isb on sherry was a particularly fashionable drink in the early 19th century, but during the Peninsular War (1808-14) when the sherryproducing region ofjerez in Spain was in French possession, and in the years following, exports to Britain were very low. Lisbon, a white wine from the Estremadura province o f Portugal (in which Britain always had a presence during the War), was an acceptable although less fashionable alternative. 11.6 w ith a w itn e s s with a vengeance; and no mistake. 11.9 d ow n a b e con fu ted seeRobertBurns,‘A Dream ’ (i786),line29; ‘confuted’ is corrected to ‘disputed’ in the Magnum (18.liv). 11.15-16 M r D ep u ty R egister o f Scotlan d the Clerk Register was re­ sponsible for the administration of the national archives. In a Magnum note (1 8 .1v) Scott identifies Thomas Thomson (1768-1852), then Deputy Clerk Register, who was prominent in arranging, binding, and indexing the archives. n .2 1 -2 3 P lu ck f r o m . . . s t u ff see Macbeth, 5.3.43-44,46. 11.24-25 o ld d o g s . . . new tricks proverbial (Ray, 99,142; ODEP, 805). 11.27-28 to exch an ge their ow n old M u m p sim u s for h is n ew S u m p sim u s this refers to the story of a boorish priest who misread the Latin sumpsimus as mumpsimus in the prayer during ablution after communion (‘quod

EXPLANATORY NOTES

445

ore sumpsimus’, meaning ‘which we have consumed with our mouth’). He refused to accept correction on the grounds that he didn’t wish to change his old mumpsimus for some new sumpsimus. The anecdote came to be applied to a notion obstinately adhered to however unreasonably. It is related in Richard Pace, De fructu qui ex doctrinapercipitur, liber (Basel, 1517), 80-81: see the edition and translation by Frank Manley and Richard S . Sylvester, The Benefit o f a Liberal Education (New York, 1967), 100-03 and note I 7 111.28 H u m a n a p erp essi su m u s Latin we have steadfastly endured the human state. 11.41 D e H a g a inaM agn u m n ote(i 8 .1vi)Scottidentifiesthem odernH aig family o f Bemerside on the River T weed, E o f Melrose. 12.2 m a rch -trea so n a blanket offence to cover various crimes on the English side of the border, punishable by death. In ‘Border Antiquities’ (106), Scott uses the term to describe large numbers of crimes ‘to prevent all inter­ course . . . between the natives o f the two kingdoms’. 12.5-6 fro m a cro m lech to a c a ir n . . . D a n es or D ru id s a cromlech is a stone circle and a cairn a pile of stones used as a memorial or aburial site. Both pre-date the Celtic and Norse periods ofBritish history, but following the discoveries of the antiquarian William Stukeley (1687-1765) such ancient monuments became popularly associated with the Druids, the magician-priests of the Celts. Scott him self supported the Norse origin o f ancient monuments, commenting: ‘The idea that such circles were exclusively Druidical is now justly exploded’ (Lockhart, 3.199). 12.10-11 A llan R a m sa y ’s s to r y . . . W ife ‘The Monk and the Miller’s Wife’ (1728), a comic poem by Allan Ramsay (1684-1758), which tells how a St Andrews scholar sees a priest misbehaving with the local miller’s wife and arranges for him to be beaten by her husband. 12.18—19 p ost-h orses horses kept for hire. They were hired by a traveller for a stage (either for riding or drawing a coach) and were changed at the inn (or ‘post’) at the end o f the stage. They might also be used for conveying mail to and from the post-office in Melrose. 12.21-22 P in k e r to n . . . B erw ick Ramsay’s poem may have been sug­ gested by ‘The Friars ofBerwick’, a satire dating from c. 1480 which appears in John Pinkerton, Ancient Scotish Poems (London and Edinburgh, 1786: CLA, 173), 1.65-85. This collection used as one of its sources the Maitland Folio Manuscript o f 15th- and 16th-century verse collected by Richard Maitland of Lethington (1496-1586): in the edition by W. A. Craigie, 3 vols (Edinburgh and London, 1919-27),‘TheFriars’appears at 1.133-48. 12.24 Ja m es V. King of Scots, reigned 1513-42. 12.24-26 th e Ita lia n n o v e lis t. . . fab liau among the analogues o f ‘The Friars ofBerwick’ is the French fabliau (comic tale) LePovre Clerk. T he Italian novelist whom Captain Clutterbuck’s visitor believes to have been an intermedi­ ary between such afabliau and Ramsay’s ‘The Monk and the Miller’s Wife’ has not been identified. 13.1 th e order o f S ain t B en ed ict a monastic order following the rule of St Benedict (c. 480-c. 550). 13.2-4 a c o m m u n ity . . . th e R ev o lu tio n there was no Scottish Bene­ dictine community as such in France, but there were two Scots Colleges, one founded at Paris in 1325 and the other at Tournai (in the Spanish Netherlands, now in Belgium) in 1576; the latter eventually settled at Douai and became the main centre in Franee for English-speaking Catholics. The French Revolution brought suppression o f religious orders in France, and the taking of monastic vows was banned by the National Assembly in 1790. 13.24-25 A E uropean p o te n t a te ... fa ith some o f the Scottish monas­ teries in Germany, known as the ‘Schottenkloster’, continued to function until

446

EXPLANATORY NOTES

the 19th century, but there is no specific historical parallel. 13.30 our vow s o f p overty and a b stin en ce members o f monastic orders generally take three vows: poverty, chastity and obedience. I 3 -3^~39 tw o th ou san d p o u n d s . . . ale see [Adam M ilne], A Description ofthe Parish o f Melrose (Edinburgh, 1743),30: CLA, 6. A chalder is a dry measure of varying capacity. 14.3-4 m a d e g u d e . . . fasted taken from an anonymous anti-Catholic satire, ‘The Paip that Pagaine full of pryde’, first published in the collection The Gude and Godlie Ballatis (Edinburgh, 1565): in the edition by A. F. Mitchell for the Scottish T ext Society (Edinburgh, 1897) the satire appears at 204-07. Scott incorporates readings from the versions printed in Scotish Poems o f the Sixteenth Century, [ed. J. G. Daly ell], 2 vols (Edinburgh, 1801), 2.191-94 (CLA, 173) and Allan Ramsay, The Ever Green, 2 vols (Edinburgh, 1724), 2.236-39 (CLA, 170). 14.5-6 it is d iffic u lt. . . sp illin g proverbial: see 160-61 where this example is given. 14.12-14 T h e n ob le fo lio c o lle c tio n . . . S ain t M aur the Maurists were a French Benedictine congregation founded in 1618 and devoted to historical scholarship. Scott owned a 16-volume set o f their collection o f historical docu­ ments, Recueildes historiens des Gaules et de la France, 16 vols (Paris, 1738-1814: CLA, 35). 14.31-32 F la n d e r s ... ca m p a ig n o f 1793 Flanders is the western part o f Belgium. France declared war on Britain and Holland on 1 February 1793; Captain Clutterbuck must have fought in Britain’s first campaign in Flanders in that year. 14.35 S an s-C u lottes French without breeches. The term was used during the French Revolution to denote ill-equipped and poorly dressed volunteers in the Revolutionary army. 14.35 fortu ne de la guerre French [that is] the fortune ofwar. 15.5-6 th e O ld L ady o f B ab ylon the whore o f Babylon (see Revelation Ch. 17), a common way of denoting the Roman Catholic church among Scottish Protestants. 15.17-20 th e reign in g fa m ily ...h is p r e s e n tM a j esty the Protestant Hanoverian royal family was established by the Act of Settlement o f 1701 to prevent the succession o f the Catholic Stewarts. At the time Scott wrote this section George III was still on the throne, but he died on 29 January 1820, two months before the novel’s publication, and was succeeded by his son, George IV. 15.26 its h o ly p a le its religious jurisdiction. 15.32 ab ou t th e size o f a re g im en ta l orderly-book by the end o f the 18th century such a book would typically measure about 20 cm by 12 cm. 15.36-42 T h ere is a m o n g . . . its ru in s there are three aisle chapels, containing the tombs of local families, at the W end of Melrose Abbey (from a total o f eight forming the S side of the building). Each is entered through a Gothic archway. 16.5-8 th e a r m s . . . A venel the coat ofarms represents the union ofthe two families brought about by the marriage o f Halbert Glendinning and Mary Avenel which takes place between The Monastery and its sequel The Abbot. T wo family coats are impaled (combined by being placed side by side on one shield, separated by a vertical line down the middle): the (historical) Glendinning arms occupy the right (dexter) side of the shield, and the (perhaps fictitious) Avenel arms the left (sinister). Scott’s description o f the Glendinning arms is incom­ plete. Properly it is ‘quarterly argent and sable a cross parted per cross indented, and countercharged o f the same’ (i.e. a cross with the normal straight outline, enclosing a cross with serrated edges, the silver and black colours of the cross

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and background reversed in neighbouring quarters). The Avenel arms consist here of three rowels (the small spiked revolving wheel on the end of a spur), but contrast 2 17.10-12. The ‘ancient family’ of Avenel was prominent in the 12th and 13th centuries. The Englishman Robert Avenel, settled by David I in Eskdale, became a benefactor o f Melrose Abbey and eventually a novice monk, dying in 1185. T he male line became extinct with Roger Avenel in 1243, but the name was carried on by younger sons of earlier generations (see George Chalmers, Caledonia, 3 vols (London, 1807-24), 1.513-15: CLA, 1). Actually, ‘the grave on which the stone is set contains the heart o f an abbot, who, having no wife, would impale no coat at all’ (E. A. Greening Lamborn, ‘Sir Walter Scott’s Heraldry’, Notes and Queries, iq o (i8 M a y 1946),209). 16.9 arm s p arty p er p ale coat o f arms divided by a central vertical line. 16.27 P otow m ack or Su squ eh an a rivers in America on which early Eng­ lish colonies were established. 16.40-41 I r e s is t e d ... fled fro m m e seejames4.7. 17.1-2 th e C ourt o f E xchequer court of law dealing with matters con­ cerning public finance. In this case it would decide on whether what was found belonged to the crown: according to Lord Stair, ‘treasures hid in the earth, whose proper owners cannot be known, are not his in whose ground they are found, nor the finder’s, but belong to the King’ (Institutes ofthe Law o f Scotland, ed. David M. Walker (Edinburgh and Glasgow, 1981), 2.1.5). 17.7-8 th e th ree K in gs o f C ologn e the alleged bones o f the three Magi or Wise M en which were deposited in Cologne Cathedral in the 12th century. 18.9 d e’il h a e m e the devil take me. A common phrase in several lan­ guages. 18.19 d a r k la n te m lantern with a slide or arrangement for concealing the light. 18.21-22 w h ich th ey d ou b tless tr u s te d . . . d o o m sd a y see Lewis Theo­ bald, The FatalSecret(London, 1735), 5.1.233-34. Quoted in John Bower, Description ofthe Abbeys o f Melrose and Old Melrose, with their Traditions (Kelso, 1813X63: CLA, 6. 18.33-36 an a n cien t B o rd er-k n ig h t. . . m a g ic pow er Scott’s Magnum note (18.1 xxiii) identifies the allusion to L LM , in which the border knight Sir William Deloraine recovers a magic book from the tomb in Melrose Abbey of the wizard Michael Scott, a legendary figure deriving from the mathematician, physician, and translator of Aristotle of that name (c. 1175-c. 1234). A skeleton found in a stone coffin in the Abbey in 1812 was said to be that o f Michael Scott (see Bower, Description, 62). 18.37 d e tr o p in th e groupe the contemporary fashion for picturesque art ruled upon the grouping of subjects. Scott indicates that three subjects would be too many, though in fact odd numbers were recommended as more picturesque than even groups. 18.43 p ick ed free probably‘picked clean’. 19.7 h a i l . . . quarters it’s all mine; no half or quarter shares. The term halvers was a children’s exclamation to claim a half share, and though the whole phrase sounds proverbial the only similar instance known is in The Antiquary, EEW N 3,193.9-10, cited in Cheviot, 259. 19.19 M attocks the sexton is named after a mattock, a tool used for breaking up hard ground. , 19.32 M y c e r te s ,n o no indeed! 19.35 w est-cou n try w h ig frae K ilm arn ock the term Whig was originally a nickname for the supporters o f the National Covenant of 1638 but came to be applied in England to those who c. 1679 opposed the succession of James to the throne because he was a Roman Catholic. At the Revolution o f 1688, when James was deposed, the word was used o f those who favoured the Protestant

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succession, and thus it became the name o f the dominant political party o f the 18th century. As used here ‘whig’ here carries its reference to the Covenanters (see note to 26.3-5), who were particularly strong in SW Scotland and were persecuted in the reigns o f Charles II (1660-8 5) and James VII and II (1685-88) for their support o f the National Covenant and Presbyterianism. But by the middle of the 18th century their religious views were considered to be outmoded, and their ostentatiously strict piety hypocritical; the joke here is that the horse-couper (horse-dealer), who had a proverbial reputation for dishon­ esty, is outdone only by a Covenanter. Kilmarnock is 33 km SW o f Glasgow. 20.1 m a ir by token the more so [because]. 20.8 up th e w ater W up the Tweed valley. 20.18-19 S ain t F r a n c is ... graves Romeo andfuliet, 5.3.121-21. 22.24-25 M onastery o f S ain t M ary founded in 1136, the Abbey was dedicated to the Virgin Mary ten years later. See Historical N ote, 438-39. 22.31-32 as th e m a n s a y s . . . read to you the allusion has not been traced. 22.35 co rrecto r. . . o f th e press proof-reader in a printing house. 22.38 S in ce th e tr e e s . . . kin g see Walter Pope, M oral and Political Fables (London, 1698), 71-72: Fable 76, ‘T he Trees and the Thorn’. 22.41 th e great annual fair Melrose had an ancient spring fair known as the Kier-Thursday, or Scarce-Thursday (Maundy Thursday) Fair. 23.1 Jed id iah C leish b oth a m the fictional school-master who ‘sells’ to the publishers a number of Scott’s novels in the various series o f Tales o f M y Landlord. Jedidiah (‘beloved o f the Lord’) is the name given to Solomon in 2 Samuel 12.25. Cleishbotham means ‘flog bottom’. 23.16-17 p r iz e -m o n e y . . . d ru m h ead prize-money was awarded by the navy for the taking of enemy ships, the money being sometimes apportioned to the crew on the deck of a ship in port. The drum head is the circular, revolving section o f the capstan, the device used for winching the anchor-chain, on which the money would be placed. 23.28 John B allan tyn e (i7 7 4 -i8 2 i)clo sefrien d o fS co tt, Scott’spublisher 1809-13, and a younger brother o f James, Scott’s printer. John acted as literary agent in the publication o f The Monastery, see Textual Essay, 355-64. 24.15 terra in cogn ita Latin unknown region. 24.22 private b ook-cases often a euphemism for collections o f porno­ graphy. 24.26 turkey slippers carpet slippers made from heavy woven Turkish fabric. 24.32 W att o f B irm in g h a m James W a tt(i7 3 6 -i8 i9 ), the Scottish en­ gineer who patented the steam engine in 1769. In 1774 he moved from Green­ ock to Birmingham, where in the following year he entered into partnership with Matthew Boulton at the Soho Works. 25.2 w heth er in body or in sp irit compare 2 Corinthians 12.2. 25.3 N orth ern L igh ts James Watt made a number o f visits to his native Scotland in his later years. Henry Brougham describes Watt’s being in Edin­ burgh early in 1805 when ‘he was a constant attendant at our Friday club, and in all our private circles, and was the life o f them all’ (Henry Brougham, Lives o f Men o f Letters and Science whoflourished in the time o f George I I I , 2 vols (London, 1845-46), 1.383). In his obituary o f Watt, Francis Jeffrey makes reference to another visit in 1817 when Watt received hospitality from many Edinburgh notables. Celebrating Watt’s manifold talents and equable temperament, Jeffrey comments: ‘His friends in this part of the country never saw him more full of intellectual vigour and colloquial animation,— never more delightful or more instructive,— than in his last visit to Scotland in autumn 1817’ (reprinted in James Patrick Muirhead, The Life o f fam es W att( London, 1858), 529). The

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only recorded meeting o f Watt and Scott (in the company of other well-known Edinburgh figures) was in December 18 14: Watt mentions this in a letter to his son (James Patrick Muirhead, The Origin and Progress ofthe Mechanical Inven­ tions o f fames Watt, 3 vols (London, 1854), 2.360). The term ‘Northern Lights’ is here used as a general one for Scottish intellectuals, although Scott had also used it to refer to the Edinburgh literati, punning on the Commissioners for the Northern Lights (i.e. lighthouses) whose inspection tour he joined in 1814: ‘I dont mean the Edinburgh Reviewers but the bona fide commissioners for the Beacons’ (Letters, 3.477:28July 1814, toj. B. S. Morritt). 25.15 A frite in Islamic mythology, a huge winged creature made o f smoke which makes frequent appearances in popular retellings of Eastern tales. The afrite is discussed in Tales o f the East (1 .xlii n), whose editor Henry William Weber had worked as a research assistant for Scott. 25.16 th e rod o f th e p r o p h e t.. .d e se rt during the exile of the Israelites, Moses struck a rock from which water sprang (Numbers 20.11). 25.17-18 th a t tim e and t i d e . . . m a n proverbial: Ray, 162; ODEP, 822. 25.18-19 th a t w in d ... X erxes h im s e lf Xerxes I, King of Persia 486-465 Bc, built a bridge across the Hellespont to invade Greece. It was said that when a storm blew up and destroyed the bridge he gave orders for the sea to be whipped. 25.21 clou d y m a ch in ery an image derived from scenic props used in the theatre. 25.36 C ad m u s reputed to have introduced a written alphabet to Greece. 25.40-42 th e n a tio n a l a d a g e .. .w in d said no notidentified. 26.3-5 C la v e r se . . . coven an ters John Balfour ofK inloch(d. 1688) wasa leader of the Covenanters (supporters, in the reigns o f Charles II (1660—85) and James VII and II (1685—88), o f the National Covenant o f 1638, a manifesto for the establishment o f Presbyterianism as the principal religion in Scotland). He appears as Burley in The Tale ofO ld Mortality (1816), which also features the best-known among the Covenanters’ persecutors, John Grahame o f Claverhouse (c. 1649-89; created Viscount Dundee in 1688), popularly known as Claverse. 26.18-24 N e s i t . . . fiction too the ‘paraphrase’ is a free composition, probably by Scott himself, taking as its point of departure the opening o f Hor­ ace’s Ode 2.4, whose Latin may be translated: ‘N o need to blush, Phocian Xanthias, because you love a slave girl. Achilles was aroused by his fair-skinned Briseis.’ There was scholarly debate as to whether Xanthias was a real person or a fiction himself. Scott is probably also recalling his reference to phantom authors at the conclusion o f ALegendofthe Wars ofMontrose (e e w n 7b, 183.3-4 and explanatory note on 259-60). 26.32-33 an old H igh lan d g en tlem a n called O ssian the supposed 3rdcentury Gaelic poet whose works were ‘translated’ by James Macpherson (1736-96) and published 1760-63. The authenticity o f the Ossian texts was challenged and Macpherson was asked to produce a manuscript. An enquiry in 1805 concluded that, while the Ossian poems were genuine stories in circula­ tion in the Highlands, there was no single source for any o f Macpherson’s works. 26.33 a m on k o f B ristol n a m e d R ow ley a fictitious 15th-century Bristol monk and poet, invented by Thomas Chatterton (1752-70). Chatterton forged manuscripts for Rowley’s work, but the fraud was exposed. 26.44 T h e P ersian L etters a satirical portrait of French society seen through the eyes o f two Persian travellers, by Charles-Louis Montesquieu (1689-1755), published in French in 1721 (at Amsterdam, and in an enlarged version at Cologne) and first translated into English by John Ozell in 1722. 26.44 T h e C itizen o f th e W orld a collection of letters to and from a

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fictitious Chinese philosopher living in London, published by Oliver Goldsmith in 1762. 27.2 P u r c h a s. . . H ack lu yt Richard Hakluyt (e. i5 5 2 -i6 i6 )co m p iled , edited, and published contemporaneous accounts of English sea-voyages and exploration. His work was continued by Samuel Purchas (c. 1575-1626). 27.4 S in dbad the adventurous sailor featuring in the Arabian Nights' Enter­ tainments, a collection o f Arabic stories popularised in French and English translations in the 18th century, and included in Tales o f the East, 1.68-87. 27.4 A b ou lfou aris an adventurous traveller, analogous to Sindbad, who features in ‘T he Adventures o f Aboulfouaris, surnamed the Great Voyager’: Tales ofthe East, 2.469-96. 27.4 R ob in son C rusoe a shipwrecked sailor, the titular hero o f Daniel D efoe’s novel o f 1719, who also appeared in numerous imitations throughout the 18th century. 27.5-6 C ap tain G r e e n la n d ... B affin ’s B ay the years immediately prior to the publication o f The Monastery saw an upsurge in interest in finding the north-west passage, a northerly connection between the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. Baffin Bay off the N coast o f Canada was named after the 17th-century arctic explorer William Baffin (d. 1622). The fictional explorers are the heroes of The Adventures ofCapt. Greenland, probably by William Goodall, 3 vols (Lon­ don, 1752) and R[obert] P[altock]’s imaginary sea voyage The Life and Adven­ tures o f Peter Wilkins a Cornish Man, 2 vols (London, 1751). 27.11 M a c D u fF sp e c u lia r ity inMacbeth, 5.8.12-16, M acduffis said to be not born o f woman because he was delivered by Caesarean section. 27.13-14 M aria E d g ew o rth . . . E ngland the Irish novelist Maria Edgeworth (1767-1849) was known as ‘the mother o f the novel’. 27.17 C id H a m e tB e n e n g e li see note to 28.41-29.6. 27.17-18 th e sh ort-faced p r e sid e n t. . . club the Spectator Club was a group o f imaginary characters whose meetings were reported in the weekly essays o f The Spectator, a periodical founded by Richard Steele in 1711. In No. 17 (20 March 1711) Steele complains about his face: ‘I am a little unhappy in the Mold o f my Face, which is not quite so long as it is broad. ’ H e adds: ‘I have been often put out o f Countenance by the shortness of my F ace, and was formerly at great Pains in concealing it by wearing a Periwigg with an high Foretop, and letting my Beard grow. ’ 27.18 poor B en S ilto n a friend of the fictional editor in [Henry Macken­ zie], The Man o f Feeling (London, 1771) who also appears as a character in the novel. 27.37-39 th e m o s t in te r e s tin g ... s n u ff unbound sheets o f printed books would be used for such purposes as this. Entire volumes could be so disposed o f when a work had not sold well, but in the case o f Scott’s works the waste would consist o f a small number o f sheets which were for a variety o f reasons surplus to requirements. 27.42 L es V oyages Im agin a ires a French collection o f imaginary voyages in 36 volumes, edited by Charles Gamier, published at Amsterdam and Paris in 1787-89 (CLA, 45-46). It included translations o f anumber o f English texts including Robinson Crusoe and Peter Wilkins. 27.42 H istory o f A u tom ath es John Kirkby, The Capactty and Extent o f the Human Understanding Exemplified in the Extraordinary Case o f Automathes (Lon­ don, 1745). This is the story o f a shipwrecked young nobleman who educates himself: it is substantially based on the anonymous The History ofAutonous (London, 1736). Kirkby’s version, together with Peter Wilkins (see note to 27.5-6), featured in a collection of Popular Romances published by John Ballan­ tyne and Co. in 1812 with an introduction by Henry William Weber (see note to 2 5 -iS)-

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27.43 A dventures o f a G uin ea the subtitle o f [Charlesjohnson], Chrysal, 2 vols (London, 1760), a satire narrated by the guinea o f the title as it passes through various stages o f society. 27.43 A dventures o f an A tom [Tobias Smollett], The History and Adven­ tures o f an Atom (London, 1749 [for 1769]), a satire narrated by the Atom o f the title. 28.3-4 ca b a listic m a n u s c r ip ts. . . A grippa the term Cabbala originally referred to Jewish oral traditions not contained in the Hebrew Bible, but came to be applied to the study of magic. Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa, or Agrippa von Nettesheim (1486-1535), was the author o f De occulta philosophia (Antwerp, 1531), which explains the world in terms of cabalistic analyses o f Hebrew letters. 28.4-5 th e door o p e n . . . co m e in see Robert Southey,‘Cornelius Agrippa: A Ballad, o f a Y oung Man that would Read Unlawful Books, and How he was Punished’ (1799), line 28. The ballad ends with a ‘moral’: ‘Henceforth let all young men take h eed / How in a Conjuror’s books they read. ’ 28.7-8 F ro m m y r e sea rch . . . I read compare Erasmus Darwin, The Botanic Garden, 2 parts (London, 1789-91), 1.395-96: ‘Bright o’er the floor the scatter’d fragments blaz’d ,/ And Gods retreating trembled as they gaz’d.’ 28.9-10 th e M a g icia n in th e P ersian T a le s in ‘T he History o f Avicene’ (included in The Persian Letters (see note to 26.44) and Tales o f the East, 2.452-57) the protagonist spends twelve months trapped in a cavern where he gains arcane powers from reading magic books. On his release he is mistaken for a wicked sorcerer and escapes execution in a flying chariot. 28.18—19 O, A th e n ia n s. . . praise! the allusion has not been traced. 28.41—29.6 C id H a m et B e n e n g e li. . . ch a stised CidHam etBenEngeli is the Arab writer to whom Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra attributes the story o f Don Quixote de la Mancha', the book’s anonymous narrator finds Cid Hamet’s manuscript in the market place in Toledo and has it translated by a Spanish­ speaking Moor (Part 1, Ch. 9). The first part o f Don Quixote was published in 1605. In 1614 Alonso Fernandez de Avellaneda (probably a pseudonym) pub­ lished a second part, passing it off as the ‘genuine’ continuation o f the book. T his in turn led Cervantes to write a Part 2 o f his own, published in 1615, in which he dismisses the fake Part 2 of Avellaneda. 28.42 to p la y th e T urk to act in a cruel or tyrannical manner. 29.6-^7 K n igh ts o f th e Straw knights without substance. See Samuel Butler, Hudibras, Part 1 (1663), 2.1056. Scott’s form of the phrase is probably influenced by ‘D on Quixote de la Mancha’. 29.7-9 a s ly o ld S c o ts m a n .. .b ite you Scott later related this anecdote, making clear it refers to the notoriously malleable James VI and I, but not identifying the ‘sly old Scotsman’, in the second series o f Tales o f a Grandfather (originally published in 1828 (dated 1829); reprinted in Prose Works, 2 3 -243 - 44 )29.10 a m en d e h onorable French public apology or reparation. 29.17-22 Jed id iah C le ish b o th a m . . . id en tity the Author refers to advertisements for a spurious novel in his own series Tales o f my Landlord which appeared in the Morning Chronicle in 1819. See note to 23.1, and Textual Essay, 360-61. 29.19 tak e little b y gain little from. 29.21 g en tlem en o fth e lo n g robe i.e. advocates. 29.23-24 sleep in g p a r tn e r . . . copartnery copartner'll the Scottish legal term for a partnership and a sleepingpartner takes no part in its management. The firm is the name o f the copartnery. 29.26-29 a c r im e . . . felon y a legal joke: counterfeiting a signature, in Scotland called ‘forgery’, was a capital crime (afelony), whereas literary forgery

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is merely a civil wrong giving rise to an action of damages only if the copyright in the literary property is infringed. Thus it is a crime to counterfeit a signature (an autograph in one sense) but not to copy someone else’s literary property. 29.38 G an dercleugh the fictional village in which Jedidiah Cleishbotham is schoolmaster. In Scots, cleugk is a gorge or ravine; hence, most obviously, ‘goose-hollow’. 29.39—40 a C am eron ian cler g y m a n a minister of the strict Reformed Presbyterian Church, which followed the doctrines o f Richard Cameron (d. 1680), a noted Covenanter. 29.40 in extrem is Latin at the point o f death. 29.41-42 to b rin g d o w n ... th e b o n n ets o f B on n y D u n d ee the Mountain-folks were the Covenanters who, excluded from their churches, wor­ shipped in the hills. The phrase ‘the bonnets of Bonny D undee’ comes from the traditional song ‘Jockey’s Escape from Dundee’ (included in Thomas d’Urfey’s Wit and M irth; or, Pills to Purge Melancholy, 6 vols (London, 1719-20), 5.17-19), but Scott had already written an alternative version which appears in Rob Roy (1817), 2.218.21-24. Bonny Dundee is John Grahame o f Claverhouse: see note to 26.3-5. 30.11-12 W e h a v e .. .to rch see John Bunyan, The Holy W ar(i682), ‘T o the Reader’, lines 159-60. 30.18—20 M r John B a lla n ty n e . . . p u b lish er for John Ballantyne’s part in the quarrels surrounding the publication o f The Monastery see Essay on the Text, 360-61. T rinity Grove was John’s Edinburgh home near the Firth o f Forth. 30.21 irritab le genus Latin ‘irritabile genus’ (irritable tribe [of poets]): see Horace, Epistles, 2.2.102. 31.4-14 m o tto not identified: probably by Scott. 31.9—10 yonder H a r lo t. . . cu p o f gold the whore o f Babylon, depicted in Revelation 17.4 as ‘having a golden cup in her hand full of abominations and filthiness o f her fornication’. She was commonly identified by Reformation Protestants with the Catholic Church, here represented by Rome and its seven hills. 31.11-13 k ind Sir R o g e r . . . th u n d er in The Spectator (or i4 ju ly 1711 Joseph Addison tells how the fictitious eccentric country Justice of the Peace Sir Roger de Coverley is puzzled by allegations o f witchcraft against Moll White: these include activities involving a broomstaff and a cat. 31.17-19 T h e learned C h a lm e r s. . . stre a m in his Caledonia, 3 vols (London, 1807-24), a topographical and philological survey of Scotland, George Chalmers notes (1.21,2.899) that the name o f the river Quair, from which Traquhair near Peebles derives, comes from the Gaelic term car or char meaning ‘crooked’ or ‘bending’, and (2.946) that this refers to ‘the winding course of the stream’: C LA, 1. (Modern scholars derive the name rather from a Celtic root meaning ‘the clear one’ or ‘the green one’.) N o place called Caquhair has been traced: it may be that Scott is thinking of Cathair, which as Chalmers notes (1.28) means ‘fortress’. 31.22-28 foun ded b y th e first D a v id . . . C rown David I (reigned 1124-53) founded and endowed many Scottish monasteries, including the neighbouring Border abbeys o f Melrose, Jedburgh, and Kelso. His successor James I is reported to have made this remark by Hector Boece, The History and Chronicles o f Scotland, trans. John Bellenden, [ed. Thomas Maitland], 2 vols (Edinburgh, 1821), 2.300: CLA, 4. It was popularised by its inclusion in David Lindsay, Ane Satire o f the Thrie Estaitis(c. 1552), lines 2976-77. 3 1.32-32.2 H is p ossession s in N o r th u m b e r la n d . . . Standard a Scot­ tish army led by David I was defeated by the English near Northallerton in North Yorkshire on 22 August 1138. 32.2 T ev io td a le see note to 6.30.

