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designs "-denouncing all bloody counsellors, justiciaries, generals, captains, all in civil or military power, bloody militiamen, malicious troopers, soldiers, and dragoons, viperous and malicious bishops and curates, and all witnesses who should appear in any courts, as enemies to God, to be punished as such. This was met by the government by a proclamation denouncing the penalty of death against all who should not renounce the declaration, and prescribing the following form of oath to be taken by all persons who should be required to do so by any lawful authority:—

"I, A. B., do hereby abhor, renounce, and disown, in the presence of the Almighty God, the pretended declaration of war lately affixed at several parish churches, in so far as it declares a war against his sacred majesty, and asserts that it is lawful to kill such as serve his majesty in church, state, army, or country." *

This oath being taken, a certificate was to be delivered to the party taking it, which was to operate as a free pass and protection. Of the treasonable nature of the declaration it is impossible to entertain a doubt, and the refusal to take the Oath of Abjuration was, in fact, precisely equivalent to a plea of guilty to an indictment for high treason. The proceeding, it is true, was summary, and liable to abuse. The law was harsh; but the country was in open rebellion, and Claverhouse was no more censurable for

carrying the laws into execution, than a judge would be who should sentence to death a person who pleaded guilty at the bar of the Old Bailey. Here, then, we arrive at last at the true history of John Brown, the Christian carrier, the man represented by Lord Macaulay as of "singular piety, versed in divine things, blameless in life, and so peaceable that even the tyrants could find no fault with him, except that he absented himself from the public worship of the Episcopalians." His peaceableness was shown by his being in arms at Bothwell; his piety by shouting, "No quarter for the enemies of the Covenant"-by rallying round the gibbet and the ropes prepared for the "bloody militiamen and malignant troopers," over whom the Lord would have given his chosen people an easy victory, but for their" stepping aside" in sparing the five "brats of Babel" at Drumclog-and by providing a secure hiding place for men and arms, to be used for future slaughter.

Rebellion is a dangerous and desperate game, which, as has often been remarked, requires success to justify it, not unlike the' sport which, the story runs," a certain English traveller in the south of France de*Wodrow, ii. App. 158.

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clined to share, in words memorable for good sense and bad French,-" Je n'aime pas la chasse au loup parceque, si vous ne tuez pas le loup, le loup tue vous."

The Christian carrier played and lost. L he had won, he and his comrades would have hanged Claverhouse and his dragoons in cold blood, and gloried in the act; and it is rather unfair to canonize him because he met a more merciful death at the hands of those for whom he had prepared a gibbet and a halter.

It may perhaps be urged that the despatch of Claverhouse does not in terms negative the account given by Walker and Wodrow of the conversation between Claverhouse and the widow of John Brown. This is true; but it appears improbable that Claverhouse should have detailed with so much particularity what took place, and have noticed the unconcerned manner in which Brown met his fate, and yet have omitted all notice of so remarkable a scene, if it had, in fact, taken place. It is impossible that he could have passed over without observation any symptoms of mutiny, or even of unwillingness to execute his orders, on the part of his troops. Here, then, is a distinct contradiction to the most important part of Wodrow's story; and the total suppression by both Wodrow and Walker of all that relates to John Brownen, the nephew, to the discovery of the "bullets, match, and treasonable papers" in the house of John Brown, and of the place of concealment and arms in the house in the hill under ground," throws the greatest possible suspicion on the rest of both narratives. The simple account given by Claverhouse, therefore, disposes at once of the absurd story of the dragoons having refused to obey orders, and renders the poetical and fanciful additions of both those very apocryphal writers, to say the least, highly improbable. The death of John Brown was simply a military execution. IIe might be

sincere and honest-so was Thistlewood; he

might be bold, and meet death unconcernedly

-so did Brunt. John Brown was a fanatic of the same class. His courage was upheld by religious and political enthusiasm. He was one of thousands who, in those days, were equally prepared to commit the most savage atrocities, or to endure the most terrible extremities, secure, as they thought, of the approbation of the God of mercy, of the crown of martyrdom, and the joys of para

dise.