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453

32.9 a . . . G osh en an oasis, after the fertile land allotted to the Israelites in Egypt: e.g. Genesis45.ro. 32.13-14 th e u n ion o fth e crow ns the monarchies of England and Scot­ land were combined in 1603 when James VI, King o f Scots, succeeded Queen Elizabeth o f England as James I, although the two countries maintained separate parliaments until 1707. 32.39 q u it-ren t a small rent paid by a free-holder in lieu of services which might be required of them. 33.9 sk iey in flu en ces Measurefor Measure, 3.1.9. 33.22 S n atch ers thieves, particularly associated by Scott with Border cattle-raiders: see L L M , 4.4. 33.26-27 th e Z etland A rchipelago the Shetland islands. Scott visited Orkney an dShetland in i8i4:see Lockhart, 3.161. 34.11 s a lm o n . . . L en t the consumption o f meat was prohibited by the Church during Lent (the penitential season preceding Easter), but fish could be eaten. 34.16 a buck o f season a male deer in the hunting season when game is at its fattest. Compare The Merry Wives o f Windsor, 3.3.139-40. 34.20 m o ss-tro o p ers an anachronistic term from the 17th century to de­ scribe the lawless Borderers; it derives from their gathering together in troops and crossing the mosses or boggy country. 34.20—21 a start and ow erloup said o f a flock of sheep which when startled leap over the nearest fence; hence an encroachment on a neighbour’s property. 34.25-26 th e “gude k in g’s d eer” a common ballad phrase: killing deer was the legal preserve o f the king and the nobility. 35.7 d ea d ly feu d s a feature o f Border history defined by Scott in his essay on ‘Border Antiquities’ (55) as ‘private warfare, which was usually carried on with the most ferocious animosity on both sides’. See also Minstrelsy, 1.121-22. 35.9-10 th e fa ta l w a r s. . . M ary’s reign the infant Mary came to the throne in 1542. English incursions into Scotland inflicted much damage in the Bor­ ders, particularly in the years 1544 and 1545. See Historical Note, 435. 35.11-12 th e E n glish, now a P ro testa n t p eo p le Henry VIII, King of England 1509-47, had an uneasy relationship with the papacy and presided over the dissolution of the monasteries, but it was only on the accession of his son Edward VI (reigned 1547-53) that Protestantism became official ecclesiastical policy in England. 35.14 th e p ea ce o f 1550 the English garrisons were withdrawn from Scot­ land in 1549 and a peace treaty between Scotland and England was finally signed on io ju n e 1551. 3 5.28-34 m o tto manuscript revisions suggest that this motto is o f Scott’s own composition. 35.30 fe llA le c to Alecto was one ofthe Furies (for whom see note to 202.21-22). See 2 Henry IV , 5.5.37. 36.18 su m m e r sh ea lin g a hut on the pasture to which livestock would be moved during the summer. 37.4-13 su b lim e or b e a u tifu l. . . G len d earg sublime and beautiful were terms used in the aesthetic appreciation and representation of landscape, dating from the late 17th century. Sublime landscapes were wild, vast, and awe-inspiring, beautiful ones softer and soothing. The picturesque, a later addition which was often satirised, could be applied to most landscapes but especially those which were varied or irregular: ‘the picturesque, whose char­ acteristics are intricacy and variety, is equally adapted to the grandest, and to the gayest scenery’ (Uvedale Price, An Essay on the Picturesque, As Compared with the Sublime and. the Beautiful, new enlarged edn, 2 vols (London, 1796;

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Hereford, 1798), 1.100: compare CLA, 10). T hese terms were applied to landscape from the 17th century, but became popular with the growth o f tour­ ism in the 18th. By the time Scott was writing, the proliferation o f guide­ books and Tours, as well as the opening up o f Scotland as a site for tourists, had made landscape-appreciation commonplace. In Saint Ronan's Well (1824), the village of Saint Ronan’s is described thus: ‘T he situation had something in it so romantic, that it provoked the pencil o f every passing tourist’ ( e e w n 16,1.26-27). 37.19-20 A nother g le n . . . cir cu m sta n ces no references have been found to such a glen. 37.26 B row n M an o fth e M oors a supernatural being similar in several respects to the Brownie (commonly associated with the Borders), but more malevolent in character. 37.34 C orri-n an-sh ian a corruption ofthe Gaelic‘Coire nan Sithean’ meaning ‘Hollow of the Fairy Knolls’. 38.22-25 fa m ily o f G len d o n w y n e. . . O tterb o u m e at the Battle of Otterburn in Northumberland (1388) James, 2nd Earl of Douglas (born c. 1358, succeeded in 1384) defeated Henry Percy (‘Hotspur’, 1364-1403), son o f the Earl o f Northumberland, but he died before victory was assured. The events are recorded in a ballad included in Minstrelsy, 1.276-301. Glendon­ wyne was the name of an ancient family in the Western Borders (see Robert Douglas, The Baronage o f Scotland (Edinburgh, 1798), 233). In a letter o f 1818 Scott writes o f‘the fine old family of Glendonwyne which is so ancient as to have figured at Otterburne’ (Letters, 5.223: to the Duke o f Buccleuch). 38.36-37 th e B attle o f P ink ie the catastrophic defeat o f the Scots by the English in 1547. See Historical Note, 435. 38.39-40 th e u n io n ... H enry VIII the reference is to the so-called‘rough wooing’: English attempts to secure the marriage between Mary and Edward, son o f Henry VIII, backed up by military incursion into Scotland. See Historical Note, 435. 38.40-39.2 T h e M o n k s. . . ob liv isca ris this episode is recorded in Wil­ liam Patten, The Expedicion into Scotlade, o f the most Woorthely Fortunate Prince, Edward, Duke ofSoomerset (London, 1548), k. viii. Patten’s Expedicion was re­ printed in William Dalyell, Fragments ofScotish History (Edinburgh, 1798), where the episode occurs at p. 73: CLA, 4. 39.22 T h e Protector, S om erset Edward Seymour (c. 1506-52), created Duke of Somerset in 1547, led the English army at the Battle o f Pinkie. H e was Protector o f England (1547-49) during part o f the minority o f Edward VI. 39.23 th e an cien t C astle o f R oxburgh after the Battle o f Pinkie in 1547, the English, under the Duke o f Somerset, established a garrison in Roxburgh Castle which they repaired for the purpose. 39.24 take assurance receive a guarantee, under terms o f peace, that they would not be attacked. 39.31 b eyond Forth N across the Firth o f Forth into Fife. 39.35 Staw arth B olton Bolton is a town in Lancashire. 40.21 sarsen et ch id in gs sarsenet was a soft, silky fabric; hence a very mild telling-off. 40.24 red cross the red cross o f St George, patron saint o f England. 41.29 go dow n decline. 41.30 w h ite-h ead having fair hair, but possibly also ‘white-headed’ meaning favoured child (ODEP, 884-85). 41.30-31 ride a cock-horse nursery term for a child playing at riding. 42.15-16 th ose who h a v e . . . cares compare the proverb‘Children are certain cares, but uncertain comforts’: Ray, 4; ODEP, 120. 42.18 ‘d rive a prey’ from make a cattle-raid upon.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

455

42-35~39 m o tto see ‘Auld Maitland’, lines 32-35, m Minstrelsy, 1.232-75. The ballad first appeared in this collection. 43.8 E skdale a district in E Dumfriesshire. 43.21-22 war o f d eta il war fought by the engagement o f small sections of an army one after the other. 44.7 n o t a cloot left o f th e h a il h irsel not a hoof left o f the whole herd. 44.8 G rizzy and C rom b ie traditional Scottish names for cows. 44.19 m ak e a fen d look after ourselves. 44.28 ca st up turnup. 44.32 e v e n . . . to seek in g dem ean. . . by suggesting she should seek. 44.34 w ish her to it wish it on her. 44.40-41 th e w orst b u sh b etter th a n n o b eild referring to the proverb‘a bad bush is better than the open field’: Ray, 75; ODEP, 25. 45.2 w h ite se a m plain needlework. 45.8 a th ou gh t o f tim e a short moment. 45.12-13 busk up get ready. 45.14 W hisht w i’ be quiet about; silence. 45.17 C om e aw a let’s go. 45.18 S c o ts m ile aScottishm ile was 1.8 km, or nearly one-eighth longer than the English mile. 45.18 m o ss and lin g bog and moor: a common pairing as ‘moss and moor’ (e.g. The Black D w arf e e w n 4a, 76.16-17). The phrase‘moss and ling’is found in Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle, The Presence: A Comedy (London, 1668), 96 (supplementary scene). 45.24 S hagram perhaps from the Irish‘shaughraun’: a vagabond. 45.29 lang-bow the English army destroyed the Scots at the Battle of Pinkie by the use o f the longbow, for the Scottish army ‘consisted almost intirely of infantry, whose chief weapon was a long spear, and for that reason their files were very deep, and their ranks close’ (William Robertson, The History o f Scotland. During the reigns o f Queen M ary and o f King James VI. Till His Accession to the Crown o f England, 3rd edn, 2 vols (London, 1760), 1.102: CLA, 4). 45-37 w in to reach. 45.37 th e girth -gate th e‘sanctuary road’, followed by pilgrims between Melrose Abbey and Soutra, 27 km SE of Edinburgh, by way of Allen Water, traditionally Scott’s Glendearg. The road was protected by the laws o f ecclesi­ astical sanctuary. 45.39 good neigh b ou rs the use o f euphemisms for the fairies was a com­ mon folk superstition. 45.42 th e la st day o f O ctober Mary’s birthday on Halloween gives her the power to see spirits: ‘It was believed, that children born on All Saints Eve were in after life patronised by the good neighbours, and endowed with the peculiar faculty o f “seeing sichts” ’ (Chambers, 26sn). 46.21 w in across get safely over. 46.22 on th e tap o f right above. 47.7 yon gate that way. 47.13 fo r it probably ‘for all I care’, butperhaps ‘in that direction’. 47.28 T e lly o u r b e a d s count your prayers on the beads o f your rosary. 48.2-3 th e la st p led g e o f A venel the term can be applied to a child as a hostage given to fortune, but in the Borders apledge was literally a hostage used as security for loans or unpaid fines. 48.6 b ou gh t and sold done business. 48.20—24 m o tto see William C ollins,‘Ode to Fear’ (1747 [for 1746]), lines 58-59,62-63. 48.27 a reign o f m in o rity Mary came to the throne as an infant, and her

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minority reign lasted from 1542 to 1561, giving rise to a power struggle for the regency. See Historical Note, 435. 48.35 a m a le fie f an estate that can only be inherited by male heirs. 48.36-38 T h e an cien t p h ilo so p h e r . . . leg io n s the meeting o f a philo­ sopher and a ruler, in which the philosopher always comes off the better, is a standard topos in ancient literature. The best-known version o f the story (re­ ferred to 22 times by ancient authors) concerns a supposed meeting in the 4th century b c between Diogenes o f Sinope and Alexander the Great. When the latter was marching with his army through Greece, he encountered Diogenes and asked the famous philosopher if there was anything he could do for him, whereupon Diogenes simply replied that he would be grateful if he would stand to one side and not keep the sun off him. 49.37 h igh h olid ay solemn religious festival. 49.43-50.1 th e Q ueen R egen t (M ary o f G u ise) Mary o f Guise (1515-60), the mother o f Mary I, Queen of Scots, Regent from 1554 to her death. See Historical Note, 435. 50.26 p u llin g th e thread fro m her d is ta ff Elspet is spinning with a spindle and distaff. The spindle was a hooked rod which was made to revolve and to draw the fibres into thread; the distaff was a cleft stick about a metre long on which the flax was wound. 50.29 th e m o d e m crane in the 19th century a crane was an upright revolv­ ing axle with a horizontal arm for suspending a pot over a fire. 51.9-10 th e k n o w led g e. . . p erson al danger an act o f 1543 had made it lawful to read the Bible in English. The idea that Catholic bishops had ruled reading o f the vernacular Bible to be a capital crime was in fact a rumour circulated by Protestants. See also Historical N ote, 436. 51.14 b eh oved n eed s to had to; must. 51.40 m islea rd loon s badly brought-up rascals: here a term o f affectionate rebuke. 51.41 yon gate inthatmanner. 52.3 M ay n e’er b e in m y fingers may I have no power in my fingers. 52.34-35 a b ea u tifu l h a w k ... its h ea d in his introduction to Berners (21) Haslewood writes of ‘Hawks, heretofore the pride o f royalty, the insignia of nobility’. 53.11-12 B e good to and preserve u s ‘God’ is understood. 53.16 to d s keep their ain h o le s clean proverbial: JamesKelly, A Complete Collection ofScotish Proverbs Explained and made Intelligible to the English Reader (London, 1721^320: CLA, 169. 53.19 o u t o’ gate out of the way; not present. 53.24 w i’ b ell an d book excommunication by bell, book, and candle was marked by the ringing o f a bell, the closing of a book, and the snuffing out o f a candle. The phrase is proverbial: see Ray, 184 and ODEP, 44. 53.27 S ain t A ndrew ’s cross St Andrew is the patron saint o f Scotland. His cross is the X-shaped saltire. 53.30-3! th e w ed d in g o f th e P rin ce and our Q u een see note to 38.39-40. 54.6 h ave no sk ill o f know nothing about. 54.14 tim e about in turn; one after another. 54.31 cellarer the cellarer ‘had the care o f every thing relating to the food of the Monks, and vessels o f the cellar, kitchen, and refectory’ (Fosbrooke, 177). 54.35-36 to w innow m y th ree w eig h ts o ’n a eth in g a Halloween tradi­ tion for divining one’s future lover: the act o f winnowing corn to separate it from the chaff is mimed three times, after which the apparition appears. Compare Robert Burns, ‘T 0 tvinn three mechts 0 ’naething’, ‘Halloween’ (1786), line 182 and note. A weight or wecht is a winnowing-sieve.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

457

55.1—2 C u pid’ss h a ft Cupid, the Roman god of love, is depicted shooting arrows into people to cause them to fall in love. 55.5 th e grey-goose w in g according to Joseph Strutt, The Sports and Pastimes ofthe People o f England (London, 1801), 47, the wing-feathers o f the grey goose are ‘preferable to any others for the pluming o f an arrow’: CLA, 154. The phrase also occurs in ballads: see Ivanhoe, e e w n 8 , 547. 55.13-14 R obin H o o d ... L in d sa y ’s b a lla ts ballads featuring the legendary outlaw Robin Hood were circulated in print from the 16th century. Sir David Lindsay (1490-1555) wrote anti-clerical verses which quickly entered into popular circulation. 55.16 gh aists and gyre carlin es ghosts and witches. Compare Alexander Montgomerie (1545?—98), ‘The Flyting between Mongomerie and Polwart’ , line 681: ‘Leve boigillis, brouneis, gyr carlingis, & ghaistis’, quoted (with differ­ ent spelling) in Minstrelsy, 1.153. 55.25 o f a con stan cy incessantly. 55.29 A ll-H allow day All Saints Day, 1 November. 55.42 w a d n a b e to s e e k in would not need to ask about. 56.5-6 ordinary s a u n ts . . . Saunt A nthony, S au n t C u thbert there are two possible St Anthonys: St Anthony o f Padua (1195-1231) was a popular saint because o f his reputation for miracles; a less likely alternative is the hermit St Anthony of Egypt (c. 251-326), celebrated as an early founder of monasticism. St Cuthbert (d. 687) was a local saint, probably born in the neighbour­ hood o f Melrose where he was a monk for part o f his life. His legend is recounted in Marmion (1808), 2.14-18. 56.8 th e W hite M aiden o f A venel see Historical N ote, 437. 56. i i h a ly b e h is c a s t may his lot be in Heaven. 56.13-14 m ak e n a eb etter fen d for th e m provide for them no better. 56.16-17 to th e b o o t o f th at into the bargain. 56.17 m in d o’ recall. 56.21 Our L ady and S ain t P aul Melrose Abbey was dedicated to the Virgin Mary, and the N transept contained chapels dedicated to St Peter and St Paul respectively. 56.23 C an d lem as 2 February, one ofthe four Scottish quarter days. 56.27 h ap u p . . . ow er low make up the fire with a little piece o f turf laid on the embers to keep it burning for a long time, before it gets too low. 57.2-9 m o tto by Scott; but compare John Milton, ‘Lycidas’ (1638), lines 113-29 and ‘L ’Allegro’ (composed c. 1631, published 1645), lines85-86. 57.29 th e la st con solation s the last rites administered to the dying. 57.30 th e Sacristan the officer in charge o f keeping sacred vessels and other preparations for monastic services. ‘He distributed the candles for the offices; took care o f all burials; washed the chalices twice a week, or oftener, as neces­ sary; and the corporals [cloths for wrapping the host] before Easter, or when expedient’ (Fosbrooke, 186). 58.8—9 It is our d u t y . . . the w id ow see especially James 1.27:‘Pure religion. . . is this, to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction. ’ 58.18-19 B e n e d ic tin e s. . . b eggarly friars the Benedictine monks are distinguished from the orders o f mendicant friars (F ranciscans, Dominicans, Carmelites, Augustinians), who would make lengthy excursions from their fri­ aries for apostolic work, especially preaching. 58.19—20 w e m a y n o t d e s e r t. . . grievous u n to u s the phrase calls upon the frequent biblical image of God’s servants as workers in a vineyard. 59.14-15 w h at a v a ils .. .heresy? see Matthew 23.25-26. 59.23-24 a canker-w orm in th e rose-garlan d o ft h e S p ou se the image of the Church as the bride of Christ is a common one; the picture as a whole here recalls the poem ‘The Coronet’ by Andrew Marvell (1621-78).

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59.26 kept h ouse w ith lived with. 59.29-30 th ey fly about lik e th e p e stile n c e b y n o o n -d a y seePsalm 9i.6. 60.20 a d aughter o f Eve a woman. 60.36-38 rendered into th e v u lg a r t o n g u e ... la y p erson see note to 51.9-10. 60.43-61.2 even t h u s ... D ea th b y S in seeR om ans5.i2:eatingthefruit o f the tree of the knowledge of good and evil was the first sin, making mankind subject to mortality (see Genesis 2.17). 61.8 th e W ord slayeth see 2 Corinthians 3.6. 61.17 the H oly F ather o f C h risten d o m thePope. 61.24-27 rectors, cu r a te s. . . w orld ‘secular clergy’, unlike the ‘regular clergy’ o f religious orders, are bound by no vows and may own property. The term would include rectors and curates, clergy working in parishes: Scott prob­ ably does not intend a precise distinction. 61.26 th e secu lu m or a ge ‘seculum’ is the Latin for ‘age’. 61.27-28 th e m en d ica n t f r ia r s .. .u n c ro sse d for mendicant friars see note to 58.18-19. The various orders were distinguished by the colour o f their habits: the Black Friars are the Dominican order; the Franciscans adopted brown robes in the 15th century but continued to be known as Grey Friars. ‘Crossed’ or ‘crutched’ friars were a minor order who wore a cross on their habits. 61.29—30 M onks B e n e d ic tin e . . . C istercia n the Cistercian order of Benedictines was founded at Citeaux in Burgundy in 1098. In 1115 Saint Ber­ nard (1090-1153, canonised in 1174) established a house at nearby Clairvaux and continued to promote the order’s emphasis on a more simple form of monastic life. 61.33—35 it h ath p r o d u c e d ... S co tla n d the inclusion o f‘popes’(none of whom had been Scottish) makes clear the absurdity of the claim. 62.21—27 the T w e e d . . . stre a m s the River Tweed has unusually high banks and in the early 19th century was prone to sudden flooding: ‘the many other streams that empty themselves into the Tweed, come raving down from the mountains and from the lakes, and, with their united volume, raise that river to an alarming height in the space o f a few hours’ (William Scrope, Days and Nights o f Salmon Fishing in the Tweed (London, 1843), 146). 62.30 th e E n em y the Devil. 62.40-41 o f th e m a n y fair b r id g e s ... e x isted at the time in which the novel is set the bridge W o f Melrose was the only one across the T weed except for that at Peebles upstream (1465-70). According to a Public Act o f 1764, before that date ‘there were only two bridges over Tweed [Kelso, M elrose]. . . o f any real utility, all the rest being either aukwardly placed or incommodiously con­ structed’:An Inventory ofthe Ancient and Historical Monuments o f Roxburghshire (Edinburgh, 1956), 50. From 1764 onwards the systematic improvement o f roads in the Borders led to the construction o f such fine bridges as that at Leaderfoot, a little downstream from Melrose (1776-80), and Kelso (1800-03, replacing one of 1754 swept away in 1797). 62.42-43 a b r id g e ... th e cu rio u s according to Thomas Pennant, frag­ ments of a bridge fitting Scott’s description could be found at Bridgend near Melrose, although the bridge itself had been demolished in 1772: Thomas Pennant, A Tour in Scotland; M D C C L X IX and A Tour in Scotland, and Voyage to the Hebrides; M D C C L X X II, 3 vols (1771-76, repr. London, 1790), 3.267: CLA, 4. In the Magnum (18.72) Scott quotes a description o f the remains o f this bridge in Alexander Gordon’s Itinerarium Septentrionale [Account o f a Northern Journey]: or, a Journey Thro’most ofthe Counties o f Scotland and those in the North o f England (London, 1726), 165-66 and plate LXIV, Fig. 1 (facing p. 166): CLA, 11.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

459

64.7 rid in g th e w ater fording the river on horseback. 64.28 a . . . squire o f d a m es a ladies’man, originally a character in Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie Queene(i^go, 1596),3.7.51: CLA, 42,187,209. 64.42-43 th e L ow land ton gu e English, or Scots, as opposed to the Gaelic spoken in the Highlands. 66.2 th e vesper hour the canonical hours are times o f the day prescribed for the reciting o f designated prayers. Vespers were said around 4 p.m. (F os­ brooke, 55). 66.10 T h e K elpy a water-horse or malevolent water-spirit who could assume human form to lure humans to their doom. Kelpies lived in deep pools in rivers and would leap up behind passing riders. 66.16 A m a n o f m e a n o r a m a n o f m ig h t standard phrases meaning a wealthy man or a warrior: see e.g. the ballad ‘Willie o’ Winsbury’, in David Herd’s manuscripts, lines 13-14,17-18, in The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, ed. Francis James Child, 5 vols (Boston and New York, 1882-98), 2.400 (Child, 100B). 66.46 B erw ick Berwick-upon-Tweed, a town on the E coast at the border between England and Scotland where the Tweed joins the sea; an English borough after its final capture from Scotland in 1482. 67.7-1:3 m o tto not identified: probably by Scott, alluding to the parable of the tares (Matthew 13.24-30,36-43). 67-31- 32 purple A bbot see Alexander Pope, TheDunciad (1728-43), 4.301: ‘Where slumber Abbots, purple as their wines’. 68.2 th e P rivy C ou n cil the Privy Council advised the Scottish monarch and formed the executive o f the realm. 68.2 th e P rim a te o f S cotlan d the Archbishop o f St Andrews from 1546 m 1571, who at the time of the novel’s action was John Hamilton (b. 1512), although Scott also associates this character with Hamilton’s predecessor Car­ dinal Beaton (for whom see note to 88.41-89.3). See Essay on the Text, 371. 68.3 th e Q ueen M other Mary o f Guise: see note 1049.43-50.1. 68.13 a m a n o f p a r ts a man o f varied education and skills. 68.34 a life-ren t lea se the right to the possession and use o f property only during his life. 69.15—16 h is h o u s e . . . th e M on astery the Abbot’s Hall, probably with his private chambers above, was built in 1246 near the mill-stream, separate from the main buildings. Scott is probably influenced by John Bower, Description ofthe Abbeys o f Melrose and Old Melrose (Kelso, 1813), 44: ‘In the end o f the north nave [i.e. north transept] are the remains o f the abbot’s house, which joins to the church with a Saxon door which leads into it with a stair, the remains of which are still to be seen’ (this is actually the night-stair used by the monks coming from their dormitory). 69.27 D u ndrenn an a Cistercian Abbey on the Solway coast, SW Scotland; it was founded in 1142, probably by David I. 69.36-37 th e A bbey o f A berbrothock the Abbey of Arbroath on the E coast of Scotland, a Tironensian foundation dating from 1178. 70.14 h alf-sack ed a favourite metaphor o f Scott’s envisaging the eating of food as a military onslaught. 70.22—24 A fiery s o u l. . . clay John D ryden,‘Absalom and Achitophel’, Part 1 (1681) lines 156-58. 70.37-38 For th e sto m a c h ’s s a k e ... th e te x t see 1 Timothy 5.23. 70.43 a n E n g lish p in t 0.57 litres; abouta third o f an old Scots pint. 71.10 th ose b e t h e y ... u p sid e dow n see Acts 17.6. 71.15-16 a m a n under c o m m a n d .. .u n d er h im see Matthew 8.9 and Luke 7.8. 71.19 th e R id in g -b u m the stream has not been identified.

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EXPLANATORY NOTES

71.23-24 your v a ssa ls are o b lig e d . . . th eir lan d s this would be the case since Melrose Abbey was a regality expecting the normal feudal obligations from its tenants. 71.30 B aron o fM e ig a llo t a fictional title perhaps inspired by two localities near Melrose: Meigle Hill and Meggat Water. 71.35 the C hartulary o fth e H ou se the charter, and the persons named in it, appear to be imaginary. N o record to this effect is to be found in the collection o f such documents published by the Bannatyne Club as Liber Sancte Marie de Melros, 2 vols (Edinburgh, 1837). 71.39 th e Abbot A ilford the figure is imaginary. 71.41 S ain t B ridget’s E ven 31 January; the feast o f the Irish St Bridget (d. c. 525) is 1 February: it was almost universally observed in the middle ages. 72.11 p u t on set to make regular journeys. 72.12 com p ou n d th e c la im come to terms about the payment. 72.31-33 th e sp iritu al s w o r d ... th e tem p o ra l sw ord a reference to John 18.10-11 where Peter severs the ear o f Malchus and is told by Jesus ‘Put up thy sword into the sheath’. From this (and also from Luke 22.38) papal apologists developed the doctrine of two swords— the sheathed sword (repres­ enting the spiritual rule of the Pope), and the drawn sword, also Peter’s sword, but wielded by secular princes according to the will of the Pope. The theory was developed in De consideratione (c. 1148) by Bernard of Clairvaux, the founder of the Cistercian order o f Benedictines. 72.41 S ancta M aria Latin Holy Mary! 72.42 perished from th e w ay Psalm 2.12. 73.11-14 m o tto see Macbeth, 5.3.42,44-45. 73.35 H ob a diminutive o f‘Robert’: a generic name for a rustic or clown. 74.4 h is w its have gone a b ell-w a v erin g his mind is wandering: a reference to sheep following a ‘bell-wether’, a sheep with a bell around its neck which leads the flock. 74.13 v in o g ra v a tu s Latin from ‘gravatis omnibus vina somnoque’ (Livy, 25.24.6: ‘all of them weighed down with wine and sleep’). 74.34-35 S a ta n . . . h is han d alluding to the trials ofjob: Job 1.11. 75.26-27 w h at say th e D ecr e ta ls? . . . d eb en t a decretal is a papal decree containing an authoritative decision on some point of doctrine or ecclesiastical law. The Latin means: ‘Crimes ought to be exposed to view until they are punished, but disgraceful acts ought to be kept hidden.’ The precise source has not been traced. 76.28-29 m a g a zin e o f artillery building where munitions are stored. 76.43—77.1 an y sp irit, black , w h ite, or grey compare Macbeth, 4.1.44. 77.21 I a m b u t a lost p riest compare The Tempest, 4.1.202: ‘Thou wert but a lost monster’. 77.35-36 th e seven p en iten tia ry p sa lm s Psalms 6 ,3 2,38,51,102,130, and 143: sombre texts recited on Fridays during Lent. 77.36 scourge and h a ir-clo th self-flagellation and the wearing of coarse undershirts were means o f doing penance. 77.43 th e syren tim e syrens were mythical creatures whose song could lure sailors to their doom. 78.6—7 their p o ss e ssio n . . . h is d eath a grant of land could contain a ‘clause of return’, by which the feu would, in the absence o f male heirs, revert to the superior. 78.15 P en teco st i.e. Whitsunday: either the Christian feast day celebrated on the 50th day after Easter, or 15 May, one o f the four Scottish ‘terms’, traditional days for the paying o f rents. 78.20-23 m o tto not identified: probably by Scott. T h e ‘fatal Fisher’is the

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Devil, who contends with the Christian ‘fishers of men’ o f Matthew 4.19 and Mark 1.17. 79.36 tell h is b ead s see note to 47.28. 80.7 w ear over live through. 80.12 a clean sh rift full absolution. 80.33 S ain tW ald ave StW aldeveorW altheof(d. 1159), a step-son of David I, Abbot ofMelrose Abbey from 1148 to 1159. 80.42 S ain t C u thb ert see note to 56.5-6. 81.26 u p o n n ettles on tenterhooks. 81.29 to b oot into the bargain. 81.34 to her h an d without exertion on her part. 81.34-35 w ith ou t co stin g her eith er p a in s or p en ce no other occur­ rence of this saying has been found. 81.37-39 red th r e a d . . . w itc h -e lm popular charms for warding off witchcraft. See Joseph Train, Strains ofthe Mountain Muse (Edinburgh, 1814), 163: CLA, 165). 81.41 B e here! ‘God’is understood. 82.3 H apper the Scots form of hopper, a receiver in the form of an inverted pyramid or cone through which grain passes into the mill. 82.3-4 as w eel as th e beggar k n ow s h is dish proverbial: Ray, 199; ODEP, 41. The dish is an alms bowl. 82.4 ca n ty q u ea n [Elizabeth Grant, 1745-1814], ‘Roy’s Wife o f Alldivaloch’, line 9, in The Scots Musical Museum, no. 342: Vol. 4 (1792), 352. 82.33 th e w ater the neighbourhood (ofthe Tweed vailey). 82.42 at w h iles sometimes; now and then. 83.27 th e fisher o f so u ls see note to 78.20-23. 83.28 a m b itio n and v a in glory the factors which led to Satan’s own fall from heaven. 83.32—33 the church m u s t n o t break or b r u is e .. .p o ssib le perhaps suggested by Isaiah 40.1-2 and 42.3. 84.19-^20 as it fell, so it lie s proverbial, ultimately from Ecclesiastes 11.3: Ray, 231; ODEP, 505. 84.35-37 th e first s e n t im e n t. . . u n a v o id a b le most notably, Martin Luther (1483-1546) began by urging reform within the Roman Catholic Church from 1515 onwards; he was excommunicated in 1521 by Pope Leo X who had eventually come to realise the implications o f Luther’s ideas. In Scot­ land, between 1540 and 1560 when the Scottish Parliament finally broke with Rome, reform had proceeded gradually rather than with any dramatic disrup­ tion, the papacy being largely ignored in the process. 85.2 suffer for a tim e i.e. in Purgatory. 85.7-8 th e godly fou n d ation — our b lessed P atron ess Melrose Abbey, and the Virgin Mary to whom it was dedicated. 85.13 erroneous prayers Protestants do not pray for the dead, believing that their salvation or damnation is determined at death. 86.7 th e tree o f K n ow led ge o f G ood and E vil see Genesis 2.9. 86.32-36 m o tto see ‘John Upland’, lines36-39, in the Bannatyne Manu­ script, a collection of verse made by the Edinburgh merchant George Bannatyne (1545-1608): The Bannatyne Manuscript Written in Tyme o f Pest 1568, ed. W. Tod Ritchie, 4 vols (Edinburgh and London, 1928-34), 2.247-49. For the further quotation on p. 87 see lines 7-13 o f the poem. 86.37-87.1 T h e S co ttish la w s .. .Jack -m en see e.g. Ch. 9 ofthe Act of 14 November x524, which states that all lords (especially in Liddesdale and upon the Border) must be responsible that their male tenants keep good rule as far as is expedient: The Acts ofthe Parliaments o f Scotland, 2(1814), 286. 87.37 in s a u ltfa t in the salt-vat; salted away; disposed of.

462

EXPLANATORY NOTES

88.13 h o rse-m ea t and m e n ’s m e a t food for men and horses. 88.28 A ve and Credo Latin respectively, the first words o f the Latin prayer ‘Ave Maria’ (‘Hail Mary’) and the Nicene Creed, ‘Credo in unum D eum ’ (‘I believe in one God’). 88.33-34 th e L o rd ja m es d ro w n ed . . . black p ool at Jeddart Lord James Stewart (see Historical Note, 435-36) headed forceful attempts to impose order in the Borders. The burgh court at Jeddart, an alternative name for Jedburgh (Jedworth, Jedward), was the principal centre for trying offences within Scotland. Although hanging was the usual punishment, drownings also took place in the River Jed. Scott gives an account o f this practice in ‘Border Antiquities’, 109. 88.41-89.3 th e P r im a t e ... set h im hard Scott is here thinking o f Cardinal Beaton, Archbishop of St Andrews from 1539, who, historically, died before the events of the novel. After a number o f plots against him, David Beaton was killed in 1546 by a group o f conspirators including Norman Leslie (d. 1554), son o f the Earl of Rothes, who was Sheriff o f Fife from 1541, and who had a personal grudge against him. Beaton was hard pressed or beset (‘set hard’) before being finally murdered. T he Governor is Moray, the leader o f the Lords of the Congregation (for whom see Historical Note, 434). 89.4 q u it th e slo t give up the chase: slot is the track or scent. 90.40 as old as th e h ills proverbial: ODEP, 588. 91.5-12 S ain t G eo rg e. . . S a in t M ic h a e l. . . Sain t J o h n . . . S ain t M ary M agd alen these are illustrations from the lives o f Saints: St George, accord­ ing to popular legend, slew a dragon; St Michael the Archangel is traditionally the opponent o f Satan (see Revelation, 12.7); John the Baptist was often de­ picted with a lamb to signify his designation o f Christ as the ‘Lamb of G od’ (John 1.29); Mary Magdalen was identified with the woman ‘sinner’ o f Luke 7.37 and often represented in the act of weeping for her sins. 91.28-29 p ain t t h e m . . . b la zo n th e m w ith gold medieval scribes used pigments and gold leaf in the construction o f elaborately decorated capital letters. 92.7-9 th e s p ir it ... nearer h o m e the most spectacular examples o f such depredations took place following John Knox’s sermon against idolatry preached in St John’s Church, Perth, on 11 May 1559. They extended as far south as Edinburgh and Linlithgow. 92.13 b en ed icite Latin bless you. 92.42 a sta tu te p assed in th e year 1455 see Ch. 8 of the Act o f 4 August 1455: The Acts o f the Parliaments o f Scotland, 2 (1814), 43. 92.43-46 T h e c o m m u n ity o f A b erb ro th w ick ... exh au sted the source of this anecdote has not been traced. 93.1 n eith er b u sh nor brake compare AMidsummer N ight’s Dream, 3 -I-9 7 94.1 travel th e w o r ld . . . n ig h t-m a re the term ‘mare’ is a variant o f a Ger­ manic word meaning ‘spirit’ and has no relation to horses. The nightmare was a succubus believed to produce bad dreams by sitting on the chests o f sleepers. 94.3 crook o f th e glen bend in the valley. 94.9 C ab alists and R osicru cia n s for Cabalists see note to 28.3-4. Rosicrucians were a secret world-wide brotherhood dating from the 16th century which claimed to possess esoteric knowledge handed down from ancient sources. 94.13-14 C ornelius A grippa, P aracelsu s for Cornelius Agrippa see note to 28.3-4. Philippus von Hohenheim (c. 1493-1541), known as Paracel­ sus, was a Swiss physician who experimented with alchemy, the search to trans­ form base metals into gold: he was reputed to be a founder o f Rosicrucianism (see note to 94.9).

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94.17 th e gates o f h e l l . . . ag a in st m e see Matthew 16.18. 94.28-29 the w ords o f so lem n e x o r c is m . . . R o m e the rite ‘D e exorcizando obsessis a dsm onio’ (for exorcising those possessed by an evil spirit) can be found in the Roman ritual as codified under Paul V (Pope 1605-21), Rituale Romanum (Antwerp, 1625), 316-46. An elaborate series of adjurations to the evil spirit invoking the merits and power o f Christ, and including appropriate passages from the Bible, centres in the words (325): ‘Recede ergo in nomine Patris, & Filij, & Spiritus sancti, da locum Spiritui sancto, per hoc signum Crucis Iesu Christi Domini nostri’ (Be gone, therefore, in the name o f the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; give place to the Holy Spirit, by this sign o f the cross o f our Lord Jesus Christ). 95.16 w on up on prevailed upon. 95.23 b etw ixt w in d and w ater compare the proverbial expression ‘to shoot between wind and water’ (ODEP, 892). 95.23 S c o ts m ile s see note to 45.18. 95.25-26 d istilled w aters distilled spirits. 97.10-11 h ale and fear whole and in health: a Scots phrase dating from the 12 th century. 97.11-12 T e D e u m la u d a m u s ‘We praise thee O God’, the first words of a Latin canticle. 97.12 th e b lood o f th y s e r v a n t s ... sig h t see Psalm 72.14. 97.21 d ou ble a le ale o f double the normal strength. 97.25-28 m o tto apparentlynotbyThom asDekker(i570?-i632). Prob­ ably by Scott: the phrase ‘Heaven’s high name’ occurs in John Dryden, The Hind and the Panther (1687), 3.972. 97-31_32 ch im n ey-corn er the chimney is the whole fireplace. 98.11 F lodd en on 9 September 1513 the Scots under James IV were defeated by the English on the Northumbrian side o f the Border, the King, 9 earls, and 14 greater lords being among the slain who were said by the English (probably with some exaggeration) to amount to half o f the 20,000-strong army. 98.13 S a in tG ile s St Giles (d. £.710) was the patron saint o f the city of Edinburgh. 98.14 M onance StM onans,atow ninFife. 98.15-16 one W iseheart, a gosp eller George Wishart(c. 1513-46X3 Protestant preacher, burned at St Andrews by Cardinal Beaton. 98.24 th e G allow -h ill situated S ofthe market square. 98.24 peep o f lig h t first light. 98.26-27 feed th e c r o w s. . . a t C a rlisle Carlisle was the judicial centre on the English side of the Border and hangings were common there. 99.21 A berbrothock see note to 69.36-37. 99.24-25 sp irit o f another sort see A Midsummer N ight’s Dream, 3.2.388. 99.35-36 th e b lack p o o l ofJed w ood see note to 88.33-34. 99.37 th e sack and th e fork the sack used for drowning felons, and the fork o f the gallows. 99.40 th e p ro v erb ,‘N ever Friar forgot feu d ’ this is the only example given o f this proverb in ODEP, 288; see also Cheviot, 263. 100.3 th e glitterin g earth Henry Hart Milman, Samor, Lord o f the Bright City (London, 1818), 9.242. In the churchyard at Melrose Abbey there is a headstone dated 1761 with an inscription beginning: ‘The earth goeth on the earth glistring like gold.’ 100.10 coat o f p r o o f armour tested for impenetrability. 100.12 fall at feu d be suddenly drawn into a feud. 100.14-15 Ju lian th e A p ostate Flavius Claudius Julianus (332-63), Roman Emperor 361-63, who publicly converted from Christianity to pagan­ ism.

464

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100.32 b ring th ese stray s h e e p ... fold see especially Jesus’s words in John 10.16: ‘other sheep I have, which are not o f this fold: them alsolm ust bring. . . and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd’. 100.33 th e sw ord o f S ain t P eter seenote 1072.31-33. 100.35 stran glin g and burn in g burning at the stake was a method o f punishment for heresy; the more fortunate victims were strangled first. 100.39-40 a th ou gh t slightly. 100.41 th e field o f P inkie see note to 38.36-37. 101.4 b u ff-co a t thick overcoat made o f leather. 101.12 try con clu sion s engage in a trial o f skill. 101.13 S ain t M ary’s w ell a well dedicated to the Virgin Mary. N o specific well has been identified. 101.18 O rem u s introductory word, or bidding, to Latin prayers:‘Let us pray.’ 101.21 stron g th ie f flagrantly guilty thief. 101.27 A ca st o fth e ir office, and a ca st o f m in e to give somebody a cast of one’s office is proverbial: Ray, 204; ODEP, 106. The baillie takes up and plays on the word office (‘position’) from Christie’s speech. 101.30-31 w ran glin g b etw ix t ju stice and in iq u ity compare Measure for Measure, 2.1.165: ‘Which is the wiser here, Justice or Iniquity?’ 101.42 Save a th ie f fro m th e gallow s the proverb continues: ‘and he’ll be the first shall cut your throat’ (Ray, 161; ODEP, 700). 102.4-5 A bbot In gelram ’s days this imaginary abbot’s name may have been suggested by Ingeram, Bishop of Glasgow, who died in 1174: see the Bannatyne Club edition of Chronica de Mailros (Edinburgh, 1835), 86. 102.7 p a id tith e paid a tenth ofthe value. 102.8 so m eth in g lig h tly c o m e by i.e. stolen. 102.14 h e w as a m erry m a n see Romeo andJuliet, 1.3.41. 102.14-15 th e sp oilers o fth e E gyptians see Exodus 3.22 where the Israelites are commanded to ‘spoil the Egyptians’. 102.15 John th e A rm strang Johnnie Armstrong, a famous Border outlaw and the subject of a ballad included by Scott in Minstrelsy, 1.330-62. 102.16-17 h e m p w a s . . . heck led hemp, the material from which ropes for hanging were made, was prepared with a tool called a ‘heckle’, used for separating out the fibres. 102.26 L an ercost A bbey Lanercost Priory, founded c. n 66 for Augustinian canons, is in N Cumbria, 17 km E o f Carlisle. 102.28 clean n au gh t completely worthless. 102.28-29 proper m e n men who are the best oftheir kind. 102.30 It sk ills n ot there is no point. 102.33 lau d s morning prayer, usually said after matins around 3 a.m. (Fosbrooke, 53). 102.35 b en ed icite Latin bless you. 102.39 G ratias a g im u s . . . rev eren d issim e Latin thank you very much, reverend master. 103.16 virtu e is its ow n rew ard proverbial: ODEP, 861. 103.29 ex cathedra Latin in an official capacity. 103.40 W hich our d eference and h u m ility that deference and humility of ours. 103.41 in so m e sort to some extent. 104.23-24 th e sacram en t, as h is church ca ll it, o f co n fessio n Roman Catholicism recognises seven sacraments, o f which confession is one. Protestants recognise as sacraments only Baptism and the Lord’s Supper. 104.30-31 I sh ould have spread m y m a n tle over th e fra ilties alluding

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to Shem and Japheth covering the nakedness of their drunken father Noah: Genesis 9.23. 104.33 b u t w hat but that. 105.11 sup ererogation the performance ofgood deeds beyond what God commands. 105.19 a stricken hour a full hour, indicated by the striking o f the clock. 105.42 v o tiv e o b ed ien ce obedience to monastic vows. 105.43 th e p h ilo so p h ica l d iscip lin e o f th e sch o o ls theologyand philosophy as taught in medieval universities. 106.8-16 m o tto not identified: probably by Scott. 108.7 prop and p illa r a standard phrase. 108.23—24 b esp eak in g for th eir m a s t e r ... m a rk et alluding to the custom whereby a lord could claim for himself goods from a market held on his land before it opened to the public. 108.26 th e great F ish er o f so u ls the Devil: see note 1078.20-23. 108.32-33 ign orant as th e b ea sts w h ich p erish see Psalm 49.20. 108.40-41 an old p r o v erb . . . w ise st m e n see Canterbury Tales, ‘The Reeve’s T ale’, 1(A), 4054. F or Queen Elizabeth’s use o f the proverb see ODEP, 126. It is also recorded by Ray, 88 and 307. 109.24-25 th e L aird o f H un ter’s-h o p e apparently imaginary. 110.37 from Y ule to M ich a elm a ss literally from Christmas to St Michael’s Day, 29 September. 112.16 a m a n o f lit h a n d lim b a man strong in his joints and limbs:‘lith and limb’ is a standard phrase. 112.17-18 a p a in ted shadow compare Thomas Middleton, The Wisedome o f Solomon Paraphrased (London, 1597), 13.18.3:‘They see the painted shadow o f suppose.’ 112.36-38 I g u e s s . . . exceed in g ly Samuel Taylor Coleridge, ‘Christabel’(composed 1797-1801, published 1816), 1.66-68. 113.4-11 m o tto not identified: probably by Scott. 114.2 Araby Arabia. 116.1-2 M any a fa t h o m . . . to sleep echoing Prospero in The Tempest, 5 -I-54- 57 118.45-46 N o t to u s . . . A dam ’s race i.e. spirits can have no share in the divine redemptive process. Scott is perhaps recalling 1 Peter 1.12: ‘which things the angels desire to look into’. 119.18-21 It fan n ’d . . .w elco m in g see Samuel Taylor Coleridge,‘The Rime o f the Ancyent Marinere’ (1798), lines 461-64. 119.24 h overin g on th e gale see [James Thomson and David Mallett], Alfred: A Masque (London, 1740), 29 (Act 2, Scene 3): ‘Light-hovering in the gale’. 120.9-13 m o tto ‘ChristisKirkon theGrene’,lines 181-84. Thispoem was formerly ascribed to James I, King o f Scots 1406-37 (see Scott’s note on 122), but it is now believed to be the work o f an unknown author, possibly as late as 1500-10. 120.27 tu p ’s-h ead and trotters, th e h a g g is boiled head and feet of a young male sheep; sheep’s stomach stuffed with its offal and other ingredients. 120.30 H apper see note to 82.3. 120.39 ab stracted m u ltu res multures are the grain due to a miller taken out o f the grain sent to be ground at a mill. As Scott explains, tenants would be bound to a particular mill by ‘thirlage’. Abstracted multures are due to the miller if the feuar takes his or her grain to a different mill. 120.40 baron y or regality in Scotland a barony was any large freehold estate or manor and did not necessarily belong to a baron; a regality was land held under a grant from the monarch.

466

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121.2 th ir la g e o fin v e c ta e tilla ta duty payable on grain brought into a place thirled to a particular mill, but not grown there. 121.3-4 I talk n ot w ith ou t book I speak from authority. 121.42-43 h is proverbial gold en th u m b alluding to the proverb‘An honest miller has a golden thumb’ (Ray, 136; ODEP, 532). Millers were com­ monly suspected of dishonesty in weighing corn. 122.6 a life o f “spur, spear, and sn afle” the phrase denotes the Border life o f fighting on horseback; compare Michael Drayton, Poly-Olbion (1613-22), 23.277-78: ‘The lands that over Ouze to Berwicke foorth doe beare,/ Have for their Blazon had the Snaffle, Spurre, and Speare. ’ 122.7-8 th e lo o p o fa n in c h -c o r d i.e. hanging. 122.40-46 T he m i ll e r ... h is h ead Canterbury Tales, ‘General Prologue’, 1(A), 545-51. The phrase ‘for the nones’ means ‘for the purpose’. 123.6 coat o f p r o o f armour tested for impenetrability. 123.12-14 th e o ld p r o v erb .. .b le id Cheviot (113) recognises this as proverbial. 123.19 her airy castle building castles in the air is proverbial (Ray, 180; ODEP, 107). 123.28 Johnie B roxm ou th ’s Broxmouth is near Dunbar in the East March. 123.31-33 th e m ilk - m a id ... fou n d ed in Aesop’s fable, a milkmaid is so preoccupied with thoughts o f what she will buy with the proceeds o f her milk that she accidentally drops the pail and spills the milk. 124.3 b lessed b e h is ca st may his lot be in Heaven. 124.20-21 a true w idow true is here used in the sense ‘honest’. 124.25 A ndraFerrara Andrea Ferrara, an Italian swordsmith ofthe late 16th century whose weapons were much esteemed in Scotland. The name became a byword for any sword o f high quality. 124.26 a th in g o f m in e office a matter o f my professional responsibility. 124.27 reason good with good cause. 124.29-30 I liv e by m y m i l l . . . w ife ‘T he Miller of D ee’, inAncientand Modem Scottish Songs, Heroic Ballads, etc., ed. David Herd, 2nd edn, 2 vols (Edinburgh, 1776), 2.185-86, lines 9-10: CLA, 171. 124.40-41 In th e old tr a n s la tio n . . . our Saviour ‘It has been asserted that there is an English translation o f the Bible, in which, at the beginning o f the Epistle to the Romans, was read, “Paul, a knave o f Jesus Christ.” The assertion came originally from one Benjamin Farley, a quaker or seeker; but no such book has ever been seen’: Robert Nares, Glossary (London, 1822), 271. 125.2 u sed and w ont accordingto use and custom. 125.10 g a y a n d g o o d ly Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene( 1589,1596), 4.2.29: CLA, 42,187,209. 125.24 th e sh ap e o f an H eb e referring to the Greek goddess o f youth and spring, but also alluding to her role as cup-bearer to the other gods; hence with a stereotypical waitress’s or bar-maid’s figure. See The Abbot, e e w n 10,79.8, where Hebe is contrasted with a Sylph. 125.26 m ig h t go further and fare w orse proverbial: James Kelly, A Complete Collection ofScotish Proverbs Explained and made Intelligible to the English Reader (London, 1721), 368: CLA, 16. 125.31-32 from the sn o o d . . . sin g le-so led sh oes i.e. from top to bot­ tom. A snood was a covering for the hair. Single-soled shoes were ‘a sort of brogues, with a single thin sole; the purchaser himself performing the further operation o f sewing on another of thick leather’ (Minstrelsy, 3.391). 126.7 th e s a d r o u ta tP in k ie -c le u c h see note to 38.36-37. 126.14-15 m a d e tw o p airs o f le g s . . . h a n d s proverbial: Cheviot, 245. 126.17-18 a p rick er. . . good a pricker was a light, mobile mounted soldier

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467

(from ‘to prick’, or spur). In the Minstrelsy Scott explains: ‘the habits o f the Borderers fitted them particularly to distinguish themselves as light cavalry; and hence the name ofprickers. . . so frequently applied to them’ (1.130). T o leave ‘while the play is good’ is proverbial: see ODEP, 453. 126.22 b id e th e b a n g endure hard knocks. 126.26 n o fear o f h im no need to worry about him. 126.35-36 as broken a s h ip . . . lan d proverbial: Ray, 282; ODEP, 723. 127.2 m u sic hunting the baying o f hounds. 127.4-8 M o reb a ttle. . . E ck fo rd . . . C e ssfo r d . . . H o u n a m C ross these all refer to villages or hamlets E of Jedburgh: Hownam is overlooked by the hill Hownam Law (450m), but no reference has been found to a cross there. 127.13-15 th e proud P e r c y . . . F ow berry in 1528 the newly-appointed English Warden-general Henry Percy intercepted a Scottish raid and hanged fourteen men at Alnwick in the English Eastern March. T he nearby Fowberry was sacked by the Scots in 1524 and 1532. The phrase some gate means ‘some way’. 127.18-19 h o lid a y -term s o f haw k an d h ou n d hunting had a specialised language, here characterised as sportive terms befitting a holiday. 127.25-26 th e proverb ofM a cF a rla n e’s g eese in the Magnum (18.184) Scott attributes this saying to James VI and I who, when visiting the MacFarlane family, was amused by the geese ‘pursuing each other on the Loch’ but found the one brought to the table to be ‘tough and ill fed’. 127.36 th e b lo o d o f B ruce RobertBruce (1274-1329), King of Scots 1306-29, a national hero who eventually expelled the invading English in 1314. 128.2-11 m o tto not identified: probably by Scott. See John Fletcher, Rule and Wife and Have a Wife (produced 1624, published 1640), 4.1.204: ‘Green goose you are now in sippets.’ 130.38-39 la id d ow n w ith silv er la ce with silver lace applied to the surface. 132.8 o ld T ru e-p en n y traditional name for a mole; hence someone under­ ground or below: see Hamlet, 1.5.150. 132.18 tu rn sp it b oy boy employed to turn the spit on which meat was cooked over a fire, a lowly position. 132.26 H o u tto u t nonsense! 132.26 keep a c a lm sough proverbial, meaning ‘to keep quiet’: ODEP, 416. 132.26-27 b etter to fleech a fo o l th an fight w ith h im proverbial: ODEP, 53. See also Allan Ramsay, A Collection o f Scots Proverbs (1737), in The Works o f Allan Ramsay, 6 vols, Vol. 5, ed. Alexander M. Kinghorn and Alexander Law (Edinburgh and London: ScottishText Society, 1972), 71. T he termfleech means ‘flatter’, ‘cajole’. 132.39 w ith little d in without much disturbance. 134.2-3 th e b e g g a r ... T urks an allusion to the legendary ferocity of Turkish soldiers. 134.21-24 th e “on ly rare p o e t . . . w ith o u t sn a tch in g ” for John Lyly (1554?—1606), the author o f prose romances, see Historical Note, 437. Scott derives the first part o f the description from the title-page o f Edward Blount’s edition o f Lyly’s Sixe Courtly Comedies (London, 1632): ‘the onely Rare Poet of that Tim e, The Witie, Comicall, Facetiously-quicke andunparalelld: John Lilly’: CLA, 217. The form o f adverb and adjective reversal introduced by Scott here was a common Elizabethan rhetorical device. The second part o f the description comes from Blount’s dedicatory epistle to Endimion in the same edition: ‘For this Poet, sat at the Sunnes T able: Apollo gaue him a wreath o f his owne Bayes; without snatching. ’

468

EXPLANATORY NOTES

134.29 p a rlerE u p h u ism e French to speak Euphuistically. 135.25—26 a sth e w o r d s.. . “a la d f o r a la d y ’s v iew in g ” Scott’s source has not been traced. 136.5 to ll d ish dish for measuring the toll o f grain due to the miller. 136.17-18 V enus d elig h teth b u t in th e lan g u a g e o f M ercury see Lyly, 2.122: ‘ Venus delyghteth to heare none but Mercury. ’ Lyly notes that Venus and Mercury were the parents o f Hermaphroditus (as recounted in Ovid’s M eta­ morphoses (c. a d 2-8), 4.285). 136.18-19 B u c e p h a lu s. . . A lexan d er Alexander the Great (Alexander III o f Macedonia, 356-323 B c ) broke in the apparently untameable horse Bucephalus, after which it would bear no other rider. The phrase is in Lyly, 2.107. 136.19 no one can s o u n d . . . O rp h eu s in Greek myth Orpheus was in fact given a lyre by Apollo. Scott has misremembered Lyly’s phrase ‘none can sounde Mercurius pipe but Orpheus': Lyly, 2.107. 136.24 P retty and q u ain t compare ‘Pretty and apt’: Love's Labours Lost, 1.2.18. 136.25 a ll-to -b e u n p aralleled this form o f adjective-construction, con­ tinued in this paragraph and throughout Sir Piercie’s speeches, is probably modelled on the character F astidius Briske in Ben Jonson’s Every Man Out o f his Humour (1599). Compare ‘the most-to-be-admired lady in the world’ (4.8.51). 136.35 P rudoe C astle near Hexham in Northumberland, the castle was one o f a number belonging to the Percy family. 136.41 a sm a ll quarto v o lu m e a small square book. 137.1-2 h o g s . . . p earls proverbial: Matthew 7.6; ODEP, 617. 137.23-24 a l i p p y o f b r a n ...a b u s h e i o ’ th e m a hppte was a small measurement of grain: half a gallon, or 2.27 litres. A bushel'ms a much larger measurement: about 8 gallons (36 litres) o f dry or wet goods. 137.25 under h is w orship ’s favou r with his permission. 137.26-27 th e race o f M o r h a m . . . n ear B erw ick Scott may be confus­ ing Morham, in East Lothian, with Norham, a town with a dangerous ford crossing the Tweed near Berwick: race may mean either ‘river current’ or ‘raid’, ‘charge’. 137.28 a g a d ’s le n g th a gad was a wooden slat about 3 metres long used for directing corn to the scythe or binder. 137-33 a true son o f M ars see Robert Burns,‘Love and Liberty— A Cantata’ (composed 1785-86; published 17993s Thefo lly Beggars; or, Tatterdemallions, A Cantata), line 29. Mars was the Roman god o f war. 137.38 old H unsdon, and H enry C arey these were the same person historically: Henry Carey (c. 1526-96), 1st Baron Hunsdon 1559-96, who was Warden of the English East March from 1568. Two o f his sons, John (c. 1556-1617,3rd Baron from 1603) and Robert (?i56o-i639), both became English March Wardens. Lord Hunsdon would not have been particularly old in the 1550s, but his father William died in 1529 and had no Border connection. See Historical Note, 436. 137.40 B ayard originally the name o f a magic horse given to Renaud by Charlemagne in French medieval romance. 137.40-41 a m a n sh ou ld r i d e . . .T y n e d a le ‘A Border saying, as Discretion is the better part o f valour’ (Cheviot, 18). 138.1-2 p reciou s s t o n e . . . to a d alluding to the belief that the toad carried a jewel of medicinal value in its head. Compare Lyly, 1.202: ‘The foule Toade hath a fayre stoane in his head.’ 138.13-14 a ll are n o t b lack w ho d ig co a ls seeL yly,2.89. 138.20-21 Scorn n o t th e b u sh th a t b ie ld s yo u no other record of this proverb has been found: bields means ‘shelters’.