Whether the oppressions of the government justified the rebellion of the Covenanters, or whether the outrages committed by the Covenanters justified the severities of the government, are matters which we are not now called upon to discuss. They in no de

gree affect the question as regards the character of Claverhouse. It would be as reasonable to hold Sir John Moore or Massena answerable for the justice and morality of their respective sides in the war of the Peninsula, as to hold Claverhouse responsible for the policy of the government he served.

the captian and I should come there, when they should be redressed in every thing. Your lordship will be pleased not to take any notice of this till I have informed myself upon the place." It is a curious illustration of the perversion of language and of diversity of character, that at the very time when We have bestowed so much space upon an that "worthy gentleman," Hackston of Rathexamination of this particular charge that we illet, inspired by "zeal for the cause of God,' have none left to follow Claverhouse through was butchering the Archbishop on Magus his gallant career to its brilliant close. We Muir, "Bloody Claver'se" was delaying the must content ourselves with one or two in- march of his prisoners in consideration of the stances of his conduct during his command illness of one of them, a conventicle preacher in the west, which seem to us wholly to dis- of the name of Irwin. He thus writes to the prove the view of his character taken by commander-in-chief in the 21st April, 1679: Lord Macaulay, and to remove the dark"I was going to have sent in the other stains which Sir Walter Scott supposed to

have existed.

In the early part of the year 1679, Claverhouse was stationed at Dumfries. Not Wellington himself could be more sedulous in suppressing outrage and maintaining discipline amongst his troops than we find this "chief of Tophet" to have been.

On the 6th of January he thus writes to the commander-in-chief:

prisoners, but amongst them there is one Mr. Francis Irwin, an old infirm man, who is extremely troubled with the gravel, so that I will be forced to delay for five or six days." He again apologizes for the delay, on the same ground, on the 6th of May, three days after the murder of the Archbishop. This man, so considerate of the sufferings of his prisoners, Lord Macaulay would fain have his readers believe to have been a "chief of Tophet, of violent temper and of obdurate heart." The kindliness of his disposition breaks out repeatedly in his correspondence. With the murder of Magus Muir, the slaughter of Drumclog, and the high gallows and new ropes of Bothwell fresh in his memory, he can yet write,-"I am sorry to see a man die, even a Whig, as any of themselves; but when one dies justly, and for his own faults, and may save a hundred to fall in the like, I have no scruple."

Again, in 1682, he writes

"On Saturday night when I came back here, the sergeant who commands the dragoons in the castle came to me; and while he was here, they came and told me there was a horse killed just by upon the street, by a shot from the castle. I went immediately and examined the guard, who denied point-blank that there had been any shot from thence. I went and heard the bailie take depositions of men that were looking on, who declared upon oath that they saw the shot from the guard-hall, and the horse immediately fall. I caused also search for the bullet in the horse's head, which was found to be of their calibre. After that I found it so clear, I caused "The first thing I mind to do, is to fall to seize upon him who was ordered by the sergeant work with all that have been in the rebellion, or in his absence to command the guard, and keep accessory thereto by giving men, money, or arms; him prisoner till he find out the man, which I and next, resetters; and after that, field convensuppose will be found himself. His name is ticles. For what remains of the laws against James Ramsay, an Angus-man, who has former-the fanatics, I will threaten much, but forbear severe ly been a lieutenant of horse, as I am informed.execution for a while; for fear people should grow It is an ugly business; for, besides the wrong desperate, and increase too much the number of the poor man has got in losing his horse, it is our enemies." extremely against military discipline to fire out of a guard. I have appointed the poor man to be here to-morrow, and bring with him some neighbors to declare the worth of the horse; and have assured him to satisfy him, if the captain, who is to be here also to-morrow, refuse to do it."*

On the 1st of March, 1682, commenting upon what was occurring in other parts of the country, he says

"The way that I see taken in other places is to put laws severely against great and small in Again, he hears complaints that, before execution, which is very just; but what effects his command had commenced, some of the does that produce but to exasperate and alienate the dragoons had taken free quarters in the neigh-hearts of the people? For it renders three desperborhood of Moffat; this, he remarks, was no charge against him, as the facts had occurred before he came into that part of the country, but he immediately institutes an inquiry: "I begged them, "he says, "to forbear till