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139.10-15 M ungo M u rra y . . . bu ck ’s-h o m alluding to the folk beliefs that people falling asleep on fairy sites could be transported to fairy land, and that a wound inflicted by deer-horn would not heal. For the latter, see also The Bride ofLammermoor, e e w n 7a, 81.8-9 and explanatory note on 355 there. 139.20 her eye “in a fine frenzy r o llin g ” A Midsummer N ight’s Dream, 5.1.12. 139.37 H o u ta y indeed; to be sure. 140.36 trope or figure metaphor or figure of speech. 140.42 lik e D e s d e m o n a to O th ello ’s see Othello, 1.3.128-68, where Othello recounts how Desdemona fell in love with him as he told the story of his adventurous life. 141.4-7 m o tto not identified: probably by Scott. 141.12-14 th e n a tio n a l b a ll a d ... m is t see‘TheGaberlunzieM an’,in Ancient and Modem Scottish Songs, Heroic Ballads, etc., ed. David Herd, 2nd edn, 2 vols (Edinburgh, 1776), 2.49-51, lines 37-38: CLA, 171. 142.33-143.29 th e so u l o fh a r m o n y . . . nut-brow n see John Milton, ‘L ’Allegro’ (composed c. 1631, published 1645),lines 144,100. 144.3 5- 37 E liza b eth o f E n g la n d . . . h is Inspiration presumably in­ ventions o f Sir Piercie: Sidney was not on favourable terms with the Queen of England. 145.23 th e K in g o f S cotlan d , d id h e liv e James V died in 1542. 145.36-38 In Every M an ou t o f h is H u m o u r ... R eso lu tio n see Ben Jonson, Every Man Out o f his Humour (1599), 3.6 and 4.5, especially 4.5.66-70. 145.38-44 W hat is m o re to th e p o i n t .. .good?” see Ben Jonson, Cynthias Revels (first published in 1601 under its eventual sub-title The Fountaine o f Selfe-Love), 2.2. 145.44-45 I th in k th ere is so m e r e m n a n t. . . lo d g es examples o f (to outsiders) bizarre Masonic names can be found in Stephen Knight, The Brother­ hood: The Secret World ofthe Freemasons (London, 1983), 38-39. 146.10 so unsavou ry a sim ile see 1 Henry IV , 1.2.77: ‘Thou hast the most unsavoury similes. ’ 146.13 K itch en er and R efectio n er the kitchener’s main duty was to arrange for the monastery to be supplied with provisions. The refectioner was chiefly concerned with the eating arrangements (Fosbrooke, 182-83, 199-201). 146.22 K am sch atk a a Siberian peninsula; figuratively an extreme and isolated place. 146.29 to h is beard to his face; openly. 147.21 th e fo u l fien d the devil. 147.25 co m e a lo ft the command to a performing animal to appear on stage. 147.36-37 a B ilb o a b la d e the finest swords came from Bilbao in Spain. 147.43 finely h o lp ed up in a real fix: an ironic use of a phrase meaning ‘well helped over an obstacle’. 148.41-42 took “en tire and a efa u ld part w ith h er” no source for this phrase has been found. 148.43 m ortreu x, b la n c-m a n g er a thick soup, and creamed fowl with eggs, rice, almonds and sugar: delicacies perfected by the Cook in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, ‘General Prologue’, I (A), 384,387. 149.5-6 strew ed w ith fresh ru sh es rushes were used as floor-covering. 149.24 to p ia ffe, to caracole, to p a ssa g e these are all movements o f the horse in haute ecole or dressage, a form o f advanced horsemanship inaugurated in Italy in the late 16th century and popularised in France throughout the 17th; the specific meaning o f the terms may be found in the glossary. 149.33 D eo gratias Latin thanks be to God.

470

EXPLANATORY NOTES

150.6-12 m o tto Benjonson, The Magnetick Lady; or, Humour Reconciled (performed 1632; published 1640), 1.6.4-9. 150.18-20 N im r o d ... ag a in st m a n Nimrod is ‘the mighty hunter’ in Genesis 10.9. Although this is the only reference to Nimrod in the Bible, the name came to stand for any tyrant. 151.4 Benedicite Latin bless you. 151.6 S a in t Jude a ist-centuryapostleandmartyr. 151.7 p a ss o v e r spend. 151.8-9 th e ston e cou ch o f S ain t P a c o m iu s St Pachomius(r. 290-346), the traditional founder o f Christian monasticism in Egypt, was said never to have lain down, but rested by sitting on a stone. 151.13 in s o m e s o r t to some extent. 151.20 th e good figh t 1 Timothy 6.12; 2 Timothy 4.7. 151.27 m a tin s morning prayer, usually said around 3 a.m. (Fosbrooke, 53 )ISI-39_ 4° R ichard C oeur-de-L ion. . . carb on ad oed this story about the exploits o f Richard II (‘Richard the Lion-heart’) is related in the Middle Eng­ lish romance Richard Coeur de Lion, known by Scott in an excerpted and paraphrased version by George Ellis in his Specimens o f Early English Metrical Romances, 3 vols (London, 1805), 2.180-279: CLA, 105. Scott later reprinted Ellis’s version as an appendix to the Introduction to the Magnum The Talisman (38.xvi-xx). 152.14 n o w h it notatall. 152.26 tu m -b ro ch e turn-spit:seenoteto 132.18. 152.37 a hart o f grease a deer in prime condition to be killed: se e ‘Robin Hood and the Curtail Fryer’, in Robin Hood: A Collection o f A ll the Ancient Poems, Songs, and Ballads, now Extant, ed. Joseph Ritson, 2 vols (London, 1795), 58-65, line 11: CLA, 174. 153.2-3 frater ad su ccu ren d u m Latin an assisting brother. 153.6-7 th e w eap on s o fth e sp irit see Ephesians 6.13-17. 153.22-23 s to n e -w a lls. . . h a v e ears proverbial: ODEP, 864. I 53 -33 _ 3 ^ D ix it A b b a s ... co n cilia the lines are accurately quoted from an anonymous dog-Latin poem on the drinking habits o f the Abbot and Prior o f Gloucester. T he Abbot of St Mary’s evidently misses its satire. The passage quoted means: ‘The Abbot said to the prior: “Y ou are a man o f good habits, because you always give me good advice.” ’ For Fosbrooke’s translation see Fosbrooke, 154. 153.41 In travit in secretis n ostris Latm he has become privy to our secrets. 154.15 v io l-d e-g a m b a the viol da gamba was an early type o f ’cello, also played by Fastidius Briske in Ben Jonson’s Every Man Out o f his Humour (1599). 156.3 th is p resen t Earl o f N orth u m b erlan d Thomas Percy (1528-72), 7th Earl from 1557. 156.16 th e c h o ic e . . . age seeJulius Caesar, 3.1.164. 156.39 r e m acu Latin ‘rem acu tetegisti’: you have touched it with a needle, i.e. hit the nail on the head. 156.42 flat-cap p ’d citizen s hats with a flattened crown were fashionable for citizens o f London in the 16th and 17th centuries. 157.11 G en o a v e lv e t in the m id-i6th century the centres o f velvet produc­ tion were Genoa and Venice in Italy. 157.12 B o n a m ico o f M ilan probably imaginary: bonamico is Italian for ‘good friend’. 157.15 A lnw ick seenoteto 127.13-15. 157.16-17 N orth allerton a town in Yorkshire. 157.17 H enry V aughan probably imaginary.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

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157.28-29 Sir L a n celo t and Sir T ristrem knights associated with King Arthur. Both appear prominently in Le Morte Darthur by Sir Thomas Malory (d. I 4 7 1)158.7 th e h o sp ita b le gods O vid’s Metamorphosis, trans. G[eorgeJ S[andys] (London, 1626), 5.65,8.783. 158.16-17 dan ced th e salva g e m a n at the G ray’s-In n m u m m in g mummery was an early form of the masques performed at Inns o f Court in the 16th and 17th centuries. T he Salvage (or savage) man was an ancient character usually dressed in green foliage and originally representing fertility. 159.10 sad -colou red rid in g -su it dark riding costume. 159.10-11 fa llin g b a n d s seenote 10276.13. 159.14-15 W here th e treasure i s . . . also Matthew 6.21. 159.31 R ow lan d Y orke, Stukely both are adventurers. Rowland Yorke, duellist and mercenary, is described in William Camden, The History or Annals o f England, during the whole Life and Reign o f Elizabeth late Queen Thereof (first published in Latin 1615,1627; in English 1630), in A Complete History o f England, [ed. John Hughes and White Kennet], 3 vols (London, 1706), 2.361-676 (540): CLA, 249. Thomas Stukely (1525 ?—78) was said to be a natural son of Henry VIII; he also appears as a character in George Peele, The Battell o f Alcazar (London, 1594) and is chronicled in Thomas Evans, Old Ballads, Historical and Narrative, with Some o f Modem Date, 2 vols (London, 1777), 2.103-09: compare CLA, 172. 160.11-12 th e on e p art French, th e other p art E n glish see Historical Note, 435. 160.13 a p rize-fig h tin g stag e a stage for boxing matches. 160.15 B en ed icite Latin bless you. 161.24-29 m o tto the lines are not in James Duff, A Collection o f Poems, Songs, (5 c., Chiefly Scottish (Perth, i8 i6 ).T h ey m a y b eS co tt’sown,alludingto Canterbury Tales, ‘T he Wife of Bath’s Tale’: ‘As thikke as motes in the sonnebeem’ (111 (D), 868). 161.36-37 th e b u t t ... ag a in st alluding to shooting at a target in archery. 162.12 th e B ro ck sb u m h ea d Brocksbum means ‘badger’s stream’. 162.20 v a in co n ceit foolish notion. 162.38 a tth e v o lle y at random; without consideration. 163.1 in s o m e s o r t to some extent. 163.21 a s b r o k e n .. .to lan d proverbial: seenote to 126.35-36. 163.26 seen o f seen by; made evident by. 163.38 five h u n d red p u n d s o f S cots m o n e y the Scots pound was worth one-twelfth o f the English pound. 163.39 P itten w eem a royal burgh in Fife. 164.3 a h art o f g rea se. ..i n fu ll season hunting a fat stag, ready for killing. See note to 152.37. 164.17 T h ey th a t e t t l e . . . so m e rounds compare the proverbs‘He who would climb the ladder must begin at the bottom’ [ODEP, 127) and ‘Step after step the ladder is ascended’ (Ray, 20; ODEP, 773). 164.18 T h ey th a t m i n t ., .a sleev e o f it proverbial: ODEP, 483. 166.13-16 th o se f a c e s . . . arrest th e m laudanum, a tincture of opium, was widely used as a pain-killer and narcotic in the early 19th century although the dangers o f its hallucinogenic properties were recognised. 168.1 U lric the name derives from the Norman French form ofthe Old English Wulfric. 168.5-6 her d ate o f l i f e / H ath co-ex isten ce w ith her life-span is the same as. 168.18 th e ch a m p io n o f th e Jew s Samson, whose strength depended on the length o f his hair: see Judges Ch. 16.

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169.33-41 m o tto ‘Adam Bell, Clym of the Clough, and William o f Cloudesly’ in Percy, 1.129-60, Part 3, lines 261-68. 170.14 p u ffe d o u t filled with soft material as if inflated. 170.14 th e n ew est b lo ck the latest fashion. 170.36 cipru s cypress: a name given to several valuable fabrics originally imported from Cyprus including satin and cloth-of-gold. 171.9 th e B en ed icite the first word (meaning‘May God bless you’) o f a set of Latin responses said as grace before a meal. 171.n I tis F r id a y so meat cannot be eaten. Fosbrooke in fact says ofthe Cistercians ( 113): ‘neither do they eat of fat or flesh except in case o f sickness’. 171.14-15 v iatorib u s lic itu m est— y ou know th e can on theLatin phrase means ‘it is permitted to travellers’. A canon is an ecclesiastical regula­ tion, but no precise source has been found for the phrase. 171.17 th eC o n fiteo r the Confteor (so called from the first word, confiteor, ‘I confess’) is a general confession in Latin o f sins. 171.21 d a m ix tu s Latin give (us] the mixture [of wine and water], 171.27 v irtu e is its ow n rew ard proverbial: ODEP, 861. 171.30 th e A bbey o f D u n d ren n an see note to 69.27. 171.32-33 d a m ih iv in u m q u a e so , e tm e r u m s it Latin give me some wine, I beg, and let it be pure. 171.34-35 c a r ita so r p e n ite n tia a caritas was an allowance ofwine ‘Given on Festivals, Anniversaries, &c. to remind the Monks o f benefits re­ ceived’ or a more general dietary treat (Fosbrooke, 58,3 57); a penitentia was an act of penance. 172.9-10 one sw allow m a k e a su m m e r alluding to the proverb‘one swal­ low does not make a summer’: ODEP, 791; compare Ray, 143. 173.23-24 th e fo r e s t. . . D a v id hunting rights in a royal forest could be granted by the King; David I (reigned 1124-53) was well-known for his generosity to the Church (see note to 31.22-28). t 7 3 -3 3 -3 4 P en teco st see note to 78.15. t 73-35 C a n d lem a s see note to 56.23. i 73-36-42 An h ogsh ead o f a l e . . . Our L a d y ’s m ea d o w M artinmas,11 November, is one o f the four Scottish quarter days. Halbert’s remuneration in kind includes ale brewed at normal and double strength and the right to graze two cows and a horse on Monastery land. 174.3 quae n u n c praescribere lo n g u m Latin which it would take too long to enumerate at present. 175.6 in so m e sort to some extent. 175.7 un d er reverence o f with due respect to. 175.12 u p on th e u p sh ot in the end; at last. 176.2-10 m o tto not identified: probably by Scott. i 76-33- 34 sk yey in flu en ces see note to 33.9. 178.43 D o n a tu s a primer for teaching Latin written by the 4th-century Roman grammarian Aelius Donatus and in use in Europe until the Renaissance. 178.43-179.1 P rom p tu ariu m P arvu loru m Latin Children’s Handbook (or Repository): a Latin-English dictionary used as a teaching text from the 15 th century. 180.34 en d it or m en d it proverbial: ODEP, 525. 180.41 se ld o m doeth a good haw k c o m e o u t o f a k ite’s e g g proverbial: ODEP, 431. 181.39 freaks o f h u m ou r strange moods. 183.12 o p e n ...o n Aanrin^begintocry loudly when in pursuit of. 183.27-28 to la y your ju d g m e n t. . . a t fa u lt hunting hounds are said to be ‘at fault’ when they lose the scent. 183.32 in so m e sort to some extent.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

473

184.4-5 a bu ck o f th e first h ea d a male deer with its first full-grown antlers (compare L ove’s Labours Lost, 4.2.9). 184.27 d iscip u lu s im p ig er a tq u e strenuus Latin a diligent and strenu­ ous student. 184.41 F osbrooke forThom asDudleyFosbrooke(i770-i842), English antiquarian, see headnote, 441, and also Historical Note, 437. 185.14-19 m o tto see Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher, Love’s Pilgrim­ age (performed c. i6i5;published 1647),5.4.158-64. 186.30 u se n o term s o f quarter to give quarter is to spare the life o f an enemy who is at one’s mercy. 187.3-4 too h igh a flig h t. . . checked at hawking a falcon leaves the pursuit o f its proper prey to check at another bird that has crossed its path. 187.24 bear a sm o o th face give nothing away. 187.26 try co n clu sio n s engage in a trial o f skill://(twite, 3.4.195. 187.41-42 m o rta l arb itrem en t deciding the dispute by the death o f one party. 188.10 v io l-d e-g a m b o seen o teto i5 4 .i5 . 188.11-16 th e in im ita b le A s tr o p h e l... C ou n tess o f P em b rok e Sir Philip Sidney (1554-86) adopted the name Astrophel (‘star-lover’) to write the sonnet sequence Astrophel and Stella (published 1591). Mary Sidney (1561-1621), Countess of Pembroke, was Sir Philip’s younger sister, for whom he wrote his Arcadia (written c. 1577-80; published 1590), a pastoral prose romance with interspersed poems: compare CLA, 101. Parthenope was a siren in Greek mythology. 188.30-36 W hat to n g u e . . . m u s t en d these lines appear in Zelmane’s song in Book 2 o f Sidney’s Arcadia: The Countess o f Pembroke’s Arcadia, ed. Ernest A. Baker (London, 1907), 180,182. 189.20 brow n h ack les artificial fishing flies made from the neck-feathers of certain birds. 189.35-36 t a k e ... in fee a heritable office was held infee on condition of paying feudal homage to the granter o f the office. 190.3 M orpheu s the Greek god o f dreams. 190.6-9 Ah r e s t . . . ex ile the source has not been identified. 190.42 h u m o u ro u s as w in ter 2 Henry IV , 4.4.34. 190.42-43 T h e vu lgar w ord h u m o u r-so m e according to OED the first recorded appearance o f the word is dated 1656 (‘humoursomeness’ 1653): it is used by Samuel Richardson in 1742 and by Thomas D e Quincey in 1823. 192.40-41 th e P ater and Credo Latin respectively, the first words o f the Lord’s Prayer beginning ‘Pater noster’ (‘Our father’), and the Nicene Creed, ‘Credo in unum D eum ’ (‘I believe in one God’). t 93-34_ 36 w arrant fro m h o ly S c r ip tu r e ... d em o n s mostnotably in the temptation ofjesus in the wilderness: Luke 4.1-13. 194.13-14 P r id e . . . fa llin g proverbially, the reverse is asserted: Ray, 148; ODEP, 647. 194.20—24 m o tto not identified: probably by Scott, echoing2 Henry IV , 3.2.270: ‘H e is not his craft’s master.’ 196.38-39 P h ceb u s. . . car in Greek mythology the sun god, Phoebus, was believed to drive a fiery chariot across the heavens. 197.7 P h id ele apoeticnam e,m eaning‘faithful’. 197.7 F e lic ia (also Feliciana): a poetic name, meaning ‘happy’ or ‘fortu­ nate’. 197.24 in so m e sort to some extent. 197.27 d u ello a common Elizabethan form o f‘duel’. 198.15 a t w h iles occasionally. 198.34-35 t e llin g . . . d isp osed o f after hanging, the body o f the criminal

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was sometimes beheaded and divided into quarters. 198.43 V incentio Saviolo Italian swordsman and author o f Vincentio Savi­ olo His Practise: In two Bookes. Thefirst intreating o f the use o f the Rapier and Dagger. The second, ofHonor and Honorable Quarrels (London, 1595): C LA , 119. 199.24 p la ce o f van tage position likely to give superiority in a contest. 200.2 co m in g o f f leaving the field of combat. 200.10 privy arm our armour worn beneath ordinary dress. 200.18-20 m a tch a t b a ll o n ... O xford Sir Piercie gives a very rosy account o f relations between Sidney and his great rival Edward de Vere (1550-1604), 17 th Earl o f Oxford 1562-1604. Sir Piercie is perhaps thinking o f a famous incident in September 1579 when Sidney and Oxford narrowly avoided a duel after falling out over the use o f a tennis (ballon) court. 200.24 U ran ia the Greek muse o f astronomy. 200.28-29 Z ep h y r. . . Sirocco Zephyr was the personification of the West Wind in Roman mythology; the Sirocco is a warm, humid wind over S Europe. 201.1-2 th e b eatific v isio n the sight of God. 201.23-24 th e s t o c c a t a .. .Ita lia n m a ste r s o f d efen ce in th eartof defence (fencing) in the 15th and 16th centuries, Italian masters were the most sought-after teachers, and their manuals, such as those by Giacomo di Grassi and Vincentio Saviolo (see note to 198.43), were widely studied. 202.21-22 three fu r ie s. . . sh ears in Greek mythology the Furies were goddesses o f vengeance who dwelt in the underworld. They are here confused with the Greek Fates: Clotho, who spun the thread o f human life; Lachesis, who drew it off; and Atropos, who cut it short. 203.2-10 m o tto not identified: probably by Scott. 203.28-29 falcon -gen tle accordingtoJulianaBerners, th e‘fawkon gentyll’ was appropriate for a prince: Berners, cv verso. 203.34 close breeches con fo rm in g matching, close-fitting breeches (although Scott may have in mind ‘closed breeches’, which are voluminous breeches tied below the knee and more in keeping with Sir Peircie’s flamboyant dress-sense). 203.41 C larid iana seeBenJonson, Cynthia’s Revels (1601), 3.5.29. 204.40 h e ll and all h er fu ries see note to 202.21-22. 205.26 m id d le air mid-air. 205.30 stoop in g from her w h eel a falcon stoops when it descends rapidly with wings nearly closed. 206.22-23 a h ow lin g w ild ern ess see Deuteronomy 32.10. 207.5 th e w orks o f darkness see Romans 13.12and Ephesians 5.11. 207.6 B y its fru its is th e tree know n proverbial: M atthew 7.i8-2o; Ray, 9; ODEP, tin . 207.27 a clod o fth e v a lley Job2i.33. 207.41-208.1 Sw ear n o t a t a l l . . . n a y n ay seeM atthew s. 34-37. 208.13-14 W ilverton there are several English villages called Wo(o)lverton. 208.14-15 th e great P iercie o f N o rth u m b erla n d seenoteto 156.3. 208.18-19 a forlorn h op e in the 16th century, a body of soldiers detailed to begin an attack. 209.16—20 m o tto not identified: probably by Scott. 209.30-31 it h as b een said th a t sorrow m u s t sp eak or d ie see Macbeth, 4.3.209-10. 209.39-40 I h ave sen t th is m a n . . . u n sh rieved someone dying without taking communion or receiving absolution would be in danger of being sent to hell for having much to answer for at the final reckoning. Compare Hamlet, t- 5 -77 - 7 9 209.41-210.1 th ou h a st defaced G od ’s im a g e see Genesis 1.26-27.

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210.5 b a lm in G ilead Jeremiah 8.22,46.11. 210.9 cu t h im o f f . . . i n h is sin s kill him before he can make confession. 210.15-16 I h a v e n o m o n e y ... H oly L and Halbert adverts to the acts of paying for requiem masses to be said for the soul of the departed, and o f making a penitential pilgrimage to Jerusalem. 2x0.19—23 It is n o t for th e s o u l . . . d ep arted sp irit see note to 85.13. 210.23 W here th e tree h a s fallen , it m u st lie proverbial: see note to 84.19-20. 210.28-29 under w h ose b a n n e r ... sold ier see 2 Timothy 2.3. 210.31-32 th e A r c h b ish o p ... T w a -p en n ie F a ith JohnHamilton, Archbishop of St Andrews 1546-71, was associated with ‘Hamilton’s Catech­ ism’ (a simple exposition o f the T en Commandments, the Creed, and the Lord’s Prayer) which was approved by the council o f the Catholic Church in Scotland in 1552. T h e ‘T wopenny Faith’ was the popular name of a cheap twopage pamphlet of 1559 properly entitled ‘A Godly Exhortation’ which explained the Mass. Both texts represented attempts to popularise Catholicism in tbe face ofReform. 211.6 th e pow ers o f th is w orld see Ephesians 6.12. 211.13 K nox’s n a m e John Knox (c. 1513-72) was the principal figure in the Scottish Reformation. 211.16 o fa s u r e ty certainly. 211.41-212.2 lik e th e barren fig -tr e e . . . the root the fig-tree is prover­ bially barren because leaves appear after fruit, so that an apparently flourishing tree bears no fruit. Jesus curses the tree for its lack o f fruit in Mattbew 21.19. For the phrase ‘the axe is laid to the root’ see Matthew 3.10 and Luke 3.9. 212.10 quak ing b o g quagmire. 212.27-28 to b a it you r h ook w ith fair discou rse the concept is prover­ bial: ODEP, 27. 212.28 an gels o f lig h t see 2 Corinthians 11.14:‘Satan himself is trans­ formed into an angel o f light.’ 212.31-32 b ein g in sta n t ou t o f sea so n see 2 Timothy 4.2. 212.33-34 rescu ed , lik e a brand fro m the b u rn in g seeZechariah3.2: ‘is not this a brand plucked out o f the fire?’ 213.16-17 w ild . . . r o m a n tic . . . su b lim e see note to 37.4-13. 214.20—23 m o tto unidentified: probably by Scott. 215.4 L apis o ffe n sio n ise t p etra scan d ali Romans 9.33 in the Vulgate: a stumbling stone and rock of offence. 215.5-7 We m a y s a y . . . h eart James V is reputed to have made this comment about the castle o f Lochwood (Dumfriesshire), the seat o f the John­ stone family {Minstrelsy, 1.127). 215.30 th e stra ig h t an d narrow w ay see Matthew 7.14. 215.43 the B lack R ood this ebony crucifix, containingan alleged fragment o f the true cross, was especially venerated by Margaret, Queen o f Scots (c. 1046-93). In 1346 it was captured during an invasion o f England by David II (King o f Scots 1329—71) and remained in Durham Cathedral until the Re­ formation, when it disappeared. 216.22 Saint B a m a b y St Barnabas’ Day, 11 June, was reckoned the long­ est day by the Julian Calendar operative in Great Britain until the adoption o f the Gregorian Calendar in 1752. 216.23 b etw ix t M illb u m P la in and N eth erb y localities in Cumberland, the English county adjoining Scotland on the W border. 217.42-43 an a n cien t E nglish f a m ily . . . field argen t this information was communicated in a letter to Scott by Robert Surtees o f Mainsford, antiquarian and prankster, together with one o f his own inventions to be included as a traditional ballad in the Minstrelsy. He claimed to have discovered the

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ghostly crest in a manuscript insertion in a book from the library o f a Mr Gill, attorney-general to the Bishop Durham. Surtees writes: ‘I am tempted to add here a heraldic bearing inserted by Mr. Gill, in Gwillim’s [John Gwillim’s] Heraldry, now in my hands. “He beareth per pale or and arg. a spectre passant [walking], shrouded sable, by the name o f Michael Newton, ofBeverly, Esq. in Yorkshire;” probably the only attempt ever recorded to describe an unembodied spirit in Heraldry’: G. Taylor, ‘Memoir o f Robert Surtees, Esq.’, 17 (bound (correctly) in Vol. 4, or (sometimes) in Vol. 1, o f Robert Surtees, The History and Antiquities ofthe County Palatine o f Durham, 4 vols (1816-40)). 217.36-37 th e d evil is n ot so black as h e is p a in ted proverbial: ODEP, 182. 218.6 S p a n ish p lu m es feathers worn in the Spanish style. 218.8-9 th o se t a l l . . . Salvator R osa Italianpainter(i6i5-73),notedfor his wild landscapes featuring soldiers or bandits. 219.2-5 th e c ir c u m sta n c e . . . p resen t sh a p e ballad phrases denoting pregnancy: see, for example, ‘My girdle o f gold that was too lon ge/ Is now too short for mee. / . . . My gowne o f greene it is too straighte; / Before, it was too wide’: ‘Child Waters’ in Percy, 3.59, lines 7 -8 ,1 1 -1 2 . 220.26—27 th e L ord W arden see Historical Note, 436. 220.36 our h ou n d s are tu m -sp its and trin d le -ta ils i.e. they are worth­ less dogs. Dogs in tread-wheels were used to turn the spit, and ‘trindle tailes’ are listed in Berners as a lowly breed between with ‘Dunghyll dogges’ and ‘pryck eryd currys’ (e.ij verso). 220.41-42 In th e k in d ly la n g u a g e . . . sin g le s Berners differentiates between ‘talons’, which are claws at the back o f the foot, and ‘sengles’ at the front (a.iiij verso). 222.31 greener d ays days o f youthful naivety. 222.37 so m e ejected m on k o fa su p p ressed co n v en t the dissolution of monasteries and expulsion of monks was a feature of the English rather than the Scottish Reformation; in Scotland, monks were allowed to die out in the course o f time, as was the case at Melrose. 222.39-42 so m e p ilg r im ... a dozen the reference is to two major objects o f pilgrimage. Santiago de Compostela in NW Spain is the traditional burial place o f James the Apostle. The Holy House in Loreto, near Ancona in Italy, is alleged to have been inhabited by the Virgin Mary at the time o f the Annunciation by an angel of her forthcoming motherhood, and to have been miraculously transported by angels from Nazareth to Dalmatia (W Croatia) in 1291 and thence to Loreto in 1295, after a stop in a laurel grove (whence its name) in 1294. Julian refers to the practice o f selling relics o f saints and indul­ gences, bringing remission o f the temporal penalty for sin. 223.4 S im m ie and h is brother referring to the anonymous poem ‘Sym and his Bruder’ in the Bannatyne Manuscript (for which, see note to 86.32-36): The Bannatyne Manuscript Written in Tyme o f Pest 1568, ed. W. Tod Ritchie, 4 vols (Edinburgh and London, 1928-34), 3.39-43. 223.7-8 clou ted coat, scrip, and sc a llo p -sh e lls the traditional clothes of a pilgrim were a patched and mended coat, and a bag or wallet. The scallop-shell is the badge of St James which could be purchased in the form o f a lead badge at the shrine o f Santiago de Compostela in NW Spain: returning pilgrims would wear several o f these on the brim of the hat (Fosbrooke, 423,469). 223.19 gray groat a proverbially worthless coin: see ODEP, 339. 223.27 broken m a n Scots Law outlaw. 224.19-20 th e n ew d o c tr in e ... C on gregation the Protestant faith, although Julian may be referring to the anti-Catholic ‘First Band’ or bond, signed in December 1557 by a group of nobles who became the Lords o f the Congregation. See Historical Note, 434.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

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224.26—29 N o m o re m a s s e s ... m a rria g es o f this list the Reformation abolished only masses, corpse-gifts, penances, and private confessions to a priest. 224.36 turn th e w orld u p sid e dow n seeA ctsi7.6. 225.23-24 m o tto Oliver Goldsmith, The Vicar o f Wakefield Ch. 24, in Collected Works o f Oliver Goldsmith,ed. Arthur Friedman, 5 vols (Oxford, 1966), 4.136. 225.32-33 w e rend our hearts, and n o t our g a rm en ts see.J0el2.13. 225.36 a ca st o f th y office seenote to 101.27. 226.25 h an d fasted in ‘Border Antiquities’ (93) Scott explains this prac­ tice: ‘a loving couple, too impatient to wait the tardy arrival o f this priest, consented to live as man and wife in the interim’. 226.29 in lan d clow n s o f F ife and L o th ia n ‘T he Borders had. . . little reason to regard the inland Scots [i.e. those living at a distance from the English border] as their fellow-subjects. . . the men o f the Borders had little attachment to the monarchs, whom they termed, in derision, the kings o f Fife and Lothian’ {Minstrelsy, 1.115—16). 227.9 to h ave a fo o l in hand to have a fool to deal with: see Twelfth Night, 1.3.60-61. 227.10-11 H arry T u d o r ... K ate after the Pope refused to grant an annulment o f the marriage between Henry VIII and Catherine o f Aragon, Henry VIII had his marriage to his second wife, Anne Boleyn, authorised by the reforming Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer, in 1533. 228.38 in lan d m e n o fF ife an d L o th ia n see note to 226.29. 229.9-10 w hether I a m to h id e th e l i g h t ... forth see Matthew 5.14-16. 229.11-12 I sa y to t h e e ... w o m a n John the Baptist forbade the union of Herod Antipas and Herodias, the wife of Herod’s brother: Matthew 14.1-12. 230.9 th e a n cien t air o f “B lu e B o n n ets over th e B order” Scott’s song was suggested by ‘March! March! Pinks o f election’, found with the early-i 8thcentury tune ‘Leslie’s March’ in James Hogg, TheJacobite Relics o f Scotland, 2 vols (Edinburgh i8 r 9 -2 i), 1.5-7. This tune, altered by R. A. Smith in 1824 to fit Scott’s words, became known as ‘Blue Bonnets over the Border’: A. W. Inglis, ‘Appendix 3: Regimental M usic’, in J. C. Leask and H. M. McCance, The Regimental Records ofthe Royal -Scots (Dublin, 1915), 705-25 (717). The poem ‘Lesly’s March’ which it originally accompanied can be found in Min­ strelsy, 2.194-203. 230.38 Serjeant K ite a character in George Farquhar’s play The Recruiting Officer (1706). 230.44-45 give th e key a dou b le tu rn to drive the bolt deeper into the staple. 231.31-35 T h is p i t c h ... d em a n d ed for Scott’s account o f the chivalric system see ‘An Essay on Chivalry’, in Prose Works, 6.10—11. 233.37 a lig h ted on struck. 235.5-9 m o tto Comedy o f Errors, 5.1.269-72. Circe is an enchantress in the Odyssey who changes men into pigs by a magic potion. 235.20-21 th y w its are h arryin gb ird ’s n e sts proverbial: Ray, 216; ODEP, 905. 235.22 ly in g leagu er residing. 235.27-28 H o tsp u r . . . M a lco lm ’s tim e ‘Hotspur’ (see note to 38.22-25) was so nicknamed by the Scots because of his ability to patrol large expanses o f the Borders. The family, Earls of Northumberland from 1377, was founded by William de Percy (i030?-96). Elspeth probably refers to Malcolm III (reigned 1057-93), although the Percy family were not associated with Northumberland until Henry de Percy (c. 1272-1315) purchased lands there. 235.28 sate in our skirts pressed hard upon us.

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235.29 keep a w eel-scrap eit to n g u e in h is h ea d watch what he says. 236.4 a b e lted baron a belt distinguished the rank o f earl, but the term belted was widely used to indicate other ranks. 236.8-9 gaed a b lin k ... gaed a g lif f stepped out for a moment. 236.20-21 th e h e a d o fa k n o w e the top o f a little hill. 236.22 th e Shaw a patch o f wooded ground and a common place-name, perhaps suggested by a farm o f that name in nearby Liddesdale: someone called ‘Hab o f the Schawis’ is named in ‘Maitland’s Complaynt, aganis the Thievis o f Liddisdail’ (Minstrelsy, 1.189). 236.26 w a stel cake probably an invention o f Scott, presumably the same as wastel bread (see Glossary). 236.34 W ight W a lla ce. . . G ood K in g R ob ert William Wallace (c. 1270-1305) led the opposition against the attempt o f Edward I to annex Scotland. For Robert the Bruce see note to 127.36. 236.34-35 p o ck -p u d d in g s. . . b lo o d y crow n s the English got nothing but hard knocks and bloody heads. A pock- or poke-pudding signified the per­ ceived gluttony of the English. 239.29 an earth-born T ita n in Greek mythology the Titans were a race of giants born o f Gaea (the Earth). 240.2 C h evy-C h ace the Battle o f Otterburn: seenotet038.22-25244.2-8 m o tto not identified: probably by Scott. 244.34-35 d eals w ith S ath an as trades with Satan. This form ofthe name is used in the W yclif version of the Bible and in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales (e.g. in ‘The Miller’s Tale’, 1 (A), 3750). 245.3 d ow n righ t p asses vertical strokes with a sword. 246.11 h o lid a y ph rases see note to 127.18-19. 246.39 F elicia n a see note to 197.7. 246.40 V in cen tio Saviolo see note to 198.43. 247.7 th e Q u een ’s p agean t in S outhw ark on 2 July 1559 Queen Eliza­ beth was entertained with a muster at Greenwich by the City o f London, and the previous day 1400 men at arms marched ‘over London Bridge unto the duke of Suffolk’s park in Southwark; where they all mustered before the lord mayor and lay abroad in St. George’s Fields all that night’ before moving to Greenwich: John Nichols, The Progresses, and public Processions, o f Queen Eliza­ beth, 3 vols (London, 1788-1805), 1.41-42 (‘T he Queen on the Thames— &cc, 1559 ’)247.13 th e B ritish C ourt probably a mistake for th e‘English’court: the Scottish and English crowns were not united until 1603: see note to 32.13-14. 247.13-15 m o re fa n c ifu lly . . . qu a in t for this construction see note to 134.21-24. 247.39-42 th e a la c r ity . . . fa ll-o ff compare Ben Jonson, Cynthia ’s Revels (1601), 4.5.83-84. 248.34 th e p eep o f daw n first light. 249.4 v o ic e p o ten tia l voice o f authority. 249.7 fra m p ler and w rangler brawler and trouble-maker: The Monas­ tery's ‘frampler’, a variant on ‘frapler’, is the only instance in the Oxford English Dictionary. 249.33 th e tem p oral and sp iritu a l sw ord seen o teto 7 2 .3 i-3 3 . 249.34-35 A lnw ick or W arkworth the castle of Alnwick in the English Eastern March was from 1309 the principal seat o f the Percy family. Nearby Warkworth Castle belonged to the Percys from 1332. 250.30 V e n g ea n ce.. .req u ite it Romans 12.19. 250.31 d ead ly feu d see note to 35.7. 250.36-42 O n th e Eastern B o rd er. . . B e lls these were all long-standing feuds between historical Border families.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

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252.31-35 h e f e l t . . . all m an k in d derived from the fable in the Agamem­ non o f Aeschylus (525-456 b c ) , 717-36. 253.33-41 I f th e govern m en t o f S c o tla n d . . . m a n y C ath olics in addi­ tion to the Percies, other prominent Catholic families in N England were the Nevilles (the Earls o f Westmorland) and the Cliffords (the Earls o f Cumber­ land). 254.22 her b ea u tifu l, her brave see John Hum e’s tragedy Douglas ( i 7 S6 ) , 5 -L 283 . 2S5-5-1 1 m o tto The Two Noble Kinsmen, 2.6.2-17. 256.23-24 m a k e w ild work wreak havoc. 256.34 a ru d eb ra n g ler brangltng or baughlmg was the Border practice o f vilifying someone who had broken an agreement or failed to honour a debt. Because it was so provocative it was banned in 1563. See ‘Border Antiquities’, 129. 257.10 H olyrood the Royal palace in Edinburgh. 257.17 I p r e a c h . . . in vain George Crabbe, ‘T he Parish Register’ (1807), Part 2, line 130. 257.35 d e a d ly fe u d seenotet035.7. 258.32 th e la st extrem ity o fh a z a r d the most dangerous position, when most is at stake. 259.26 M olen d in ar ofthe mill. 259.30 D a n o f th e H ow let-h irst someone of this name is mentioned in the ballad ‘T he Fray of Suport’: see M instrelsy 1.163. 259.31 A die o f A ikenshaw apparently an invention of Scott’s, the sur­ name meaning ‘Oakwood’. 259.40 S ir jo h n F oster or L ord H u n sd on SirJohnForster(i52o?-i6o2), a notable English Border skirmisher, was knighted in 1547 and appointed Warden o f the English Middle Marches in 1560. See Historical N ote, 436. For Lord Hunsdon see note to 137.38. 260.1-2 th e B aker’s n y m p h o f R ap h ael d ’U rb in o ‘La F ornarina’ (The Baker’s Daughter), by Raphael (Raffaello Sanzio o f Urbino, 1483-1520), is a portrait o f his mistress, said to have been the daughter o f a Roman baker. 261.23 d is ta ff and sp in d le see note to 50.26. 261.36 su ited th e word w ith th e a ctio n see Hamlet, 3.2.16. 262.7 aw aked w atch kept watch. 262.24 fiend an e not anyone. 262.29 M ysie D orts from dorty meaning ‘bad-tempered’ or ‘sulky’. Com­ pare Allan Ramsay, The Gentle Shepherd (1725), 1.1.125: ‘Then fare ye well, M eg Dorts, and e’en’s ye like [just as you like]’. 263.4 lock ed an d d ou ble-lock ed see note to 230.44-45. 263.19 th e m ilk y m o th ers o fth e h erd JohnDryden, Cleomenes (1692),

,

3.1.48. 264.2-6 m o tto The Two Noble Kinsmen, 2.6.18-21. 264.37 W oe w orth th e hour a curse upon the hour. 265.5 a sq u ire o f d a m es see note to 64.28. 266.10-11 T h ey did n o t “ch ase th e h u m b le m a id e n s o fth e p la in ” the phrase may have been suggested by a poem well known to Scott and an import­ ant source for Kenilworth ( 1821), W illiamjulius M ickle’s ‘Cumnor Hall’, from Thomas Evans’s collection Old Ballads, 4 vols (London, 1784), 4.130-3 5. Stanzas 16 and 17 begin respectively ‘Why didst thou praise my humble charmes’ and ‘The village maidens of the plaine’. 266.17 first-rate b eau ty 17th-century term for an attractive woman o f fashion, who would sit in a box, the most expensive part o f a theatre. 266.19 in th e p it in the cheap area of seating in front o f the stage in a theatre.

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266.21 B ea u F ie ld in g Robert‘Beau’ F ie ld in g (i6 si-i7 i2 ),a le a d e r o f fashionable ‘men about town’ in the Restoration period. Scott’s source for this anecdote has not been found. 266.25 en cavalier French in a cavalier manner. 266.33-34 Q ueen B ess’s age the age o f Elizabeth I. 266.34-35 w o r e ... b rass on th eir foreh ead s displayed effrontery. 266.36-38 th e very gen tle p erfect K n ig h t.. .m a id see Canterbury Tales, ‘General Prologue’, 1(A), 69 and 72. 267.32 en croupe French sitting behind the saddle on the horse’s rump. 268.33 K irktow n town or village in which the parish church stands. 268.36 cau sa scientias, to u se a law yer’s p h ra se the Latin phrase means ‘cause of knowledge’ and is used to discriminate between a witness’s first-hand knowledge and that gained from a third party. 269.23 L an gh op e i.e. Longhope: eiffor fictitious, ora farm in the Scottish Borders, in Berwickshire on the Eastern March, called Langhope-Birks. 269.24 th e T asker’s park near C rip p lecross a tasker is a piece-worker, especially a thresher. Cripplecross is apparently imaginary. 269.25 L ot’s w ife Lot’s wife was turned into a pillar o f salt when she looked back on the cities ofSodom and Gomorrah: Genesis Ch. 19. 269.28 M ellerstan e Mellerstain, a hamlet in Berwickshire in the Scottish Borders. 269.41-43 F r o issa r t. . . N orth u m b erla n d Jean Froissart (1337-c. 1410), whose Chronicles Scott admired, writes (2.523): ‘the kynge. . . made a dynner to the Englyssh knightes, and caused sir Thomas Percy to sytte at his borde, and called hym cosyn, by reason o f the Northumberlandes blode’: S ir John Froissart's Chronicles o f England, France, Spain, Portugal, Scotland, Brittany, Flanders, and the Adjoining Countries, trans. John Bourchier, Lord Berners, 2 vols (1523-25; repr. London, 1812), 2.523: C L A ,29. 270.18 In fin e in short. 270.22-24 sw eet en g a g in g G r a c e . . . w a iter’s p la ce Thomas Parnell, ‘Anacreontick’ (1714), lines 10-12, in Collected Poems, ed. Claude Rawson and F. P. Locke (Newark, Delaware, 1989), 115. 271.13-14 V in cen tS a v io lo seenoteto 198.43. 272.21-22 C ast m y reck onin g make up my bill. 272.43-273.1 th e three C ranes o fth e V in try a London hostelry in Upper Thames Street, so called from the three cranes on the neighbouring Vin try wharf used for lifting casks o f wine. See also Essay on the Text, 3 86. 273.20-21 A ria d n e. . . lab y rin th in Greek legend Ariadne helped Thes­ eus escape from the labyrinth o f the Minotaur by giving him a clue or ball of thread. 273.24 fourteen h an d s h ig h ah an d is4in ch es(iocm ),soth isisalarge pony or a small horse. 274.17 G led ’s-N est i.e .‘kite’s nest’. 274.24 to b o o t into the bargain. 276.13 th e su p erio rity . . . r u ff thefalling band was a soft unstiffened collar draped over the shoulders o f the doublet or gown; it was white, of lace or lace-edged cambric silk, and was tied at the throat. It did not supplant the ruff, with its high neckline closely encircling the throat, until the early 17th century. 277.2-6 m o tto not identified: probably by Scott; ‘the ranks that fell’ are the angels who fell from heaven with Lucifer. 277.12 d o g m a ta dogmas. 278.36-37 th e L ivin g D e a d ... th e D e a d A liv e compare D ryden‘A Song for St. Cecilia’s D ay’ (1687), line 62: ‘T he Dead shall live, the Living die. ’ 278.39 T h e W ord, the L aw , th e P a th for Protestants the Bible is the Word

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481

of God, enshrining the divine law, and directing the believer in the path of eternal life. 279.20-21 grey hairs d is h e v e lle d ... sy b il the sibyl, a female prophet in Greek legend, was traditionally depicted as a wild old woman. 280.8-9 the Jeddart tolb ooth the Jedburgh town gaol. 281.10 I w ill n e v e r ... forsake th ee Hebrews 13.5. 281.11-12 C all u p on m e . . . d eliver th ee P sa lm so .is. 281.16-17 its “s till sm a ll v o ic e ” 1 Kings 19.12. 282.10-11 p u t th e p in ch nearer th e sta p le Edward is trying to have the staple, a holder for the bolt o f the door, levered off with an iron bar, or pinch. 282.14-15 th e cap tain o f th e C a stle o fL o c h m a b e n thekeeperof Lochmaben Castle (accented on the second syllable, pronounced as ‘may’) in Annandale, SW Scotland, was called the Captain: see Minstrelsy, 1.368. Chris­ tie may be referring to Sir John Maxwell (i5 i2 ? -8 3 ) Warden o f the Scottish Western March in 1552-53 and again from 1561, who held the castle at various times. 282.24 there go tw o w ords to th a t b argain there are two sides to that question. 282.25 W hat th e fou l fiend what the devil. 282.33 a b ed la m b u sin ess a matter o f madness or confusion. 283.15 R obin o f R ed castle probably imaginary: there is no Redcastle in the Borders. 283.29 takes th e b en t flies away. 283.32 sic like that sort of; such. 284.2-6 m o tto not identified: probably by Scott. 284.14-15 th e ton gu e o f th e tru m p the main thing or most important person {ODEP, 487). 284.34 have turned th e w orld u p sid e dow n Acts 17.6. 284.40 th e p reach in g o f K nox for the most spectacular example o f Knox’s preaching see note to 92.7-9. 285.2-3 sin ce th e art o f p rin tin g printing from woodblocks first appeared in Europe in the 14th century and a system o f moveable type was invented by Johannes Gutenberg c. 1450 in Mainz, Germany. 285.3-4 latn flo a tin g . . . L ev ia th a n in Jewish mythology Leviathan is a sea-serpent, but the term is often used, as here, to refer to a whale. Scott is recalling John Milton, Paradise L ost{i 667), 1.196-201. 285.12-14 s till th e h ie r a r c h y ... a ssertin g th e m this is an accurate description of the legal situation at the time of the novel’s action. 285.22-^24 E arls o f N o r th u m b er la n d . . . te n th o f E lizab eth in 1569, the tenth year o f Elizabeth’s reign, Thomas Percy (see note to 156.3) and Charles Nevill (1543-1601), 6th Earl o f Westmorland 1563-71, led a rebel­ lion whose object was to free Queen Mary and restore Catholicism to England. Scott describes this insurrection 'mMinstrelsy, 1.91. 285.33-35 T h e m a tter had b een c o n s id e r e d ... th e sou th mostprominent among the nobility in the north o f Scotland who maintained their Roman Catholic allegiance was the Aberdeenshire-based George Gordon (1513-62), who succeeded as 4th Earl of Huntly in 1528. 285.36-37 th e d o o m o f h eresy the penalty for heresy was usually excom­ munication and burning at the stake. 285.41-42 th e in q u isito ria l pow er in S p ain inquisitions were papal judiciaries to combat heresy, but the Spanish Inquisition, noted for its extreme use o f torture and execution, was ceded to the Spanish crown by Pope Sixtus IV in 1478. 286.6-8 w ield th e th u n d e r . . . terror Jupiter (the Greek Zeus), king of the Classical gods, is generally depicted in art as holding a thunderbolt.

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286.20-21 L ord Jam es S te w a r t. . . M oray James Stewart (c. 1531-70), illegitimate son o f James V, became Earl o f Moray in 1562. See Historical Note, 435 286.40-41 a low q u it-ren t see note to 32.39. 287.10 sw ord o f S ain t P a u l... keys o f S a in t P eter St Paul was usually depicted with the sword of his martyrdom, and Peter was often represented holding the keys of heaven (Matthew 16.19). 287.13 P ereat iste! Latin let him die! Compare Christopher Marlowe, Edward //,5 .5 .2 s . 288.3 a foreign u n iversity many Scottish Protestants studied at Luth­ eran and Calvinist universities in Germany and Switzerland. Scott may be thinking o f Geneva, which is close to Mont Blanc (see 289.4), and which was strongly associated with John Knox. 288.9 W illia m A llan the Sub-Prior’s original name may be taken from that o f William Allen (1532-94), the English cardinal who founded the seminary for English-speaking Catholics eventually located at Douai (see note to 13.2-4) and supervised the Douai translation o f the Bible into English. 288.21 do n o th in g in h a te b u t all in hon ou r see Othello, 5.2.298. 289.4 M ou n t B lan c at 4807m the highest mountain in the Alps. 289.11 th e sh e p h e r d . . . th e u n iv ersa l fo ld see John 10.16 and note to 100.32. 289.15-16 th ose fie n d s. . . prayer see Matthew 17.21 and Mark 9.29. 289.16 n o t m a n y w is e . . . ch osen compare 1 Corinthians 1.26. 289.19-20 as th e G reeks o f o l d . . . w isd o m see 1 Corinthians 1.23. 289.23-24 th e C o u n c ils. . . C hurch in the Roman Catholic Church a Council is a meeting o f bishops and other leaders called by the Pope to determine matters o f doctrine and discipline; the F athers o f the Church are the eminent Christian teachers of the early centuries whose writings remained as a court of appeal for their successors. 289.34-35 th a t profitable p u r g a to r y ... th e k eys the Roman Catholic doctrine that souls in purgatory may be aided by almsgiving and the purchase o f indulgences (as well as by prayer) was denied by Protestants. 289.41 u ltim a ratio Romae Latin the last resort o f Rome. 290.19-20 ‘O gran b o n ta . . . diversa’ Italian O, the great generosity o f the knights o f o ld / They were enemies, they were o f different faiths. See Ludovico Ariosto, Orlando Furioso (1532), 1.169-70 (stanza 22). The correct form o f the lines (‘Oh gran bonta de’ cavalieri antiqui!/ Eran rivali, eran di fe diversi’) is given in Pamaso Italiano, 56 vols (Venice, 1748-91), 18.8: CLA, 55. 290.24 B uchanan George Buchanan (1506-82), one ofthe leading Scot­ tish Protestant reformers and campaigner against Catholicism. He was an emin­ ent scholar, and author of four plays, an important work o f political theory justifying the deposition of Mary Queen o f Scots (Dejuri regni apud Scotos, 1578), and a history of Scotland. 290.25 B eza T h eodoreB eze(i5i9-i6o5),aS w isstheologian h igh lyregarded by Scottish Protestants, who succeeded Calvin as the leader o f the Geneva-based Reformation; he was a noted Latin poet. 290.37-38 rescu e or no r e s c u e . . . cou n try the phrase was used to invoke a code o f honour obliging prisoners to keep to their word not to abscond even if rescued by their friends. See SirJohn Froissart’s Chronicles o f England, France, Spain, Portugal, Scotland, Brittany, Flanders, and the Adjoining Countries, trans. JohnBourchier, Lord Berners, 2 vols (1523-25; repr. London, 1812), 1.537: ‘yelde you my prisoner, rescue or no rescue, or els ye are but deed’: CLA, 29. Compare Ivanhoe, e e w n 8, note to 264.26-27. 291.16-17 W oe unto m e i f l p reach n o t th e G osp el see 1 Corinthians 9.16. The Protestant preacher George Wishart is reported to have said: ‘I have

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read in the Acts of the Apostles, that it is not lawfuil to desist frome the preach­ ing o f the Gospell for the threats and minasses of men’ (David Calderwood, History ofthe Kirk o f Scotland, 8 vols (Edinburgh, 1842-49) 1.206). 291.29—30 in a p r is o n .. .h o u se see Acts 16.29-34. 292.27-35 m o tto see‘The Cruel Lady ofthe Mountains’, lines 17-24, in English Minstrelsy, ed. Walter Scott, 2 vols (Edinburgh, 1810), 1.224-26. 293.37-38 a ca b a listica l sp ell see note to 28.3-4. 294.11-13 H is h o ly W o r d ... w ild -fire comparePsalm H 9.i05,an d see also John Dryden, Religio L a id (1682), 1-10. 294.32-42 the ch ild o f th e w id o w . . . rev ix it two incidents are con­ fused here. In 1 Kings 17.9-24 Elijah (from Tishbe in Gilead) restores to life a widow’s son in the city of Zarephath. In 2 Kings Ch. 4 he similarly restores the dead son of a woman in Shunem who reproached him with having promised that she should bear the child: ‘D id I desire a son of my lord? did I not say, D o not deceive me?’ It was in Zarapheth, not Shunem, that Elijah asked God to ‘let this child’ssoul come into him again’ (i Kings 17.21). T he following verse is that quoted from the Vulgate: ‘And the Lord heard the voice of Elijah, and the soul o f the child came into him again, and he revived.’ 295.1 shrouded in a tab ern acle o f cla y for tabernacle as the mortal human body see 2 Corinthians 5.1,4 and 2 Peter 1.13-14. 295.20 Saint B en ed ict seenoteto 13.1. 297.14-15 to b e a stu m b lin g -b lo ck in m y p a th s see Romans 14.13. 297.17—19 th e first m u rth e r e r . . . sacrifice Cain murdered his brother Abel out of jealousy because God preferred Abel’s sacrifice: Genesis Ch. 4. 300.17-19 thou sh a lt a id . . . p rofan e the Sub-Prior alludes to an incid­ ent when the Ark o f the Covenant, which housed the tablets of the law given to Moses by God, was being transported by ox-cart: ‘And when they came to Nachon’s threshingfloor, Uzzah put forth his hand to the ark of God, and took hold o f it; for the oxen shook it. And the anger of the Lord was kindled against Uzzah; and God smote him there for his error; and there he died by the ark o f G od’ (2 Samuel 6.6-7; compare 1 Chronicles 13.9-10). 300.34-39 m o tto not identified: probably by Scott. 301.13 A t op en doors dogs c o m e in proverbial: Ray, 279; ODEP, 599. 301.16 p ith a n d w in d toughness and endurance. 301.31 a fou n tain sealed SongofSolom on4.i2. 302.5 sow in g h is tares a m o n g th e w h ea t see Matthew 13.24-30, 3M 3 302.12-13 h is sou l r e sc u e d . . . n et see Psalm 124.7. 302.38 a brand fro m th e b u rn in g seeZechariah3.2. 302.40 th e R ock o f A ges from the Authorised Version’s marginal note to Isaiah 26.4; the AV text itself reads ‘everlasting strength’. The phrase is best known from the hymn ‘Rock of Ages, cleft for me’ by A. M . Toplady (1740-78). 303.2-5 th a t R ock on w h ich S ain t P eter fou n d ed h is c h u r c h . . . paron a m a sia the much-disputed ‘text’ isM atthew 16.18 wherejesussaysto Simon Peter that he will build his Church on ‘this rock’. Roman Catholics take this to mean that the Church was founded on Peter— whom Jesus called Cephas (Aramaic stone: John 1.42, corresponding to Greek ‘Petros’)— and his suc­ cessors as Bishops of Rome or Popes. Protestants often take the rock to refer to Peter’s faith and always deny papal claims to be Peter’s successors. The SubPrior is elaborating on the original gospel paronomasia or play on words. 304. n G o to come, come! 304.38-39 m y n e c k . . . quarters i.e. he would have been hanged (with an allusion to the quartering o f executed criminals: see note to 198.34-35). 304.40-41 M e r s e ... F orest to-b o o t strictly speaking, theMerse is the

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plain occupying the S o f Berwickshire and the E part o f Roxburghshire in the Scottish Borders, but it was often synonymous with Berwickshire. For Teviotdale see note to 6.30. The phrase ‘take the Forest to boot’ means ‘and Ettrick Forest [i.e. most o f former Selkirkshire] into the bargain’. 305.11-12 take th e a ir . . . tak e th e earth i.e. if the Sub-Prior exorcises the devils so that they fly away, Christie will ensure that all human enemies are dead and buried. 306.9 L ords o f C on gregation for the Lords of the Congregation see Historical Note, 434. 306.12 a round b od y o f cava lry a mounted troop of considerable num­ bers. 306.25-26 L ord S e m p le . . . K en n ed ies Robert Sempill (c. 1505-72) succeeded as 3rd Lord Sempill in 1548; his family seat was Castle-Semple, Lochwinnoch, Lanarkshire. Kennedy was the family name o f the Earls o f Cassillis; the 3rd Earl, Gilbert Kennedy (1517-58), succeeded to the title in 1527. The families were supporters o f the pro-French and pro-English factions re­ spectively. 306.28-31 F r o m W ig to n ...K e n n e d ie the Kennedy family owned land in former Wigtownshire in SW Scotland; the River Cree marked the county boundary. In Magnum (19.259) this rhyme is changed so as to conform essen­ tially with the version appearing in Chambers, 165. 306.40 N ew p ort a town in Fife. 306.41 broke th e w and o f p ea c e in Scots law the wand, o f peace was a baton carried by a king’s messenger as a symbol o f his office and broken by him as a protest if he was resisted in the exercise of his duties. 307.11-13 p ro m ised h i m . . . A venel i.e.Julian’s obligation to contribute to the Church one sheaf in ten would not be rigorously enforced. The phrase ‘in case’means ‘i f ’. 307.16 old G ilbert o f C ran b erry-m oor character and place are both apparently imaginary. 307.18 d isp on e upon dispose of. 308.4 co m e s to a p oin t decides. 308.26-27 th e field o f P in k ie-cleu g h see note to 38.36-37. 308.40 F lod d en -field see note to 98.11. 309.2—10 m o tto not identified: probably by Scott. 310.5-6 th e indulgentiae— th e gratias— th e b iberes— th e w eekly m e ss o fb o ile d a lm on d s indulgentiae were concessions in general; a gratia was a special dispensation; a biber was a time when alcoholic drink might be consumed; the boiled almonds are a reference to an allowance made to the monks o f Melrose by Robert Bruce (King o f Scots 1306-29) mentioned in the ‘Carta de Pitancia Centum Librarum’ (charter concerning a donation o f £100) which Scott quotes in the Magnum (19.281-82). 310.12-13 th at curious s c r e e n . . . n o rth -ea stern w in d the surviving inside walls of the cloisters, on the N o f the abbey church, have finely-carved blind arcadings attached to the exterior walls o f the north aisle and the west face o f the north transept: these were completed before the end of the 15th century. Shortly after writing The Monastery Scott was to erect a free-standing screen, decorated in imitation of the cloisters, to divide the courtyard from the garden at Abbotsford (Letters, 6.323: [1821], to James Skene; 8.112:29 October 1823, to Daniel Terry). 310.14 h o ly M a ch a b ee. . . v o lu n ta te m D e i Latin the city is taken by the will of God (2 Maccabeus 12.16, in the Apocrypha). The quotation refers to the capture of Caspis without the use o f any engine o f war. 310.28 H exh am a town near the Border in central Northumberland. 310.28 Sir John F oster see note to 259.40.