* Napier's Memoirs of Dundee.

ate where it gains one; and your lordship knows that in the greatest crimes it is thought wisest to where the number of the guilty is great, as in pardon the multitude and punish the ringleaders, this case of whole countries. Wherefore I have taken another course here." †

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Writing at the end of the same year, and | sessed of all those qualities that accomplish the giving an account of his stewardship to the gentleman, the statesman, and the soldier.... Privy Council, he thus reports the success of He was, in his private life, rather parsimonious just and merciful experiment :than profuse, and observed an exact economy in his family. But in the king's service he was liberal and generous to every person but himself, and freely bestowed his own money in buying provisions to his army: and to sum up his character in two words, he was a good Christian, an indulgent husband, an accomplished gentleman, an honest statesman, and a brave soldier."*

Such is the portrait of Dundee, paint

"It may now be said that Galloway is not only as peaceable but as regular as any part of the country on this side Tay. And the rebels are reduced without blood, and the country brought to obedience and conformity to the Church government without severity or extortion; few heritors being fined, and that but gently, and under that none is or are to be fined but two or three in a parish; and the authority of the Church is restored in that coun-ed by the grandson and biographer of the try, and the ministers in safety. If there were bonds once taken of them for regularity hereafter, and some few were put in garrison, which may all be done in a few months, that country may be secure a long time both to King and Church."*

The biographer of Locheil has a passage which it would have been well if Lord Macaulay had considered before hazarding the charge of profanity against Claverhouse. Speaking of the high sense of honor and fidelity to his word by which Dundee was distinguished, he says

heroic Cameron of Locheil, "the Ulysses of the Highlands," + a writer cotemporary with Wodrow, and to whom Lord Macaulay makes frequent reference. How happens it that he has overlooked the testimony of what he himself justly calls these "singularly interesting memoirs"? §

We are compelled, by want of further space, to terminate our remarks. We quit the subject with regret. The character of Dundee is one over which we would fain linger.

In days notorious for profligacy there was no stain on his domestic morality—in an age infamous for the almost universal treachery That it proceeded from a principle of religion, of its public men, his fidelity was pure and whereof he was strictly observant; for besides inviolate. His worst enemies have never family worship, performed regularly evening denied him the possession of the most unand morning in his house, he retired to his closet at certain hours, and employed himself in that daunted courage, and military genius of the duty. This I affirm upon the testimony of sev- highest order. He was generous, brave, and eral that lived in his neighborhood in Edinburgh, gentle, -a cavalier "sans peur et sans rewhere his office of privy councillor often obliged proche;" and as long as the summer sun him to be; and particularly from a Presbyterian shall pour his evening ray though the danclady who lived long in the story or house im- ing birch-trees and thick copsewood down mediately below his lordship's, and who was to those dark pools where the clear brown otherways so rigid in her opinions, that she could waters of the Garry whirl in deep eddies not believe a good thing of any person of his per-round the footstool of Ben Vrackie, so long suasion till his conduct rectified her mistake... will every noble heart swell at the recollecHis lordship continued the some course in the army; and though somewhat warm upon occation of him whose spirit fled, with his fadsions in his temper, yet he never was heard to ing beam, as he set on the last victory of "Ian dhu nan Cath,"-of him who died the death which the God of Battles reserves The same writer thus sums up the charac- for his best and most favored sons, alike ter of Dundee ::on sea or mountain, on the blue wave of Trafalgar, or the purple heather of Killiecrankie.

swear."t

"He seemed formed by Heaven for great undertakings, and was, in an eminent degree, pos

Napier, 136.

Memoirs of Locheil, 278, 279. It is a remarkable confirmation of this somewhat peculiar characteristic of Claverhouse, that Crookshank, who records the oaths of Westerraw, Lagg, and others, with peculiar gusto, never as far we have observed, attributes such expressions to Claverhouse.

*Memoirs of Locheil, 273-279.
† Mac. iii. 321.

Wodrow's History was published in 1722. The Memoirs of Locheil were written some time before 1737. The exact date cannot be ascertained. See preface, p. xlix.

§ Mac. iii. 321.

From The National Magazine. "LITTLE MRS. HAYNES."

BY MARGARET VERNE.

ning knowledge of his art overpowered me. It was a strange freak for a child of ten summers, but somehow it crept into my babybrain that I must not like him, although the It was an eventful era in my young life, while, in spite of myself, a preference for his when my father announced his intention opinions, ways and looks, grew up strong of renting the light, airy, southern chamber within me. If he spoke to me when any of our old brown house, to a young portrait-one was observing him, I was silent and painter, who was about becoming a resident shrank away from him timidly, but when in our village during a few weeks of the summer. Never before had an event so stirring and exciting in its tendency broken over the monotony of my existence. Never before had my childish imagination been furnished with so wide a field of action, or my little heart throbbed and palpitated with such a strange mixture of wonder and delight. A portrait-painter under our own brown roof, within the walls of my own home!-what a rare chance for my inquisitive eyes to draw in a new fund of knowledge! What an object of envy I should be to my little mates, and how daintily would I mete out to them what I learned from day to day of the wondrous man of the wondrous employment!

I had heard of portrait-painters before, it is true, but only as I had heard and read of fairies in my little story-books, or listened to my father as he talked of kings and courtiers in the great world afar off. Upon our parlor walls from my earliest remembrance had hung portraits of my grandfathers and grandmothers, but I had no idea how their faces came stamped upon the dark canvass, or when or by whom their shadows had been fixed within the heavy gilt frames. Like the trees that waved by the door, and the lilacs that blossomed every year by the old gate, they had to me always been so.

But now my eyes were to rest upon the face of one whose existence had been like a mith, a fable! What a wonderful personage he would be! What a dark visage he would boast, and what a monstrous giant-like form! How entirely unlike every person that I had ever seen or known, would be this portraitpainter.

we were alone, I chatted and chirruped like a young robin. I think he must have noticed this, and from it taken into his head the boyish idea of teasing me. To him, he said, I was little Phebe Lester no longer, now that he knew how much I cared for him. For the future he should call me Mrs. Haynes-little Mrs. Haynes, and should be very angry if everybody in the house did not follow his example. I must not ever have any little beaux among the schoolboys now that my name was changed; but I must be prim and proper like any married woman who was faithful to her husband.

"Would I agree to this?" he asked. I glanced up from the hem of my white muslin apron, which I had been twisting about my fingers, to meet my mother's eye fixed laughingly upon my face. In a moment my lips were closed resolutely, while he, seeing at once the cause of my silence, reached out of the window and plucked a rose from a running vine, that crept nearly to the mossy eaves.

"Little Mrs. Haynes must wear the rose," he said. "It would never do for her to toss her head and throw his gifts carelessly by. All married women wore flowers which their husbands gave them. Would I wear the rose ?"

I glanced about the room again. My mother was nowhere to be seen, and so I said that I would wear it if he wanted me to. "And would I consent to be called little Mrs. Haynes?"

"Yes, I would consent."

"Then it was all right. He would never look about for a wife, nor I should never look about for a husband. We were Mr. and Mrs. Haynes. Did that suit me?"

"Oh, yes, that suited me! I liked that!" "Well, then, he should have to buy me a little gold ring to wear upon my third finger, let folks know that some one owned me." "No I didn't want a ring!"

While these speculations were at their height in my busy brain, the hero made his appearance, scattering them mercilessly to the four winds. There was nothing giantlike in the lithe, graceful figure that sprang from the village coach, or dark in the pleas-to ant, boyish face, shaded by soft masses of brown hair, and lit up by a merry pair of "Tut, tut, tut! That would never do. blue eyes, running over with mirth and mis- People who were engaged to be married alchief. His name, too, quite like the gener-ways gave such pledges. He should speak ality of names, had nothing wonderful or to father about it, so that it would be all striking by which to characterize it. He right. If he was willing, would I wear the was simply Frank Haynes, nothing more or ring?" less, and when, with a pleasant, easy grace, he sought to win my childish favor, I should have been quite at home, had not the stun

"No, I didn't like rings !" "Wouldn't I like a ring that he would buy?"