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310.32 S em p le and th e K en n ed ies see note to 306.25-26. 310.34-36 th e Earl o f C a s s ilis ... M oray the Earls of Cassillis had interests in Crossraguel Abbey (founded 1244) in Ayrshire, SW Scotland; Quintin Kennedy (1520-64), younger brother o f the 3rd Earl, was its Abbot from 1547. James Stewart took the title Earl ofMoray in 1562. 310.37 P r in c ip e s. . . D o m in u m L atin the princes have conspired together against the Lord: Psalm 2.2 in the Vulgate. 310.40 th e P rim a te o f S cotlan d see note to 68.2. 311.12 bell, book, and can d le see note to 53.24. 311.14-16 Judas M a cca b eu s. . . N ic a n o r s. . . H o lo fe m e s . . . head in a b ask et referring to stories from the Apocrypha. Nicanor was a Syrian general slain by the Jewish hero Judas Maccabeus: see 1 Maccabees Ch. 7. Holofernes was an Assyrian captain decapitated by Judith: seeJudithCh. 13. 311.22 H exh am sh ire at the time o f the novel’s action Hexhamshire de­ noted a regality (territory granted by the crown) around the town o f Hexham on both sides of the T yne. It belonged to the See o f Y ork, but in 1572 it became crown property and part of the county o f Northumberland. (Nowadays the term is used for a small area o f country S o f Hexham.) 311.27 P etrus E rem ita Peter the Hermit (r. i0 5 0 -n i5 )le d a p a r ty o f civilians across Europe to Constantinople on the First Crusade in 1096. Most were killed by the Turks. 311.30 a m a n o f B e lia l a generalised term for a wicked man in the Bible; see, for example, 2 Samuel 16.7: ‘Come out, come out thou bloody man and thou man ofBelial.’ 312.18-19 su it and service attendance at the baronial court, and personal service, due to a feudal superior. 312.19 th e B aron o f M eig a llo t see note to 71.30. 313.5-6 w hen B en ed ict d ie T h irteen th w a s d ep o sed Benedictwas Antipope at Avignon from 1394 during the Great Schism o f the Catholic Church when there were two rival papacies. H e was deposed by the Council of Pisa in 1409, a decision confirmed by the Council of Constance in 1417 after which his last adherents (including the Church in Scotland) left him. 315.12 o f n a m e of distinction. 315.29-30 as ever cock fou gh t on S h ro v e-tid e-ev en cock-fighting was traditionally associated with Shrove Tuesday, though the practice is not re­ corded as having spread from England (where it had been popular since the 14th century) to Scotland until 1685. Scott’s anglicisation o f‘Fastern’s Even’ (Shrove Tuesday) is misleading. 316.1 th e L oth ian firth the Firth ofForth, separating Lothian from Fife to the N . 316.7 W e o fth e spear and sn afle see note to 122.6. 316.22 break n o scurril jests compare TroilusandCressida, 1.3.148. 316.33 E ck ieo fC a n n o b ie Eckie is a diminutive o f Hector; Cannobie, or Canonbie, is a village in Eskdale, SE Dumfriesshire. 316.33-34 th e curve o fth e caw ker a cawker, or calkin, is the turned-down end o f a horseshoe which keeps the horse’s heel from touching the ground. 317.6-10 m o tto ‘G iX N lom ce’,'m ScotishSon gsinT w o Volumes,e d.Joseph R itson,2vols(London, 1794),2.157-65, lines 53-56: C L A , 174. 318.4—5 so m e tu ilzie in A yrshire Ayrshire in SW Scotland was gov­ erned by the Catholic Earls of Cassillis and Eglinton. In 1563 there was an attempt to revive Catholic worship by the public celebration of Mass, protected by Kennedy lairds, but Scott is not necessarily referring to any particular histor­ ical event. 318.19 111 h earin g m a k es ill reh earsin g proverbial: Cheviot, 201. 318.38 n ae farther gane no later than that.

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318.39-40 to teach th e cat th e w ay to th e kirn proverbial: ODEP, 805. 319.27-29 th e strong w a te r s. . . rarely u sed Scotch whisky did not become widely used in the Lowlands until the 18th century. 319.30-31 th e braes o f D o u n e . . . th e L aird o f B u ch an an the Buch­ anan family seat is situated between Loch Lomond and Drymen, Stirlingshire. The ‘braes ofD oune’ probably refers here to the environs ofD oune hill on the W side of the loch. 319.33 A nti-christ theantichristoftheNew Testam ent(e.g. iJ o h n 2 .i8 , 22) was often seen by Protestants as prophetic of the papacy. 320.3 the bastard o f M orton an illegitimate son of James Douglas (c. 1516-81), 4th Earl of Morton from c. 1550. Morton was Regent from 1 defeating Mary’s remaining supporters, but in 1581 he was executed for his alleged complicity in Darnley’s murder. H e had four illegitimate sons. The one referred to here is most likely Archibald (the second) or William (the fourth). 320.8 lad s o f th e laird’s b e lt i.e. it is as though they were the laird’s swords. The phrase has not been located elsewhere. 320.14 there w ere a ll th e m o a n m a d e any complaints would soon be over. 320.35 en fa n sp erd u s TrenrA literally ‘lost children’. See also ‘Border Antiquities’, 70, where Scott defines this term as referring to retainers left to hold out a tower while the laird escaped. 321.43-322.10 B u t h e a b u se d .. .o ffen ces throughout his career Moray sought to strengthen first the reforming faction in parliament, and then his own hold on the Regency, by seeking ties with England. Following the enforced abdication of Queen Mary in 1567, Moray, her half-brother, became Regent and presided over her imprisonment at Lochleven Castle (an episode which forms part of the plot of The Abbot). Mary’s escape to England led to a confer­ ence representing herself, Moray, and Elizabeth I in 1568, the result of which was Moray’s formally accusing her of the murder o f her first husband, Lord Darnley. He received a loan o f £5000 from Elizabeth and partial recognition of his government. Moray was murdered in 1570 by James Hamilton o f Bothwellhaugh, with the foreknowledge o f the Archbishop o f St Andrews. 322.38 dark-red eye-b row s contemporaneous portraits show Moray with red hair. 323.7-9 T he law b oth o f G od and o f m a n . . . su cceed in canon law, which was accepted as binding by the secular courts, a declaration of intention to marry, followed by intercourse, was accepted as a valid marriage, though an irregular one. 323.14 say on tell (freely). 323.29-30 A n ti-C hrist seen oteto3i9.33. 323.31 the d eath o f a traitor hanging, drawing, and quartering. 323.34-35 L et h im go d o w n ... in to T o p h et Baal, originally a Tyrian deity, is depicted as a rival god in the Old Testament. Tophet was a place beside Jerusalem where the ashes o f sacrifices or images of false gods were cast: see Jeremiah 19.5-6. Later it became a rubbish-dump, with perpetual bonfires, and symbolic of hell. 323.38 th e Earl’s ow n m o th e r Margaret Erskine(r. 1510-72), the mis­ tress ofjames V. 324.34-37 M o s e s . . . B e n a ia h . . . th e san d Benaiah acted as a hit-man for Solomon: see 1 Kings 2.25-34. Moses killed an Egyptian who had struck one of his fellow-Hebrews: Exodus 2.11-12. 325.14-18 m o tto see ‘T he Field of Battle’, lines 1-4, by Thomas Penrose (1742-79), in his Poems (London, 1781), 77. 325.37 G oshen see note to 32.9. 326.31 C ardinal B eatou n seenote 1088.41-89.3.

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P op e Ju liu s Julius 1 1 ( 1 4 4 3 - 1 5 1 3 , Pope from 1 5 0 3 ) conducted wars to restore the temporal power o f the papacy. 327.11-12 fight d o g . . . archer variants on the proverb‘Fight dog, fight bear’: Ray, 190; ODEP, 256. 327.23-24 to th e s a d d le . . . aw ay two o f the five principal military trum­ pet-calls were ‘Boot and Saddle’ and ‘Horse and Away’. 327.39 b lood y w ith sp u r r in g . . . h a ste RichardII, 2.3.58. 328.36-37 S ain t A ndrew ’s cross s e e n o t e t o 5 3 .2 7 . 329.10-12 War an d te r r o r ... b eh in d th e m see 325.14-18 and note. 330.39—4° ye w ere c o n s ta n t. . . fray compare 1 Henry IV , 4.2.77-78: ‘To the latter end of a fray and the beginning o f a feast/ Fits a dull fighter and a keen guest.’Proverbial: Ray, 106; ODEP, 52. 331.3-4 ta ’en th e b a sn et taken the steel helmet; joined the army. 331.17 th e cry o fS a in t G eorge for E ngland a batde-cry invoking the patron saint of England. 331.26 is your d ream out? have you come to your senses? 332.35 th e P rivy C ou n cil see note to 68.2. 334.12 Sir G eorge H eron o f C h ip ch ase Sir George (d. 1575), Deputy Warden of the English Middle March, was killed at the Raid of the Reidswire. See Historical N ote, 436 and Minstrelsy, 2.33m 334.21 under assu ran ce under protection. 334.41 C o m m issio n e r s. . . B order commissioners from England and Scotland met periodically from 1248 until 1597 to draw up or emend the laws governing the Borders. Morton, however, seems to refer to the Wardens who presided over actual trials. 336.17 h is o w n b ir th see note to 323.38. 336.19-20 T h e Earl o f M o r to n . . . h is am ou rs Morton’s profligacy was well known: his wife became insane, and thereafter he ‘loosed the rains to others, and begat three naturall Children’ (David Hume o f Godscroft, The History ofthe Houses o f Douglas and Angus ( 1 6 4 4 , repr. Edinburgh, 1 6 4 8 ) , 2 7 8 : CLA, 3 ) . In The Abbot, e e w n 1 0 , 3 4 5 . 2 - 3 , Morton’s wife is called Alice, but this name is apparently imaginary. 336.28-29 m o tto King John, 3 . 1 . 1 . 336.38 fight th e good figh t 1 Timothy 6.12. 336.40 L et u s a s s u m e . . . fa ith compare Romans 13.12. 337.5—7 arriving a t th e v in e y a r d . . . m o rn in g see Matthew 20.1-16. 337.29-31 even a s you m a y h a v e m ark ed th e h e r o n ... w in g ‘the heron . . . has formidable claws, and, above all, a most frightful dagger o f a beak. With this he stabs; but the great danger is not as generally supposed, and as Sir Walter Scott represented, from a thrust in the air, but on the ground, when the hawks, having let go to save themselves from the shock o f the fall, “make in” to kill the quary’ (Gage Earle Freeman and Francis Henry Salvin, Falconry: Its Claims, History and Practice (London, 1859), 141). 338.39-40 K yrie-E leison, and S alve R egin a ‘Kyrie eleison’ (Gref£ Lord, have mercy) and ‘Salve Regina’ (Latin Hail [Holy] Queen) are the first words of liturgical prayers to God and the Virgin Mary respectively. 338.40 our b lo o d tem p era te an d co ld see / Henry IV , 1.3.1. 339.9 th e horns o f th e altar thealtarintheJewishTemplehadhorn-like projections at the corners: see Exodus, 27.1-2. 339.33 w ill-w orsh ip worship according to one’s own fancy, without divine authority: see Colossians 2.23. 340.6-7 H eaven h ath s m it t e n . . . flock see Zechariah 13.7, Matthew 26.31, and Mark 14.27. 340.13 the R ock o f P eter see note to 3 0 3 . 2 - 5 . 340.22 N egatu r, G u lielm e A llan I . atm I deny it, William Allan.

3 2 6 .3 4

488

EXPLANATORY NOTES

340.34-36 I h a v e n o t g iv e n ... m y charge seejohn 10.1-4. 341.26-27 th e P h ilistin es a war-like people hostile to the Israelites in Biblical times. 342.1-2 F em ie h e rst and h is clan the Ferniehursts were a branch ofthe Kerr family and often occupied the position o f Warden o f the Western March. The head o f the family at the time was Sir Thomas Ker (d. 1586), an opponent of the Earl of Moray: he had succeeded his father, Sir John, in 1562. 342.5-11 T h e arm s o f S c o tla n d ... b ase b irth as an illegitimate son of James V, James Stewart bore the royal coat o f arms, a lion rampant in a double tressure (border), with a black ribbon (bend) running diagonally from top left to bottom right to indicate his bastardy. When he became Earl o f Moray, an honour originally bestowed by King Robert I in i3 i2 o r 1314 on Thomas Randolph(d. 1332), the lion occupied the top left and bottom right quarters o f his arms (still properly with the ribbon traversing both quarters), and the Moray arms o f three cushions within a double tressure the top right and bottom left quarters. 342.27 th e ten ts o f w ick ed n ess Psalm 84.10. 343.15 p u to v e r endured. 343.42-344.1 d is tin g u ish e d . . . S cotlan d the market cross in Melrose bears the royal arms of Scotland and the date 1645, but the cross’s design is of the 16 th century. It apparently replaced one in front of the abbey gatehouse. 344.2-3 an im m e n se ly large o a k -tr e e. .. D ru id s the oak tree was sacred to Druids (for whom see note to 12.5-6). There is no such tree in drawings of the Melrose Market Place between c. 1814 and 1832: Fair Melrose (Melrose Historical Association, 1989), 5-6. 344.5-10 th e B e n ta n g -tree. . . M am re according to Mungo Park’s Travels in the Interior Districts o f Africa in 1795-6-7 (London, 1799), 22, the Bentang was not a tree but a large stage made of interwoven cane upon which public affairs were transacted: CLA, 236. In his The Natural History ofSelboume Gil­ bert White gives an account of an oak tree in the village square or ‘Plestor’: ‘this venerable tree. . . was the delight o f old and young, and a place o f much resort in summer evenings; when the former sat in grave debate, while the latter frolicked and danced before them’ ( The Works, in Natural History, o f the late Rev. Gilbert White, 2 vols (London, 1802), 1.9: compare CLA, 300). In Genesis 18.1-8 Abraham provides three supernatural figures with food as they rest under a tree. 344.33 D e p rofu n d is c la m a v i Latin Out o f the depths have I cried [unto thee O Lord]: Psalm 130.1 in the Vulgate. 345.14-15 m a tch -m a k in g an d giv in g in m a rria g e compare Matthew 24.38. 345.24 you n g B enny gask apparently fictitious. 346.2-4 H ay w as b u t a r u s t ic . . . the h erald the Hay family traced their descent to the Battle of Luncarty in Perthshire in 990. According to tradition, the peasant Hay and his sons led the Scots to victory over the Danes using as weapons the yokes from their oxen. The yoke was adopted in the family’s arms as ‘the instrument of their victory’: Thomas Pennant, A Tour in Scot­ land; M D C C L X IX and A Tour in Scotland, and Voyage to the Hebrides; M D C C L X X II, 3 vols (1771-76, repr. London, 1790), 3.71-72: CLA, 4. 346.10-12 In th e e a r lie st. . . as n ow various members ofthe Douglas family have been given the title Black Douglas and the name is used to distinguish the senior branch of the family from the Red Douglasses, the Earls o f Arran. The ‘original’ Black Douglas was said to be Sholto Douglas who won a victory for King Solvathius against the Lord o f the Isles c. 770 and was presented to the King with the words ‘Behold yonder black, gray man’: David Hume o f Godscroft, The History ofthe Houses o f Douglas and Angus (1644, repr. Edinburgh, 1648), 3: CLA, 7,. 346.17 th e h u m b le A lanus D a p ifer the Latin title o f‘dapifer’, or

EXPLANATORY NOTES

489

cup-bearer to the king, was later dignified to ‘Steward’ or ‘Stewart’. The original holder of this office, Walter FitzAlan (d. c. 1093), was created ‘dapifer’ by Malcolm III. H e was succeeded in turn by his son Alan (d. c. 1153) and grandson Walter (1147-77), who was the first to be called ‘Seneschallus vel Dapifer Regis Scotia:’ (Steward or Cup-bearer to the King of Scotland [David I]). This Walter was succeeded by his son Alan (d. 1204). The first Stewart monarch (1371-90) was Robert II; born in 1316, he became Steward in 1328; on his coronation in 1371 his eldest son became '’Stewart o f Scotland See Andrew Stuart, Genealogical History ofthe Stewarts (London, 1798), 1-9,39: CLA, 3; and George Chalmers, Caledonia, 3 vols (London, 1807-23), 2.243: CLA, 1. 347 -3_ 5 M o r to n ... m in d see note to 336.19-20. 347.17 p u lld o w n rooks John Knox was reported to have said that ‘the sure way to banish the Rookes, was to pull down their nests': John Spotswood, The History ofthe Church o f Scotland (London, 1655), 175: compare CLA, 13. 347.30-31 P eter th e H erm it see note to 311.27. 347.35 draw ing h is fan g-teeth a reference to pulling the venom-bearing teeth of snakes to render them harmless. 347.36 lay h im un der con trib u tion exact a levy from him; make him a tributary. 348.29 L u p u s in fab u la Latin the w olf in the fable. The Abbot gives the plot of the first of Aesop’s fables of the wolf and the lamb. 349.12 m a k e w ild work wreak havoc. 349.17 th e K n igh t o f W ilverton seen oteto2o8.13-14. 349.21—22 I f th ere b e y et s p i r it ... elsew h ere the imprecise chronology o f The Monastery makes if difficult to tell what, if anything, Scott intends by this, but the Scottish parliament was not fully bound to Protestantism until the ‘Reformation Parliament’ of August 1560 which accepted the Reformed Con­ fession o f Faith, abrogated papal authority, and forbade the celebration of mass. 349.25 rescu e or n o rescue see note to 290.37-38. 349.41 old C ross-stitch o f H o ld em e ss person and place are apparently imaginary. 350.1 cu tters with a play on the two meanings ‘tailors’ and ‘reckless desper­ adoes’. 350.3-4 a -k in . . . blank et descended from an illegitimate union. 351.7 m a k e a co m p o sitio n draw up a treaty of the terms of surrender specifying a sum o f money to be paid by the losing party in a settlement. 351.34 th e p r id e . . . a fa ’ alluding to the proverb ‘Pride goes before a fall’: see Ray, 148,302 and ODEP, 647. 352.19 act as her father by giving her away in marriage. 354.7-8 th e d a te s . . . h istories see Historical Note, 434. 354.10-14 M r L aurence T e m p le to n . . . su m m e r Laurence Templeton is the fictional narrator o f Ivanhoe. In that novel the Saxon lord Athelstane is named as a descendant of the childless King Edward the Confessor, and in the opening chapter the peasant Gurth feeds his swine on beech mast and acorns although it is stated to be summer. 354.18-20 C ap tain A bsolute’s a d v ic e . . . n ecessa ry Richard Brinsley Sheridan, The Rivals (1775), 2.1.32.

GLOSSARY

This selective glossary defines single words; phrases are treated in the Explanatory Notes. It covers archaic and dialect terms, and occurrences of familiar words in senses that are likely to be strange to the modern reader. For each word (or clearly distinguishable sense) glossed, up to four occurrences are noted; when a word occurs more than four times in the novel, only the first instance is given, followed by ‘etc.’ Orthograph­ ical variants of single words are listed together, usually with the most common use first. Often the most economical and effective way of defining a word is to refer the reader to the appropriate explanatory note. a ’ all 7.39 etc. ab ide await 182.37,185.27,192.7 a ’gad O God! 147.41,147.43 a ’sall is 236.7 a b b o t-elect person proposed to take over as head o f abbey 314.32 a b b ot-exp ectan t person expected to take over as head of abbey 314.9 abune above 55.43 ab u sed worn out, consumed by use 34-13

a b u tm en t lateral support 63.1,63.6, 63.11 a cc o m p t account 331.13 a cco u trem en ts clothes and trap­ pings 223.42 a d a m a n t poetic hardest iron or steel 117.10 ad ieu French goodbye 30.13,30.22, 42.17,303.32 a d m ire be surprised 24.9 ae one 53.26 aefau ld simple-hearted, singleminded 148.41 a fflictiv e distressing, painful 188.18 a f f off 9.22,304.4 a frite see note to 25.15 agap e open mouthed 73.3,269.14 a in own 9.28 etc. ala n g along 304.9 alb white tunic worn by clerics during religious ceremonies 182.34,309.31,

33717,343-34

am angam ong 19.23

an ’, a n if 9.19 etc. an ’ and 272.6 a n ce on ceg.ig, 55.31 a n cien t former, long-standing 289.41,289.42 a n c ien tly from old times 251.37; in old times 255.21 an e one 3.32 etc. a n en t about 7.22,54.27 an tip h on ar book with responses to be sung alternately by two choirs or voices during worship 311.13 a p o th e g m pithy maxim 277.12 a rca d ia ideal region o f rural content­ ment 270.7 arch itrave see note to 7.25 argen t heraldry silver or white 217.43 argu te shrewd (especially in small matters) 274.21 ark see note to 300.18 arriage service by horses due by a tenant to his landlord 13.39,125.1 a rtific ia lly with special art or skill

184-5

a sh en made o f ash wood 98.2 a sp e c t position o f heavenly bodies as affecting the earth 168.33,168.40 a ssa y attempt 188.24 a sso il, a sso ilz ie absolve from sin 54.35,172.25 assu ran ce for 39.24 etc. see note to 39-24

a tta in t touch or hit in tilting 155.2,

15540

au ld old 9.10 etc.

490

GL OS SARY

a v a u n t be off! 192.18 a ver beast of burden 125.40,125.43, 307.26 a v ise m e n t advice 67.12 aw a away 45.17,45.17,54.42,237.4 aw eel well 54.18 etc. a w fu ’ fearful, very great, remarkable 280.7 a w n o w n 4 7 -i3 ,124.15 a y yes 19.38 etc. a y e always 54.37 etc. b a b b le hunting (of a hound) give un­ necessary or excessive voice 183.11 b a ck mount, ride 221.22 b a ck -frien d backer 284.26 b ack-parlou r sitting room at the back o f the house 9.21 b a ck -p late plate o f armour for the back 321.6 b a ffle confound, foil 155.10 b a ilie , b a illie magistrate 5.i4etc. b a irn child 55.11 etc. b a ith both 44.19,45.15,52.3,54.37 b a ld ric belt worn diagonally across chest for sword 158.14 b a lla t ballad 55.14 b a llo n tennis 200.18 b a n e bone 18.5,44.31 b a n g drubbing, defeat 126.22 b a n curse 42.31 b a n n ock round flat thickish cake of barley, pease, or flour baked on girdle 95.38 b a rley -sco n e scone o f barley-meal 85.40 b arley-b read bread o f barley-meal 85.24 b a ron y for 11.42 etc. see note to 120.40 b arret-cap small flat cap 40.24 b a rtizan overhanging battlemented turret projecting from a tower 237.6,263.9 b a sk et-h ilt curved basket-shaped hilt 131.19 b a sn et small light steel headpiece 331.4 (see note) b au ld b old 54.37 b ay verb bark 127.1,146.7,222.13 b a y noun laurel 134.24 b e by 9.43 b eacon -gra te metal grid covering a beacon 175.16 b ea d -ro ll list of persons to be espe­ cially prayed for 149.31

491

b ead s rosary beads 47.28 etc. b ear coarse variety of barley 33.3 beard noun moustache 131.14 beard verb oppose openly with daring or effrontery 165.1 etc. b ea u -id ea l French charming concep­ tion, height of beauty 122.14 b eaver hat of beaver’s fur 173.13 b e d la m fit for a mad-house 282.33 bed ral beadle, church-officer 9.42 b eev es oxen, cattle 72.30,102.25, 221.38,225.13 begru tten tear-stained, lamenting 86.14,86.41 b eh ove see note to 51.14 b eild shelter 44.41 b ell-w a v erin g see note to 74.4 b elly -g o d glutton 239.38 b e lly -tim b er food, provisions 147-43

ben advanced in honour 126.34 ben d see note to 342.1 o b en ed icite Latin bless you 92.13 etc. B en ed ictin e belonging to religious order founded by St Benedict 13.24 etc. b e n iso n b lessin g i3 i.2 7 ,2 6 i.3 3 b en t see note to 283.29 beshrew curse 102.25,225.27, 305.7,306.5 b esogn io soldier, worthless fellow 154.10 b e so m broom 339.22 b esp eak ask for 149.31,278.32; claim in advance 108.23; tell of 189.30; indicate 298.32 b ew ild ered lost (in a pathless place) 146.19,208.3 biber (plural -es) for 310.6 and 310.26 see note to 310.6 bicker move quickly and noisily 94.4 b id e reside, stay 89.38 etc. b ield shelter, protect 138.20 b ig g hardy variety o f barley 33.42 b ilb o a see note to 147.37 b in n receptacle for holding corn, meal, and other foodstuffs 310.17 b ird -b o lt blunt-headed arrow used for shooting birds 164.10,177.8 b ird -p iece weapon for shooting birds 248.11 b im burnt mark on animals to denote ownership 87.36 b it denotes triviality 9.6 black-jack black leather jug 97.21;

402

GLOSSARY

weapon with weighted head and pliable shaft used for bludgeoning 102.12 b la n c-m a n g er see note to 148.43 b lank -verse verse without rhyme i6 5-35 b la zon ries armorial bearings, her­ aldic devices 342.3 b le id blood 123.14 b len ch evade, turn aside 195.21 b lin k noun very short distance 236.9 b lin k verb shine unsteadily or dimly 187.22 b lock shape, style 170.14 b lu f f good-naturedly blunt, rough and hearty 8.36,227.10 board table 50.17 etc. board-end table-end 225.15 b o d in provided, equipped 307.29 bodkin long pin or sharp instrument for making holes in cloth 169.11, 181.28,183.7,185.6 b o d le Scots copper coin of the small­ est value 4.22 b ody person 52.26,81.35 b o d y-servan t personal servant 163.29 b od y-sq u ire personal squire 164.27 b o gle ghost 55.11,304.1 b o ll measure o f grain equivalent to six imperial bushels (218.2 litres) 13.37 etc. b o lt verb sift 82.41,121.39,134.36,

352-13,

b o lt noun arrow o f the shorter and stouter kind 166.38 b o n d sm a n man in bondage, serf 36.1,241.14,241.25 b o n n et-p iece gold coin o f James V o fScotland2ii.27 b o o tless useless, to no purpose 166.1 Borderer one who dwells near the border o f Scotland and England 35-5 etc. B order-knight knight o f the Border region 18.33 B order-laird small land owner of the Border region 53.17 B order-pricker light mobile soldier from the Border region 157.26 B order-rider horseman o f the Bor­ der region 53.27, 122.7,164.34 B order-w arden governor or keeper o f the Border region 312.11 B ourdeaux wine made in Bordeaux,

claret 6 9 .22 , 7 o .i 5 , 27 o .i 2 b o w er-w o m a n chamber-woman, waiting-woman 43.34,56.34, 236.40 b race pair 109.26 b rae steep slope, hill-side 36.34, 319.30,352.43 brake clump ofbushes 93.1,112.26, 165.17 b ran d sword 87.15,163.24,183.19; burning torch 212.33,302.38 b ran gler brawler 256.34 (see note) b ra v eries splendid clothes 156.34 b raw excellent, fine 54.16,56.16 b r ea st-la ce corsage lacing to which ladies attached a small silk bag for money 54.25 b rea th ed exercised, in good wind

32725 b rid ge-w ard keeper o f a bridge 63.20,72.4,95.31,,95.40 b rief-d a ted short-lived 114.25 b rig, b rig g bridge 9.13,64.9,64.12,

3I7-6 b roach verb pierce for the purpose of drawing liquor 85.25 b roach noun spit for roasting meat upon 235.20,237.5 b ro a d -clo th fine double-width black cloth used for men’s garments 159.18 b roch an thin porridge 111.5 b rog prick, prod 44.10 b rogu e rude shoe o f untanned hide 112.21 broken Scots Law outlawed, living the life o f an outlaw 223.27 b u ck ler small round shield 87.15, 122.38,163.24,230.25 b u ck ra m linen or cotton fabric 222.33 b u c o lic a l pertaining to herdsmen or shepherds 263.18 b u d g et contents o f bag or wallet, col­ lection o f stock 222.39,222.41 b u f f stout leather 218.5,218.12 b u ff-b e lt belt made o f buff-leather 158.1 b u ff-co a t stiff coat o f buff-leather 101.4,322.20 b u g-b ear object o f dread, bane 68.24 b u ist mark o f ownership on sheep or cattle 29.26,29.44,216.26 b u ll-b a itin g action o f baiting a bull