"No-I wouldn't like a ring at any rate." During his stay, which was protracted to months instead of weeks, he strove in every way to change my determination about the engagement ring as he termed it. I was inexorable. A ring I would not wear. Not even when he made ready for his departure, and told me that in a few weeks he should be thousands of miles away from me, nor when he piled up before me pictures that he had drawn at his leisure, during the long summer hours that hung heavily upon his hands, would I revoke my decision. I would take the finely executed drawings, the prettily framed portrait of himself, but I would have no rings.

At last he went away from us. I shall never forget the morning, or how cold, dull, and cheerless it seemed to me. How dreary and desolate every thing looked because he was going away. It was no every-day grief that bore down upon my young heart, no childish promise that assured him, as he kissed my quivering lips, that I would never forget him, and that I would always be his little Mrs. Haynes.

"Would I write to him and sign that name ?"

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"I was a good girl, then, and he would never forget me. Good-by!"

"Good-by!" My voice trembled and fluttered upon the words. In my short life they were the hardest I had found to speak.

During the next two years no lady-love could have been more faithful to her absent knight than was I to Frank Haynes. The brightest moments of my life circled about the reception of his letters, the greatest joy of life was in answering them. Among my schoolmates I had no childish love, no juveniles to wait upon me to sleigh-rides and parties, that the children in the neighborhood delighted in. If I could not go and come alone, I would remain at home, whatever might be the inducements offered to tempt me from my unswerving course. I was little Mrs. Haynes, and little Mrs. Haynes I was bent upon remaining.

I

would he do this if he was engaged? No, not a bit of it! Some one had maliciously lied about him, had manufactured the story from their own wicked imagination. would not believe it, though the whole world stood up before me and testified to its truth. As if to reward me for my faith, and set my prejudiced little mind to rights, the next coach set Frank down at our door. He thought he must come and see his little wife once more, he said, as I went timidly forward to meet him, though he thought it very bad taste in me to grow at such a rapid rate. He was afraid I'd grow out of my engagement; he should have to put a loaf of hot bread upon my head to keep me within bounds. We had been engaged two years; I was twelve years old, and a head taller than I was at ten. He was going to Europe to stay three or four years; what would I be when he returned? He did not dare to think. He believed I would be as tall as he was by that time. Wouldn't I?

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I hoped so," I answered, tartly, thinking the while of the story of his engagement.

"Whew! You are taking on the airs of a fine young lady already, my little Phebe," he answered, laughing heartily. "You wouldn't give me one of your brown curls to-day, if my heart should break for it; would you?"

"No, I have none to spare."
"Not one?"
"No."
"Why?"

"'Cause-"

"'Cause what ? "

"Because she has heard strange reports of you, Frank," broke in my mother, mischievously. "She hasn't any idea of letting you rob her of her curls while she doubts your sincere allegiance to her. She is a lady of spirit, you see."

"On my faith, she is!" he exclaimed gaily, fixing his blue eyes upon my face. "And I trow I'm in love with her for it. Never mind reports, my little lady."

I answered only by a curl of my lips, while he reached out his hand to draw me to a seat upon his knee.

"No, I won't sit there!" I cried, pushing away his hand, while the tears, which had been crowding their way into my eyes, gave a sudden dash down my burning cheeks. I'l never sit there again, never!"

"My dear little Phebe!"

But while I was in the very midst of my heroic devotion, a terrible rumor reached my ears, a rumor that Frank Haynes, my selfappointed lord and master, was engaged to a young and beautiful lady in the city. It was a dreadful blow to my precocious hopes and plans, though for a long while I battled against crediting the report. Hadn't Frank told me that he would never look about for a wife? that I was the only little lady who should bear his name? Didn't he write me regularly every fortnight, commencing his letters "Dear little Mrs. Haynes," and telling me to be faithful to him? And-and-you!"

There was a real pathos in his rich, manly voice, a quick, penetrating, surprised look in his clear blue eyes as he uttered these words, followed by a rapid, wondering expression of tenderness, as he repeated them.

"My dear little Phebe! May God bless

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