GLOSSARY

with dogs 332.4 b u ll-ru sh tall rush growing near water 99.6 b u ll-se g s bull castrated when fully grown, foul thick-necked ox 51.41 b u m ie small burn or stream 94.4 burr rough seed-pod or flower-head of a plant 77.13 b u sk see note to 45.12 b u skin leather half-boot reaching to calf or knee 12.21,165.14,174.1, 177.11 b u ttery place for storing ale and pro­ visions 102.37,105-13,153-3 b yre cow-shed 44.9,62.23,262.35 b y re-w o m a n woman who looks after cows 262.25,262.26 c a b a list for 27.29 and 94.9 see note to 28.3 c a b a listic for 28.3 and 293.38 see note to 28.3 cairn pile of stones built as landmark on hill (often in memory of the dead) 12.5,47.30 c a it iff despicable wretch or villain 220.31 c a lla n t lad, fellow 140.7,140.12, 237.6 caller fresh 237.5,237-7 c a lle t lewd woman, strumpet 228.4 c a m came 122.42 C a n d lem a s for 56.23 and 173.35 see note to 56.23 can k er-w orm caterpillar that des­ troys buds and leaves 59.23 ca n n a cannot 45.16,56.4 ca n n y skilful, sagacious 301.17 ca n on ecclesiastical regulation I7 J-I 5, 3° 9-4 c a n ticle little song 77.22; hymn 320.38 ca n trip spell or charm 52.21,54.33 ca n ty cheerful, lively 82.4 c a n zo n ette short song or lyric 244.39,271.1 car chariot 196.39 ca racole half-turn or wheel by horse­ man 149.23 carb on ad oed scored across and broiled or grilled 151.40 ca ritasfor i7 i.3 4 a n d 3 io .2 7 se e note to 171.34 carl, carle fellow 122.40,216.25, 283.33; man oflow birth, 162.41 carlin e witch 55.16; woman 56.32

493

carnal unsanctified, worldly 96.24 etc. carriage service o f carrying, or pay­ ment in lieu, due by tenant to land­ lord or feudal superior 13.39,125 I case state 159.3 casq u e military head-piece 111.3, i 53 -6 , 3 i 9-37 cast see note to 124.3 c a stella n governor o f castle 342.34 c a stin g falconry anything given to a hawk to cleanse and purge its stom­ ach 220.19 c a te choice dainty 85.42,236.29 cau ld cold 19.23 etc. cau tion security, pledge 284.19 caw ker see note to 316.34 cellarer for 54.31 etc. see note to

54-31

cen ser vessel in which incense is burnt 343.25 certes assuredly, by my faith 19.32 etc. ch ain -w ork metal rings intertwined to make net-work for armour 204.3 ch ald er for 13.37,13.37, and 13.38 see note to 13.37 ch a lish chalice 18.8 chapter meeting o f members of monasticorder I04.i6etc. charier more carefully, more cau­ tiously 273.3 ch artu lary volume containing char­ ters relating to a monastery 71.35 chary careful 225.10 ch ase to put to flight 27.20 ch a sed engraved in relief 238.30 cheerer cheering drink 9.7 ch im era wild fancy 79.9 ch im le y fireplace 20.4 ch im n ey -n o o k chimney-corner, hearth 122.34,154-14.2§3-31 chiru rgeon surgeon 347.11 ch u rch -feu ars vassal or tenant con­ nected to the Church 33.27 churl countryman, man, man without rank,serf74-i2etc. cica trize heal, skin over 243.11 ciceron e see note to 7.19 ciprus see note to 170.36 C istercian see note to 61.30 clach an village 304.12 cla ith s, cla ith e s clothes, 9.8,320.10 clap , cla p p er contrivance for making grain move down mill-stones

494

GLOSSARY

127.12,136.5 d e c k in g brood 55.7 clerk scholar, one who can read and write 108.41,126.33 clerkly scholarly 169.24 cleu ch , cleu gh narrow gorge or chasm with high rocky sides 43.18 etc. cloak -p in s peg for hanging a cloak on 125.5 clod -b reak in g loutish, peasant-like 187.20 clo d -trea d in g loutish, peasant-like 246.40 c lo o t hoof 44.7 cloth -yard ruler with which cloth was measured 45.32,122.7 c lo u ted patched 223.7 cock-horse anything on which a child rides for play 41.31 cock -laird small proprietor who cul­ tivates his own land 56.33 co ev a l o f the same generation 25.36, 26.3 c o il row, stir 241.13 co in change physical properties by heavy pressure 210.22,309.5 co llo p slice of meat 8.27,9.5,10.14, 10.42 c o m m o n s 1daily fare 145.18,173.25 c o m m o n s2 common people 338.13 co m p eer companion, someone of equal rank 121.16,154.8 co m p o u n d settle (a matter) by paym en t7 2 .i2 ,312.21 co n clave private or closed ecclesiast­ ical assembly 67.7 c o n fite o r se e n o te to i7 i.i7 c o n fo rm in g matching 203.34 co n n eeve connive 18.9 co n sid erate careful 247.12 co n sid erately carefully 247.13 co n sta n cy see note to 55.25 con trib u tion see note to 347.36 c o n tu m a cio u s rebellious, stubborn 47-1

con ven t-b red educated in convent or nunnery 45.1 co n vocate call or summon together 348.25,348.31 co -ord in ate of the same order 20.43 c o p e sleeveless hooded vestment 309 -31 , 337-17 co p y-h old estate held by a kind of tenure relating to a manor 144.42

c o q u in a riu s Latin cook 172.6 coran to type o f French dance 154.11 c o r p se -g iftprobably funeral dona­ tion 224.27 co rslet piece o f body-armour 41.36,

328-37

co t small house, cottage 167.12 co u ch lower to the position for attack 97.27 etc. co u ld n a could not 53.23,95.37, 280.6 co u n ten a n ce composure 145.38; moral support 205.23 co u n ter part o f animal’s breast lying between shoulders and under neck 65.21 cou n terch a rg e see note to 16.6 co u n term a rch march back in the opposite direction 42.12 co u n ter-p o ise weight which bal­ ances another to maintain equilib­ rium 63.10 cou rser large powerful horse 149.22 co u v re-ch ef, c o u v r e ch ef linen square to cover woman’s head 219.1,318.39 co v en a n ter see note to 26.5 co v erlid uppermost covering o f bed, quilt 190.13 c o w -b o y boy who tends cows 246.41 co w l monk’s hooded garment 71.21 etc. co x c o m b conceited, showy person 134.8 etc. crack noun conversation, news 10.2 c r a c k w r i boast 126.21 cran e see note to 50.29 crave demand, need 67.12 etc. cred o creed 192.41 crest tuft on animal’s head 252.34 crib appropriate a small part o f any­ thing 6.37 cric k e t-sto o l low wooden stool 237.11 crip p le hobble 106.15 cr o m le c h prehistoric structure with large stone resting horizontally on three or more upright stones 12.5 crook hook in a chimney for pot or kettle 50.28 crosier staff or crook o f bishop or abbot 309.5,309.17,313.9 cro st crossed 353.39 crou p e rump or hind-quarters o f a beast 106.14

GLOSSARY

crow bar o f iron 282.11 crow n coin worth 5$ (£0.25) 274.13, 324.28.324.31 cru ize small iron lamp with handle for burning oil or tallow 254.21 crupper horse’s rump 65.5,269.9 cu d d ie donkey, ass 123.11 cu irass piece o f armour consisting of breast plate and back plate 157.11, 321.6 cu m b ered troubled 320.12 c u m m er woman 54.22; female com­ panion 82.5,82.9 cur low-bred dog 222.13 cu rate see note to 61.25 cu rator Scots Law guardian o f minor after age of tutelage 4.7 curb chain or strap passing under lower jaw o f horse 308.13 cu rch linen square to cover head 140.40,219.1 cu sh a t ring-dove, wood-pigeon 109.31 cu sh io n heraldry pillow-like device 342.6 cu sto m rent, tax 312.36 cu tter see note to 350.1 c u ttie-sto o l low wooden stool (usu­ ally with three legs) 54.23 cu t-w ork elaborate openwork em­ broidery or applique work 159.10, 159.18 c y m b a lu m Latin bell, gong 171.30 d ’y e do you 9.6 d a fh n , d affin g noun frolic, merry­ making, folly, stupidity 52.1, 272.27 d a lesm a n inhabitant of a dale 299.15 d a m -d ik e wall confining water in dam 264.16 darg work 45.9 d e’il, d eil devil 9.36 etc. d ea d -set fixed 44.22 d eal act 61.3,61.11 d ecore decorate 201.6 d ecretal see note to 75.26 d eer’s-h air species o f small rush 292.40 d ee v il devil 8.25,9.13 d efile narrow pass between moun­ tains 204.39 d e lic t offence 239.7 d e liv erly clever 163.23 d ep en d en ce quarrel or affair o f hon­ our awaiting settlement 202.13,

495

202.17,202.33 dep u ty-ran ger deputy forest keeper

I72-3

d erogate fall away 187.20,187.21 d esu etu d e state of disuse 33.25 d evote condemn 231.42,288.34; oblige by a vow 285.35 dexter heraldry right 16.5 d id n a did not 55.22 d in n a d o n o t 10.17 etc. d in t stroke, blow r22-7 d isp arage dishonour 39.11 d is ta ff for 50.26,261.23, and 327.2 see note to 50.26 d istrain levy a tax on (often by way o f selling chattels, particularly for rent arrears) 160.3 d o g m a ta dogmas 277.12 d o le portion given out in charity 173.40,178.15 D o n a tu s see note to 178.43 donjon tower or innermost keep of a

casde2i4-3i d ool sorrow, suffering 66.11 d o o m judgement, sentence 285.37 d ou b le adjective for 97.21 and 173.36 see note to 97.21 d ou b le noun evasive turn 214.16 d o u b le-p iled having a pile or nap of double closeness 170.35,201.8 d ou ce sedate, respectable 140.10 d ow na do not 11.9 d ow n -b ye in the neighbourhood 125.41 dow ner lower 224.37 d rab b in g prostitution 320.42 d ra m small drink 19.35 d ram -d rin k er tippler 24.20 d raw -brig draw-bridge 9.10 drone non-worker, lazy idler 224.18 d ru m h ea d see note to 23.17 d ry-m arch boundary line not formed by a river or water 71.19 d ry-nurse man charged with looking after another (especially one who instructs a superior in his duties) 68.20,68.21 d u cat gold coin o f varying value 210.22 d u d geon kind of wood used for handles o f inferior knives 177.10 d u ello a duel 197.27 (see note) d u lse edible form o f sea-weed 27.35 d u n e done 55.41,56.17 d u rance stout durable cloth 101.7

4 q6

glossary

e’e eye 19.33 e’en eveningio.18 e’en just, even 6.31 etc. e’er ever 125.40 eard bury 20.6 ea sem en t comfort 152.5,160.35 ee -lid eye-lid 44.16 eeneyes 123.1 effeir appertain 307.29 eke also 122.41 elb ow -ch air chair with elbows 54.10,151.2 elder former, ancient 193.43 elec tio n choice 297.43 elem en ta ry elemental 205.36 e ly siu m place or state o f ideal or per­ fect happiness 147.8,197.8 em b o sca ta ambush 199.24 em b razu re opening in parapet to allow gun to be fired through it 181.22 em p iric impostor (particularly in medical arts) 29.28 em u lo u s imitative 175.22 en d octrin ate instruct 180.25 en eu gh enough 9.41,45.14,304.4 en ow enough 139.18 etc. en th ralled held in thrall or bondage 121.4 erst at an earlier time 97.27 escaram ou ch e skirmish 337.26 essay put to the proof, test 204.20; attempt, try 77.12,254.30 estra m a zo n e slashingcut245-9 ettleaim 164.17 e u p h u ism type o f high-flown diction and style originating in the late 16th century 136.10,136.33,137.35, 268.26 E u p h u ism e see note to 134.29 eu p h u ist imitator of style of expres­ sion known as euphuism 136.24 etc. even demean, put on a level 44.32 ev id en ts Scots Law documentary proof, title-deed 71.33 excheq uer see note to 17.2 ex cise overcharge 20.10 ex o rd iu m opening of a discourse 154.28 fa verb fall 3.32 fa noun fall 351.34 fa b liau see note to 12.26 factor agent 108.22 fa cu lty profession 151.17

fa g g o t bundle o f sticks 2 6 1 . 2 1 , 2 9 4 .1 9

fa in adjective willing 3 0 6 . 2 4 fa in adverb gladly, with pleasure 5 5 .2 8 etc. fa lch io n sword 3 2 9 . 1 9 , 3 3 9 . 2 fa lco n et light type of gun 1 7 3 . 2 fa lco n -g en tle female o f peregrine falcon 2 0 3 .2 8 fa ll-o ff, fa llin g -o ff withdrawal 2 4 7 .4 2 .2 4 8 .1 9

fa n e temple 2 0 1 . 4 fa rth in g quarter o f a penny 3 . 2 3 , 6943

fa sh eo u s troublesome 2 3 5 . 2 1 ,

235-23

fa sh erie trouble, fuss 5 3 . 1 7 , 2 3 6 . 1 , 2 8 3 .3 8

fa stn e ss stronghold, fortress 3 9 . 2 7 , 2 1 5 .6

fa u se false 2 8 0 .7 favou red looking 5 4 .1 9 fa y e faith, assurance 1 6 9 .3 8 fear see note to 9 7 .1 1 fee see note to 1 8 9 .3 6 fell fierce, cruel 3 5 . 3 0 fen c e1defence 1 1 7 .3 6 fen ce2 sword-fighting 1 9 8 . 1 2 etc. fe n cib le capable o f being defended 8 9 .3 7 ; capable o f making defence 3 1 2 .1 8

fen d see notes to 4 4 . 1 9 and 5 6 . 1 4 feu feudal tenure o f land by which tenant pays grain or money in place ofmilitary service 3 2 . 2 7 , 1 2 2 . 3 1 feuar one who holds land under feu 3 2 .4 1 etc. feu -d u ty annual rent paid by a vassal to his superior for tenure o f lands held in feu 2 5 9 . 3 7 , 3 0 4 . 1 4 fie, fy e exclamation o f disgust 4 0 . 2 1 5 4 .2 2 ,5 4 .2 2 ,1 5 1 .4

f ie f estate held on condition o f hom­ age and service to a superior 3 8 . 2 8 etc. field heraldry surface o f an escut­ cheon or shield, or of one of the divisions in the shield 2 1 7 . 4 3 fire set alight 4 2 . 3 7 firlot measure of dry goods equal to quarter of a boll ( 9 . 0 9 litres) 1 7 2 .3 2

fla m m kind of custard or cheese­ cake, or dish made from eggs, but­ ter, and cheese 1 5 2 .2 2

GLOSSARY

fleech flatter, cajole 132.27 flesh -fly fly which deposits its eggs in dead flesh 290.29 flig h erin g flickering 44.15 flood water 48.22 fly -b o a t small boat 271.26 fo o l kind o f custard (often mixed with fruit) 9.5,10.14,10.42 forbye besides 10.1 etc. foregath er gather together 9.19 fo re-sp en t worn out already 206.32 fork gallows 99.37 fo rm er chisel 6.38 fo rta lice small fort 35.17 etc. fo sse grave 199.30 fou drunk 9.43 fo u l miry, muddy 271.36 frae from 19.35 etcfra m p ler brawler 249.7 freebooter one who goes about seek­ ing plunder 102.6,139.36,241.15 free-sto n e fine-grained easily-cut sandstone or limestone 217.10 frig h ted frightened 81.6 frisk frolic 147.26 frith thin scrubby wood 87.14 frock monk’s long outer garment 98.4,100.9 fu lso m e offensive, disgusting 320.36 fu n d , fan d found 19.4,20.3 fu n d ation s foundations 9.11 fu ry see note to 202.21 furs furze bush 86.34 g a b b le talk inarticulately 134.2 gad seenote to 137.28 g a e g o 8 .3 i etc. ga in say contradict 249.23 g a lla n t fellow 54.16 etc. galliard lively dance in triple time 136.15,154.12,198.10; air to which galliard was danced 258.21 ga lly-gask in s, galligask in s wide hose or breeches 158.8 etc. g a m b ad o large leather boot secured by clasps 10.28 (see note) g a m e-cock cock bred and trained for fighting 302.43 g a m u t whole scale o f notes recog­ nised by a musician 137.18 gan e gone 55.20 g a n g verb go 56.6,237.4 g a n g noun right o f pasturing 173.42 gar make 9.31,86.24 g a m er store-house for corn 40.10 g at got 20.6,236.35

497

gate, ga it way, road 47.7 etc. gath erin g see note to 56.27 gaul claw, scrape 139.13 gay very 86.25 gear possessions, wealth, equipment 53.29 etc. g eld in g castrated animal (particu­ larly a horse) 89.39,283.15 gew -gaw pretty thing o f no value, bauble 165.1 g h a ist gh ost55.i6,238.i3 g h ostly spiritual 57.26 giegive45.8 g ild in g golden surface 218.17 g ill narrow stream or brook 127.8 gird le circular plate o f iron sus­ pended over fire on which cakes are baked or toasted 236.29 g irth -g a te see note to 45.37 g led kite, bird o f prey 220.5,22° -18, 2 74-I7 g leg g nimble 301.14 g lif f short distance 236.9 g loze comment on, interpret, gloss 61.21 gnar thick-set fellow 122.44 g o m b a d o bound or spring o f a horse

i 84-35

g oo d -m a n , good m an , gu d em an husband 34.15,44.32,53.30 g oo d -w ife wife 34.9 gorget piece of armour for throat 4 1 3 6 , 33 °- r4 >33 °-21 G oshen for 32.9 and 325.37 see note to 32.9 gosp eller one who preaches the gos­ pel, in particular a 16th-century Protestant 98.16,227.9 goss-h aw k goshawk, large short­ winged hawk 218.29 g ossip familiar acquaintance 41.20, 64.2,235.18,304.19 gou p en as much as can be held in two hands, a perquisite allowed to a miller’s servant 124.27,124.43 g race-cup nightcap 102.36 gratia (plural -as) see note to 310.6 green young, inexperienced 222.31 g reen ly simply 282.10 greensw ard-ring ring o f grassy turf 139.11 greet cry 126.23 grey-beard large earthenware jug or jar 9538 g rey -g o o se-sh a ft arrow 123.5

498

glossary

gridiron cooking utensil o f bars o f iron in a frame used for broiling meat or fish over fire 127.32 griesly horrible, terrifying 190.38 grieve manager on a farm 5.11 grips close struggle 301.17 grist corn to be ground 121.15 etc. grit great 55.42,56.1,56.1 groat a coin worth around four pen­ nies (1. sp) 183.16,223.19,229.7 gross-fed coarse, inferior 187.23 grot grotto 165.40 grunds grounds 95.37 gude good 14.3 etc. guerdon noun reward, recompense 267.40,272.16,279.1 guerdon verb reward 311.33 guesten be entertained as guest, lodge235.30,318.3 gu in ea English gold coin worth 215. (£1.05)6.7,27.43 guissard masquerader 25.8 gu ll noun person easily tricked 227.13,3254 gu ll verb deceive 227.15 gyre weird, repulsive 55.16 gyve shackle 229.2 h a ’, h ae have 9.36,137.30 h a ’ hall 51.41,55.43 hack-bu t early kind of portable fire­ arm 173.1,283.32 hack le see note to 189.20 h a e have 9.36 etc. h aen a haven’t 9.19 h aggis see note to 120.27 h ags marshy piece o f ground in moor 212.11 h ail, h a ill whole 19.7 (see note), 44 .7 , 55 .24 , 56.9 halberdier soldier with weapon combining spear and battleaxe, civic guard 100.39,101.32 h a le free from injury 97.10 h alf-b ou n d see note to 7.1 h a lid o m e holy place 38.35 etc. h a ly holy 56.11 h a m e home 236.11,272.3 h an d fast, h a n d -fa st agree to pro­ bationary period of cohabitation before marriage 226.25 etch a n d fastin g, h a n d -fa stin g act of agreement to cohabitation before marriage 226.35,322.33 hap see note to 56.27 happer cone-shaped device for feed­

ing corn intoam ill 127.13 harbour shelter 115.16 harq u eb u sier soldier armed with early type o f portable gun 333.19 h a sh ed cut into small pieces and re­ heated with gravy 7.29 h a sn a hasn’t 304.3 h a tch ed ornamented with engraved lines to imply shading 157.40 h a tch m en t lines with which hilt o f a sword is ornamented 218.17 h a u d hold 45.36,53.22,54.16 h au teu r haughtiness 175.40 h a v en a haven’t 56.1 h a v in g possession 244.5 h a v in g s (good) manners 88.3 h ead -cou rt meeting o f freeholders o f county held three times a year 5-9

h ea th er-a le ale made from heather 229.40 h ea th er-b litter snipe 55.34 h ea v y swollen above normal height 63.40 h eck le see note to 102.17 h e c tic wasting 147.26 h e m p ie mischievous unruly young person 54.13,236.24 h en ch m a n , h e n ch -m a n follower or attendant 130.36 etc. h eritor landowner, proprietor 9.16 h ersel herself 56.33 h e t hot 42.36 h eu ch precipice 327.18 h id a lg o Spanish nobleman o f lowest class 29.12 h ie hasten 7.43,152.11,299.43,

328.15 h ig h -b lo o d o f noble blood 122.33 h ig h -m a ll sheltered walk serving as fashionable promenade 5.23 h im se l himself 53.11,55.23 h in d household servant 39.16,50.23 h in d er posterior 236.3 h irsel herd, flock of farm animals 44.7,230.22 ho la exclamation to attract attention 226.3 h oar venerable, ancient 18.13 h o a r-fro st frost feathering objects with white 74.22 h o b -n a iled rustic, boorish 197.11 h od iern a l present-day 136.12 h o g sh ea d large cask for liquor

173.36,309.7

GLOSSARY

h o ld fortress 215.37 h o lid a y -term sportive term befitting holiday 127.18 h o llow halloo 204.37 holly-brak e clump o f holly bushes 165.17 h o lp see note to 147.43 holy-rood cross 44.14 horary hourly 150.8 h orse-coup er horse-dealer 19.33 h o rse-m ea t food for horses 88.13 horse-trick joke, trick 261.43 h o se stocking, legging 75.8 etc. h o sp itiu m Latin hospice, lodging 153.20 h o st army 126.16 etc. h o stin g military expeditioni26.i 1 h o u se-d a m e wife 226.10 h ou sew ife-sk ep housekeeping 123.27 h o u sin g ornamental cloth cover for horse 184.33 h o u t-to u t strong negative 53.15 h ow k it dug 20.6 h o w lin g dreary 206.23 h u m ourou s, h u m o ro u s subject to fancies or whims 190.19,190.42, i9°-42,336-3 h u m o u rso m e fanciful 190.43 hussar soldier o f light cavalry regim ent6.3,6.38 h u ssar-cloak cloak worn by hussar 206.1 h u stle hurry 5.41 I’s e lw ill 8.31 etc. ilk name, family 56.34,127.40; each 8 i -38 im b rocata pass or thrust in fencing 201.23,271.13 im p ea ch accusation 235.5 im p reca tio n oath 228.13 in cartata foot movement in fencing where a turn is made 201.24 in ch-cord cord an inch in thickness 122.8 in c o m m o d itie s discomfort 151.32 in d en ted heraldry having a series of similar notches 16.6 in d u lgen tia (plural -ae) for 184.18 and3io.5 see note 10310.5 in fer invol ve 161.12 in -field , infield farmland near the homestead 33.1,34.5,121.20, 214.36 in flu en ce power exercised over

499

humanity by heavenly bodies 115.19,167.43,168.31,168.41 in gen u ou s noble in mind, straight­ forward 177.24,177.39,242.10 in g in e intellect 147.35,333.36 in sta n t pressing2i2.32 in lan d noun part of country distant from the border 343.14 in lan d adjective distant from the bor­ der 226.29,228.38 in n o v a tio n revolution 15.14 inter j ected interpolated 307.14 in tow n land lying near farmhouse 121.2 io ta very small part 314.5 ith er other 55.21,55.30,55.32 itse l’ itself 10.13 jack foot-soldier’s sleeveless tunic (sometimes made of iron) 87.1,

130-38 jack -an -ap e tame ape or monkey 254-I3 jack-boot strong leather boot 218.4, 32 I-7 jack -m an attendant or retainer kept by nobleman or landowner 86.40, etc jackoo monkey, ape 29.8,29.9 jerkin close fitting jacket or short coat 130.37 etc. jessfalconry short strap o f leather or silk fastened round legs of hawk 218.30,220.14,229.25 joe sweetheart 54.29 jo in t-sto o l stool made o f parts fitted together 145.17 jointure joint right o f tenancy 57.41 ju stice-a ir sitting of the Scottish supreme court when on circuit

198.34

k ale meal, dinner 14.3 k eek in g -g la ss looking-glass 130.40 k eep it kept 55.43 k elpy, k elp ie for 66.10,66.19, and 77.5 see note to 66.10 ken know 7.22 etc. k en -sp eck le, kensp eck le easily re­ cognised, conspicuous 87.36, 87.44,316.32 k iln building with furnace for drying grain and hops 74.2 kirk church 20.4 etc. kirk-feuar tenant o f Church land 163.35 kirk-folk church-goers 53.16

500

GLOSSARY

kirk-tow n village or hamlet in which the church is 268.33 kirk-vassal tenant of Church land 44.33,164.32 kirn churn 318.40 k irtle woman’s gown 82.19,125.11, 125.17,148.38 k ist chest 141.12 k itch ener see note to 146.13 knabe German boy, lad 124.39 k nave boy or lad employed in service 124.17,124.38,124.40,127.4 k n aveship, knave-ship quantity of meal or corn payable to miller’s ser­ vant 82.31, 124.41 k n ight-erran t knight in medieval romances wandering in search of adventures 232.3 k now e small hill 236.21 k yte stomach 304.27 laird landed proprietor 5.6 etc. la ith loath, reluctant 272.36 la m p stride, prance 304.25 la n g long 20.3 etc. lan g-bow long-bow 45.29 la n g-cale borecole with less wrinkly leaves and o f a more purplish col­ our than the ordinary variety 34.10 lan gsyn e a long time ago 52.28 lap spring to one’s seat 53.14; leap 140.8 lau d s see note to 102.33 la w in g reckoning 272.28 la y trim, embroider 45.2 lay-baron non-Church baron 121.7 lea ch leech, physician 76.34,203.37 lea ch -craft art o f healing 206.30 leaguer see note to 235.22 led dy, led d ie lady 44. r 5 etc. lee noun lie 9.40 lee verb lie 272.27 len ten appropriate to Lent, meagre 1.57-37

lev iath an see note to 285.4 lev in -b o lt lightning-bolt4i.28 lie g e adjective loyal, faithful 172.27 etc. lie g e noun one to whom loyalty is due 245-37

liege-lord , lie g e lord lord to whom feudal service is due 186.19, 240.19,274.10 lieu ten a n cy -m eetin g s see note to 5-8

life-ren t see note to 68.34

lig h t-h a n d ed nimble-handed, deft 53 - i 8

lim m a r scoundrel 223.19 lin g heather 45.18 lin sto ck staff with forked head to hold lighted match 145.29,181.23 lip p y measurement o f grain weighing about 1.75 pounds (0.794 kg)

137-2 L isb o n see note to 11.1 list wish, desire 99.27 etc. lith joint 112.16 lock small quantity 124.27,124.42 lo n e single 81.41 etc. lo o n lad, chap 44.26,51.40; scoun­ drel, rogue 132.16,305.9 lo o p -h o le narrow opening in wall to admit light and air or for passage of missiles 64.7,233.12 lo rd -p riest priest with baronial authority 133. n lu ck ie form o f address for elderly woman 8.29 lu cu b ra tio n product o f nocturnal study, literary work showing careful elaboration 11.16 m a g a z in e armament 76.28 m a g n e tic attractive, seductive 150.12 m a il, m a ill travelling bag, wallet 148.10, etc. m a ir more 7.22 etc. m a is t most 9.37,53.14 m a iste r master 44.13 m akm ake 55.22 m a la p e r impudent 183.29,282.7, 316.17 m a n -a t-a r m s soldier 71.22,153.9 m a n e g e art ofhorsemanship 149.21 m a r ch border 250.37,274.27,

3I 5-25

m a rch -trea so n border-treason 12.2 m a rk gold or silver worth 13s. 41/. Scots 52.25,173.35,174.25, 180.20 m a rry exclamation o f surprise, indig­ nation, or asseveration 102.3 etcm a r t ox or cow fattened for slaughter 34.8,87.34 M a r tle m a s see note to 173.36 m a ste r fu ’ Scots Law using violence and threats 53.14 m a tin s, m a ttin s morning perform­ ance 197.9; for 15 1.27 see note m a tto c k tool for breaking up hard

GLOSSARY

ground 199.20,283.24,292.39 m a u n must 54.12 etc. M a y-gam e merrymaking and sports associated with 1 May 136.15 m a zer-d ish bowl or drinking-cup often richly carved and ornamented

309 13

m e a l-g im e l granary 225.12 m e a n low quality 66.16 m e a t feed 127.35 m e e d rew ard3i44 m e ld er quantity o f meal ground at a time 82.41,269.23 m e n sefu l neat, decorous 261.32 m e rid ia n mid-day rest 184.16 m erk see m ark m e s s portion of food 57.7,173.40, 310.6; company o f persons eating together 230. i m e te measure 294.7,294.10 m e w cage for hawks 220.18 m ick le, m u ck le much 7.39 etc. m id d le-w ard middle body o f army

320.37 m ie n appearance, bearing 57.13, 6 7 1 9 , 1 4 4 4 3 ,178-3 m ill-d u e s dues payable by tenants of estate to estate miller for grinding corn 124.19 m ill-k n a v e lad belonging or appren­ ticed to mill 124.32 m ill-p o st post on which windmill was supported 137.15 m ill-serv ice certain tasks in con­ nection with a mill laid on tenants of estate as part o f their rent 125.2 m in ’ mind 54.36 m in d remember 56.17,163.24; look after 280.6 m in o rity rule by person under age 48.27 m in t address 140.9; aspire 164.18, 164.42 m isericord indulgence 184.18; apartment in which monastic indul­ gences were permitted 184.41 m isg iv e fail to function 54.36 m islea rd unmannerly 51.40; mis­ guided 223.3 m is-p rou d , m isp ro u d wrongly proud, arrogant 320.32,349.42 m is t missed 141.14 m o len d in a r of or concerning a mill 259.26,264.41,338.31 m o n y many 20.4 etc.

501

m oor-cock male o f red grouse 55.34 m o rta l longand tedious 280.14 m o rtreu x thick soup 148.43 m o s s marsh, bog 45.18 etc. m o ss-h a g g marshy hollow or pit in moor where peats have been dug 320.10 m o ss-tro o p er lawless borderer 34. 20, etc. m o t must 67.1,87.17 m o w s laughing matter 120.10 m u d -e e l young of lamprey 77.6 m u g -ew e female of breed of sheep having face entirely covered with wool 9.9 m u llio n vertical bar dividing parts of window 7.25 m u ltu re toll consisting o f grain or flour paid to owner o f mill for privil­ ege o f having corn ground at it 82.31 etc. m u m m in g masquerade 158.17, 274.12 m u rra in pestilence 132.4 m u rrey -co lo u red purple-red, mul­ berry 157.10,170.35,247.3 m u rth er murder 100.20,239.7 m u rth erer murderer 238.37,

23843,297-17

m u se wonder 243.23 m y sel, m y s e ll myself 44.18,54.42 n ’as was not 122.45 n ’old would not 122.45 n a n o 8 .2 9 ,i9 .7 ,19.7 n a e no 9.30 etc. n a eb o d y nobody 9.41 n a eth in g nothing 53.15 etc. n a ig horse 19.34 n a n e none 53.20,54.29 n a th e le ss nevertheless 41.39, 156.22,259.25 n a u g h t wicked, evil 102.28; worth­ less, good for nothing 220.32 n egatu r Latin I deny it 340.22 n eg u s punch made from sherry or port i i . 1 n eist next 10.16,64.9 nicker neigh 307.30 n iggard scanty 161.38 n ig h t-cro w bird which crows in night (said to be of evil omen) 77.5 n o not 8.25 etc n o b le gold coin worth 6j. 8d. (33.3p) or 1os. (5op) 102.19,102.21 n o ited knock 120.12

502

GLOSSARY

n o m b les inward parts of animal used for food 164.23 n o n -age early stage, youth 188.12 n o n es1see note to 122.40 n on es2 monastic service said about 3 p.m. 171.30 n o vice probationer in religious house 102.35 etc. o ’ of8.3i etc. oat-bread bread made of oat-meal

3I9-I9

ob loquy abuse, slander 289.38 ob n u b ilate overcloud, obscure 239-3

o ccu lt secret, mysterious 94.14 od in the name o f God 19.41 ony any 7.22 etc. on yth in g anything 81.8,81.33 or before 56.27 orderly-book book kept for entry of general or regimental orders 15.32 o rem u s see note to 101.18 orgulous proud, haughty 198.25 orison s prayers 292.34 ou t-field, ou tfield outlying land o f farm 33.7,33.10,33.13,121.21 o u t-ly in g making its lair outside a park or enclosure 164.2 o u trecu id an ce self-conceit, arrog­ ance 198.24 ou t-scourer scout, advanced look0^ 319.39 o u t-sh ot adjective projecting 131.38 ou tsh ot noun extension, portion o f building projecting beyond the usual line 255.17 ow er over 19.35 etcow erloup leap across, trespass 34.21 p a le bounds, jurisdiction 15.26,

345-12 p alfren ier groom 320.41 p alfrey saddle-horse, especially small saddle-horse for ladies 137.17 etc. p a llet straw-bed, mattress 161.39, 190.27,259.1 pardoner person licensed to sell papal pardons or indulgences 222.41 parler speak, talk 134.29 p a ro n a m a sia play on words, pun 3 ° 3-5 party see note to 16.9 p a ss noun passage 95.18 p a ss verb make 346.36 p a ssage move sideways 149.23

p a ssa n t heraldry walking and looking towards the right 217.42 P ater see note to 192.40 p ater-n oster Lord’s Prayer 294.30 p a tien za Italian patience 147.29 p a trim o n y estate of a church or reli­ gious body 32.20 etc. p a ttle small spade with long handle chiefly used to remove earth from plough 108.2 p a v in grave and stately dance 198.10 p ea rlin s, p ea rlin g lace trimming 45.12.52.33 p ea t-h a g g broken ground where peat has been dug 319.40 p eck measure for dry goods equival­ ent to two gallons (9.09 litres) 87.38,270.30 p ed d er-co ffe pedlar 317.40 p eel-h o u se small tower or fortified dwelling 33.32 p e lf money, riches 176.3 p ellu c id transparent, translucent 112.6 p en d vaulted gateway or passage 20.2 p en -fo ld fold for penning sheep or cattle 171.4 p en iten tia for 171.3 5 see note P en teco st festival o f the Holy Spirit observed seven weeks after Easter 78.15.173.33 p eon y-rose dark red rose 122.12 p e ttic o a t skirt, garment descending from bodice 262.33 p ia ffe advance the diagonally opposite legs of a horse in a showy way, strut 149.23 p in ch iron lever, crow-bar 282.11 p in io n wing 190.2 p ink flower o f excellence 147.2, 170.25 p in n er woman’s close-fitting cap

. 45-12 p ip disease of poultry 90.2 p isto le t pistol 319.16 p itc h degree, exalted level 231.31 p ith energy, vigour 301.16 p ix, p y x vessel in which the host (consecrated bread) is preserved 18.8,343.24 p la ce fortress 42.32 p la id long piece o f woollen cloth 151.1 p la sh bend down, weave between 6534

GLOSSARY

p len ary complete, entire, having full authority 21.3 p leu g h -p ettle long-handled tool used to remove earth from plough 126.39 p lou gh -sh are pointed blade of plough 228.39 p lo ver lap-wing 217.29 p lu m p band 320.2 p o ck -p u d d in g steamed pudding

236.34

p o ig n et hilt o f dagger 157.39 p o in t indicate 225.19 p o in t-d e-v ice to the point of per­ fection 247.26 p o in ts lace or cord used to tie bodice or to lace hose to doublet 161.18, 161.40 p old roon piece of shoulder-armour 321.7 p oltroon ery cowardice, laziness 299.21 p o n tage toll paid for use o f bridge 6323 porphyry a hard red rock 19.11, 20.31 p ort to carry a weapon diagonally across the body333.i9 p ortion er Scots Law owner of small piece o f land 54.26,269.23 p o st-h orse horse kept at inn for trav­ ellers or post-riders i2 .i8 (see note) p o ten tia l possessing power 249.4 p ot-h ook curved stroke in writing, scrawl 28.2 p o ttin g er apothecary 152.23 p o u n cet-b ox small box with perfor­ ated lid for holding perfumes 238.29 pow head 120.12 p ra ctise scheme, play tricks 239.39, 286.29 p ra eterite past tense 338.1 p ra eterm it overlook, omit 244.32,

247-36 precatory 149.30 entreating p recep tor teacher, instructor 251.15 p reju d icate prejudice 246.32 p rep arative preparation 10.40 p resen ce, p resen ce-ch am b er room where royalty or other high dignit­ ary receives guests 248.1,332.28 p rick thrust, stab 126.17,235.26; spur on 126.17,137 38,137-39

503

p rim a te archbishop 68.2 etc. p r im e adjective choice, first-rate 18.43 p r im e noun monastic service at 6 a.m. or sunrise 184.18,184.40 prink preen 220.1 p ro fessio n promise 214.11 p r o lix ities length o f dis­ course 188.42 p r o o f of tested power o f resistance 110.10,123.6 proper belonging to oneself or itself 76.14 etc. P rotector see note to 39.22 p rove test 117.37 etcp rune preen 220.1 p sa lm o d y psalm-singing 77.42 p sa lter portion of the psalms 77.14; book containing the psalms 216.43,

30510 p sh aw expression of denial 40.21; exclamation expressing contempt, impatience, or disgust 89.34, 194.20 p u ir poor 44.13,44.18 pun d pound 163.38 p u n to-reverso, p u n to reverso back-handed thrust 201.23,271.13 p u rsu ivan t junior heraldic officer 332.37 etc. p y et chattering 137.22 q u a estio n a riu s (plural -ii) Latin church official granting in­ dulgences on the gift o f alms 223.42 q u a ff drink 95.35,309.7 q u a lity rank, social standing 137.8; people o f good social position 20.7 quarter heraldry divide a shield into four portions 342.6 quarters four parts o f a human body each containing a limb 198.35, 3°439

q u ean girl 82.4,125.39,228.25,

334-28 q u en e queen 169.37 q u it-ren t small amount o f rent paid by freeholder in place o f services due by him 32.39,286.41 q u iz make fun of 6.26 race see note to 137.26 rade rode 53.20 ranger forest keeper 127.20,178.1,

I79.i 5,( 79.20 rank formidable, wild 139.18 rape rope 254.28

504

GLOSSARY

rapine plunder 164.33 rate scold, drive away 332.35 raze erase, obliterate n . 22,73. n receip t office for receiving tax or rent 312.36 recla im falconry come back when called 220.15 rector see note to 61.24 rede counsel 259.42 reesrice 128.7 refectioner see note to 146.13 regality see note to 120.40 regent one who rules in place o f an­ other 49.43 relict widow 56.28 relish make pleasant to the taste, add flavour to 10.17; gratify 34.11; taste 151.38 re n ta l-m a il money due for rent 3 ° 4-I4 reveille morning wake-up signal to soldiers 6.15 revestry vestry; place in a church where clothes, records, and pre­ cious goods are kept 161.15 rh enish wine from the Rhine region 171.24 rickle ramshackle collection 127.14 riddance deliverance 101.7 ridge raised or rounded strip of arable land 33.4 rid ing-w and switch or whip used in riding 92.25 rifler falconry hawk which catches its prey only by the feathers 220.36 rin run 237.6 rock distaff, cleft stick on which flax was wound during spinning 27.2, 53-24

roisterer riotous fellow, rude or noisy reveller 136.14,197.15 rokelay short cloak 318.31 R om an Roman Catholic 19.36 etc. rood1cross 77 32,215.43,312.9 rood2measure of land corresponding to square pole or perch (5.03 metres) 285.4 rose-n ob le gold coin of the 15th and 16th centuries of varying value 272.41 round noun part o f a building which is circular in shape 60.9; rung 164.17 round verb whisper 313.7 rout bellow 44.9

rude o f little education or experience 94-33

ru d esb y insolent unmannerly fellow 146.6 r u ff small freshwater fish of the perch family 128.7 r u fflin g swaggering 159.31 r u llio n shoe made o f undressed hide 273.29 ru m -to d d y drink made of rum, hot water, and sugar 9.7 ru sset coarse homespun 177.6 ru stica l adjective countrified 136.13 etc. ru stica l noun countryman, rustic 181.9 rydere horseman 169.36 sab le heraldry black 217.42 sack white wine from Spain and the Canaries 228.42 sa ck less innocent 94.32,94.32 sa crista n officer in charge of keeping sacred vessels 58.1 etc. sad -colou red dull, neutral-tinted 9.8,159.11 sae so 7.39 etc. sa ft soft 55.24,263.3 sa in to cross oneself as a blessing 67.1,85.41,93.19 sair sore, very 54.36 etc. saker form of cannon 173.2 sa lv a g e savage 158.16 sa n d a l any kind o f low shoe 204.35, 204.37,273.30 saraband music for slow and stately Spanish dance in triple time 258.22 sarsen et see note to 40.21 sa tin etta imitation o f satin woven in silk or silk and cotton 201.8 sau l soul 19.33 sa u ltfa t salt-vat 87.37 sa u m o n salmon 8.41,9.13 sa u n t saint 19.23 etc. saw sow 124.14 say cloth o f fine texture sometimes partly o f silk, sometimes entirely of wool 318.30,318.38 sc a b e llu m (plural -a) Latin low stool

tSi -5

sca ld heat to point just below boiling 50.27 sca llo p -sh e ll see note to 223.8 scap u lary cloak cloak covering shoulders 67.17 etc. sca th e harm, damage 276.25

GLOSSARY

scath ed destroyed by fire or lightning 64.23 scaur precipitous bank, ridge o f hill 37.19,62.18 sch o la stic academic, pedantic 289.9 sch o lia st one who writes explanatory notes upon an author (particularly commentaries on Classical texts) 289.13 sch ool university 289.27 S co ttice Latin in Scots 36.33 scrip small bag or wallet carried by pilgrim 91.9 etc. scu llion -b oy young servant o f the lowest rank performing menial tasks in kitchen 160.1 scurril scurrilous 316.22 sea -m ew common gull 262.40 secret coat of mail concealed under one’s usual dress 218.13 sectary adherent o f heretical sect 210.38 secular living in the world and not in monastic seclusion 61.25 secu lu m Latin age, generation 61.26 self-op in ion , s e l f op in io n con­ ceit, exaggerated sense o f one’s own merits 103.42,105.6,302.21 self-su fficien t self-conceited 183.6 sell self 9.20 sep u ltu re burial 199.33,207.19 seq u els small quantity o f meal or money in lieu given by tenants to miller’s assistants for their services 124.44,125.1 seraglio harem 35.23 serge durable woollen fabric 206.1 sh ad y dark or affording shade 128.42 sh a m e be ashamed 28.40 sh ape cut out or fashion clothing 352 .3 . sh aw thicket, copse 236.22 sh ea lin g remote hut or rude shelter used by shepherds during summer grazing 36.18 sh ell-w ork crocheted shell patterns 45-2

sh ielin g -h ill, sh e ilin g -h ill knoll or piece of rising ground on which husked grain could be winnowed by the wind 276.21,276.28,276.39 sh ift provide for one’s own safety and livelihood 53.17 etc. sh in gly stoney 216.12,319.4

505

sh oon shoes 75.8 short-gow n dress with very short skirt worn by women engaged in housework 262.33 sh ot-w in d ow casement 130.29, 130.41 sh ow -scen e beauty-spot 37.8 sh rift confession to priest 59.11, 80.12 shrive hear confession 77.38,80.9, 80.10; confess (oneself) 194.6 S h rove-tid e-even period of merry­ making leading up to Shrove Tues-

day 315.29 sic such 44.30 etc. sig il occult sign believed to have magical powers 161.27 sim ilitu d e s similes 138.6 etc. sin g le nounfalconry middle or outer claw on foot o f hawk or falcon 220. 13,220.42 sin g le adjective weak 173.36 sin g le-so led see note to 125.31 sin g le-stick fighting or fencing with stick provided with guard 30.19 sin g u lt sob 265.18 sin ister heraldry left 16.7 sip p et small piece o f toasted or fried bread served with meat for dipping in gravy 128.8 skelp gallop vigorously to and fro 53-28

sk iey pertaining to the sky 33.9 skirl scream, screech 280.5 sk ill avail, help 102.30,272.21 slaked moistened 319.20 sla sh ed having vertical slits to show a contrasting lining 131.15 etc. sleu th -d o g hunting species o f hound for pursuing game or tracking fugit­ ives 316.2 slo p s wide baggy breeches or hose 158.14 slo t hunting track or scent o f animal 89.4 slou ch ed of soft material and hanging over face 205.43,218.6 slou gh apparel 170.25 sn afle simple form o f bridle-bit 122.6,316.7 snatch er thief, robber 33.22 sn ood ribbon or band for confining the hair (particularly worn by young unmarried women) 123.3,125.14,

125-31

506

GLOSSARY

so ho call to draw attention 220.17, 228.25,331.26 so la call to draw attention 220.13, 220.13 soh gently, softly 149.28 so le c ism incongruity, inconsistency

27316,354 H

so m e exact free board and lodgings by force or threats 92.24,92.41, 294.28 sough see note to 132.26 sou p irail French air hole or vent 232.38 southron English, Englishman 41.26 etc. spars particles o f crystalline mineral i i 6 -33

sparry consisting of crystalline min­ erals 116.45 sp au ld shoulder 86.33,87.21 speer ask 9.9 sp en ce room where victuals and liquor are kept 40.9 etc. sp in d le simple wooden rod used in spinningbyhand26i.23 sp iritu a lity ecclesiastics as a body 286.3 sp len etic ill-humoured 31.28 sp len t metal armour plate 86.33, 87.21 sp ringald youth 125.42,172.10, 225.16 sp rin g-lock common form o f lock in which a spring presses the bolt out­ wards 24.25 sp u r-gall chafe horse with spur when riding 224.26 spurrow el heraldry mullet, figure o f a star 16.7 sp u rtle sword 3.33 sp ur-w hang spur-strap 327.22 stack-yard farmyard 143.14 stan ch eon upright bar 232.24, 232.41 stand suit 9.8; piece of furniture on which to stand articles 69.20 sta n d in g-cu p cup having foot or base on which to stand 309.13,

3i 5-i8 stanestone 18.43, !9-5, i9-23 ,20.4 sta p le rod of iron driven into post as keeper for bolt or hook 282.11, 282.18 start leap 34.21 sta y s corset 161.41

steek stitch 320.10 steel-b o n n et hat made of steel 218.5 steel-cu ira ss breast and back plate made of steel 154.2 steer, stir trouble, disturb 44.27, 45-34

stick noun spear 9 . 1 2 stick verb stop 8 2 .4 2 , 1 6 0 .2 7 stir see steer stirrin g active 3 2 4 .2 1 stirrup-cup parting-cup drunk on horseback 2 7 3 . 2 sto cca ta thrust or stab with pointed weapon 2 0 1 . 2 3 , 2 0 2 . 3 0 , 2 4 7 . 1 , 2 7 1 .1 3

stock tree-trunk 1 1 9 .3 8 stock in g livestock 5 3 .3 2 sto n e-ea ter conjuror who pretends to swallow stones 2 5 .8 stou p drinking vessel 6 9 . 2 2 etc. straikblow 2 3 6 .3 5 stra it pressing condition 3 2 2 . 2 8 stra itly tightly 2 9 1 . 4 0 strea m er the Aurora Borealis 1 6 7 .4 0 strick en see note to 1 0 5 .1 9 strip lin g youth 1 6 4 .1 4 strop strip of leather or wood used to sharpen a razor 1 4 7 .3 5 strop h e verse, stanza 1 8 9 . 2 1 , 2 7 0 . 4 3 stu d y meditate, take thought 2 1 9 . 1 8 , 3 0 8 .7

su b scrip tio n -co llectio n books in library supported by subscription 6.40 su b sist remain in existence 339.30 sucken lands within jurisdiction of mill 121.4,122.23 suckener tenant o f district under jur­ isdiction of mill 124.44 su it see note to 3 12 .18 su ld should 9.12,54.33 su m p te r-m u le mule for bearing lug­ gage 146.14 su p ererogation good works beyond what God commands or requires

105-11

su sp ira tio n sigh 154.4 sw an k ie smart active fellow 161.10, 175.1,221.31,324.37 sw ard turf 163.43 sw a r f swoon 54.41 sw in g ein g huge, immense 124.25 syb il female prophet 279.21 sy n co p e failure o f heart resulting in unconsciousness 203.23

GLOSSARY

syn e ago 19.39,82.5 tack tenure 307.12 ta n gle sea-weed 27.35 tap top 46.22 tare vetch, weed growing in corn­ fields 67.9,302.5 tarn small mountain lake having no tributaries 213.9 tasker one paid by piece-rate, par­ ticularly for threshing corn 80.31, 80.39,269.24,274.19 task-w ork oppressive or burden­ some work 291.27 ta u ld told 272.36 tein d -sh eave, tien d sh eave sheaves paid in support o f the Church 307.12,310.34 te ll for 47.28 etc. see note to 47.28 te ll’d told 54.27 tem p o ra l belonging to the secular rather than ecclesiastical sphere t3-31 etc. te n em en t body as the abode of the soul 70.24 ten t-b ed bed with canopy 5.38 terrific terrifying 192.5 tester canopy over bed 5.38 th a n e Scottish lord 11.42 th e m sels, th e m se lls themselves 56.8,236.13 th ick very dark 20.3 th ief-lik e disreputable 272.6 th irl jurisdiction covered by particu­ lar mill 124.37 th irlage Scots Law condition o f ser­ vitude whereby tenants were bound to restrict their custom to a particu­ lar mill 121.2,121.5,124.38 th o u gh t little bit 45.8 th ra ld o m bondage, duty 121.5 thraw twist, turn 254.28 th reep contend, argue 55.2 th rou gh -stan e horizontal gravestone 19.42 tik e dog 54.19 tilb u ry light open two-wheeled car­ riage 16.37 tilt-y a rd enclosed space for tourna­ ments 154.7 etc. tirl strip 320.10 tissu e rich cloth interwoven with gold and silver 201.7 tith e payment o f one-tenth o f one’s earnings or goods to the Church 102.7.102.9,102.14,224.27

507

toch er goods for a marriage portion 54.25,122.35 tod fox 53.16 to d ’s-ta il fox’s tail 127.19 tok en in g sign 236.20 to ll-h o u se house where dues are col­ lected 289.33 tou rn ey tournament 156.41,201.6 tow er tour 9.21,9.21 tow n -h erd herdsman belonging to the town 33.20 traffick negotiate 156.30; deal 208.17 train line o f gunpowder laid to light charge 156.26 tra n sm ew change, transmute 170.25 travail bodily or mental labour 151.16 trencher flat piece o f wood on which meat was served and cut up 59.16, etc. tressu re heraldry narrow band 342.5 trin d le-ta il low-bred dog with curly tail 220.36 trow believe 10.15 etc. truckle low bed on castors 230.42 tru e-p en n y honest fellow 132.8 tru m p Jew’s harp 284.15 tru m p ery trash 254.12 tru n k -h ose short breeches 131.16 tru n k -m a il trunk, baggage 147.41, 254.8 tru ss tie laces fastening hose to doub­ let 161.18, 161.42 tr u stee-m eetin g s see note to 5.8 tu ilz ie skirmish, fight 318.5 tup ram 44.36 tu p ’s-h ea d ram’s head 120.27 tu p ’s-h o m ram’s horn 319.24 turkey see note to 24.26 tu m -b ro ch e boy whose duty was to turnspit 152.26 tu rn sp it boy whose duty was to turn spit 132.18 tu rtle turtle-dove 167.8 tw a two 9.18,9.22,19.38,45.16 tw ain two 239.25,241.11 tw alscore two hundred and forty 9.11 tw a -p en n ie twopenny 210.32 tyro beginner, new recruit 198.24 u m q u h ilela te5 7 .3 i, 124.2,318.13 u n ch an cy ill-omened, ill-fated 81.36 unco awful, great 301.12 u n ctio n earnestness, appreciation 276.11

GLOSSARY

u n -h ou seled not having the Euchar­ ist administered 209.40 u n rig strip of clothes 158.9 u n sh rieved without having con­ fessed 209.40 u p hau d guarantee, vouch for 9.24, 10.13 u sed see note to 125.2 u sq u eb au gh whisky 319.27 v a n foremost division of military or other force 106.10,320.27,332.17, 344-25

van-guard, vanguard foremost divi­ sion o f army 320.18,320.28,

33I -23

v a ssa il vessels (especially of silver and gold) 150.32 v a ssal one holding land from another in a relationship of homage and obedience 32.32 etc. v en ia (plural -as) Latin pardon, per­ mission 310.19 ven u e bout or turn in fencing 202.13 v esh ell vessel 18.9 vesper for 66.2,67.14, and 69.6 see note to 66.2 vesp er-service evensong 70.35 v estiariu s person in charge of eccle­ siastical clothes, valuables etc. 160.1 v e stm en ts garments 158.20,203.31 v ia exclamation urging action 201.15; exclamation urging depar­ ture 349.16 vian d food,provisionsi5i.4i, 152.17 v illa g io villain, scoundrel 137.12 etc. v io l-d e-g a m b a , v io l-d e-g a m b o stringed instrument held between the legs 154.15,188.10,188.24, . 189-3 virtuoso learned person, scholar 9.8 etc. v isit punish, requite 120.24,208.24 v ivers food, provisions 152.30 vulgar common or usual language 60.36,76.14 V u lgate Latin version o f the Bible made by St Jerome 294.40 w ad would 3.32 etc. w adna wouldn’t 9.40 etc. w aeter water 9.11 w afer light thin crisp cake often eaten with wine 152.21 w ake festival 128.30,246.42

w and whip, stick 81.38; rod, sceptre 306.41 w are cautious 127.17 warkwork 54.42,236.13,127.35, 304.26 w arld world 55.7,254.41 warp threads extended lengthwise in the loom n 8.1 w arse worse, less 19.1 w arst worst 150.33 w asn a wasn’t 54.13 etc. w a ssa il, w a ssell revelling 222.23, 227.25 w astel, w astel bread, w assel-b read bread or cake made of finest flour 121.40 etc. w aur worse 53.42,237.2 w ax grow 7.40 etc. w ay-farin g travelling, journeying 216.28 w eal wealth, welfare 72.1 etc. w ean child 55.35 w ear see note to 80.7 w eary troublesome, vexatious 238.13 w ee small, little 45.16,53.17,56.27, 81.4 w eed garment 117.31 w eel well 9.41 etc. w eel-favou red attractive, goodlooking 54.20,54.24 w eel-scra p eit see note to 235.29 w eig h ts for 54.36 and 54.38 see note

to 54-36

w eis show 55.35 w ell-a -d a y exclamation o f lamenta­ tion 80.5 w e lt frill, fringe, border 276.11 w e m injury 98.3,247.2 w en d betake oneself 127.11 w ester travel westward 169.8 w estla n d w a y s to the western coun­ ties o f Scotland 318.4 w h a who 53.22,54.33,126.34, 235.22 w h ae who 54.35 w hare where 52.26,236.6 w h eel spinning wheel 53.24 w h ifflin g insignificant, trifling 164.36 w h ig see note to 19.35 w h iles sometimes 55.20; times 82.42,198.15 w h ilk which 9.21 etc. w hinger dagger, sword 254.27 w hirry hurry 20.8

GLOSSARY w h is h t be quiet 44.14,45.14 w h it bi 140.12,40.12,268.21; in the

slightest degree 152.14 W h itsu n tid e festival of the Holy

Spirit observed seven weeks after Easter 81.7 w i’ with 9.22 etc. w ic k e t small door or gate 282.12 w ie r d e d fated, destined 168.9, 168.49 w ile coax 86.11 w ill-w o r s h ip see note to 339.33 w in succeed in making one’s way

45-37, 46-2i

w in d get the w in d of3i6.2 w in n a won’t 19.32,272.27 w in n o w expose grain to the wind so

that the chaffis blown away 54.35, 54.38,276.38,294.7 w is t knew 156.11 w it knowledge, learning 60.41 w it c h - e lm witch-hazel, Scots elm 8 i -39 w it h o u t outside 50.22 etc. w o e see note to 264.37 w o ld would 122.43 w o n d e r fu ’ wonderful 140.11 w o n t custom 125.2 w o o f threads that cross from side to side ofaw eb 118.1

509

w o r sh ip honour 136.34 etc. w o r sh ip fu l honourable 155.38 etc. w o r th see note to 264.37 w o t know 58.24 etc. w o x e n swollen 61.41 w r a n g wrong 236.7 w r a n g -d o in g transgression 54.36 w r a n g le r quarrelsome person 249.7 w r a n g -s u ffe r in g ill-luck 54.37 w r e st twist 210.11; deflect from the

true meaning 289.25; pluck 306.20 y a m m e r yell, howl 55.24; utter cries

of lamentation 56.9 y a m - c le w ball of knitting wool 3° o -35 y a u d old worn-out horse 164.24, i 64-43

ye you 9.6 etc.

y e o m a n -p r ic k e r mounted attendant

athunt 164.6,172.3 y e s te r -e ’e n yesterday evening

318.38 y e ttg a te 3 0 i.i2 y o n yonder 35.28 y o u n g lin g young man, 216.19 y o u r se l, y o u r se l’ yourself 9.42, 55-30

zon e girdle 353.26