the thickest of the enemy in search of Clavers. But it was in vain. At that instant his trumpet sounded the loud note of retreat; and we saw on a knoll Clavers borne away by his men. He threw himself on a horse, and without sword, without helmet, he fed in the first ranks of the retreating host.-His troops galloped up the hill in the utmost confusion. My little line closed with that of Burley's and took a number of prisoners. Our main body pursued the enemy two miles, and strewed the ground with men and horses. I could see the bare-headed Clavers in front of his men, kicking and struggling up the steep sides of Calder hill. He halted only a moment on the top to look behind him; then plunged his rowels into his horse and darted forward. Nor did he recover from his panic till he found himself in the city of Glasgow."

"And, my children," the laird would say, after he had told the adventures of this bloody day, "I visited the field of battle next day. I shall never forget the sight. Men and horses lay on their gory beds. I turned away from the horrible spectacle. I passed by the spot, where God saved my life in the single combat; and where the unhappy captain Arrol fell. I observed that in the subsequent fray, the body had been trampled upon by a horse; and his bowels were poured out.*—Thus, my children, the defence of our lives and the regaining of liberty and religion, has subjected us to severe trials. And how great must be the love of liberty, when it carries men forward, under the impulse of self-defence, to witness the most disgusting spectacles and to encounter the most cruel hardships of war."

* * * * *66 After the ranks of the patriotic whigs were broken by overwhelming forces; and while Dalzell and Clavers swept the south and west of Scotland like the blast of the desert, breathing pestilence and death-the individual wanderers betook themselves to the caves and fastnesses of their rugged country. This was their situation, chiefly from A. D. 1680, to the revolution. The laird spent his days in seclusion: but still he fearlessly attended the weekly assemblies, in

*I find this fact recorded in Crookshank's Hist. vol. I. chap. 13. But the author does not mention the name of the laird by whom Arrol fell.

What

the fields, for the worship of Almighty God. had he to fear? What more could be loose? His estate had been confiscated: his wife and babes stript, by the life guards, of the last remnant of earthly comfort, which they could take away and himself doomed, as an outlaw, to be executed by these military assassins, when taken. He became reckless of the world. "I have lived," said he in anguish, "to see a prince twice, of his own choice, take the oath of the covenants to support religion, and the fundamental laws of the land. I have lived to see that prince turn traitor to his country: and with unblushing impiety, order these covenants to be burnt by the hands of the executioner. I have seen him subvert the liberty of my country, both civil and religious; I have seen him erect a bloody inquisition. The priests, imposed on us by tyranny, instead of wooing us over by the loveliness of religion, have thrown off the bowels of mercy. They occupy seats in the bloody council. They stimulate the cruelties of Lauderdale, M'Kenzie and York. Their hands are dipt in blood to the wrists. This council will not permit us to live in peace. Our property they confiscate. Our houses they convert into barracks. They drag free men into chains. They bring no witnesses of our guilt. They invent new tortures to convert us. They employ the thumbscrews and bootkins. If we are silent, they condemn us. If we confess our christian creed, they doom us to the gibbet. If we offer a defence, a judge rises from the bench, and with his naked sword wounds us.* Not only our sentence, but the manner of our execution are fixed before our trial. In our last moments they command the kettle drum to beat one continued roll. And when a strong sense of injustice extorts a complaint against our barbarous treatment, a military servant of the council, strikes the dying man in his last moments. And as if this sanguinary process were too slow in extirpating us-I have seen Charles Stewart let loose a brutal soldiery on us. . . . on us who recalled him from exile; and who placed the crown on his head. He has murdered our men, our wives, and

* See an instance recorded in Scots' Worthies, p. 378, Edin. 1812. † See an instance in Crookshank's Hist. vol. II. chap. 7. p. 127. Edit. of 1812.

our children. We have indeed formally renounced this tyrant by declaring war against him. But we have hitherto failed in the attempt to rouse the energies of our sleeping country. It is sunk into a deadly slumber. It has hitherto permitted the tyrant to keep us under martial law. Clavers is our judge. His dragoons are the executioners. And these savages do still continue to employ even the sagacity of bloodhounds to hunt us down. My soul turns away from these loathsome spectacles. They have cut in pieces the friends and companions of my youth. M'Kail, and Kid, and King, are no more. Cameron fell bleeding at my side. Hackstone they have cruelly butchered. My father Cargil they could not spare even thee! Nor thee, dear young Renwick! Brown fell by the bloody Clavers, at the feet of his wife and crying babes. I have seen my friends and those in whose veins my blood runs, fall in the ranks on bloody Bothwell, as the golden flowers of the meadow beneath the mower's hand. I have seen the greedy axe of the inhuman executioner mangle the limbs of my dearest friends. I have seen the minions of tyranny perform their disgusting service of transporting and suspending, as on shambles, the bleeding limbs of the martyrs. I have seen the hammer of the barbarians fix the head of my companions on thy walls, O bloody Edinburgh. And Oh! disgusting spectacle! I have seen these forms, once dear to my soul as the light of heaven, become naked and bleached bones, under the rain and sun. I have lived to see the dreadful effects of civil war. The frequent butchery in fields, and on the scaffolds, has rendered men callous. The ghastly heads, and mangled quarters are set up before the mob. Mothers and children daily feast their eyes with the spectacle. Even delicate females roll their eyes over them without a shudder. Our sufferings are not felt; for the human bosom has lost its feelings. O God of my fathers! bend in mercy thine eyes on my bleeding country....and on thy weeping kirk! Shall these men spread havoc without bounds! shall our blood stream in torrents! shall the Stewarts and their slaves bind these chains on the neck of our country and of thy kirk for

ever ?"

The laird, while he was uttering these words, had

thrown himself on his knees. His arms were stretched forward and upward. His long hair, gray,-not by age, but by labours and sorrow, descended on his shoulders. His eyes, lighted up by hope, in the midst of despondency, were fixed on heaven. And the tears streaming over his sunburned cheeks, fell, in large drops from his beard on his girdle.

66

At this moment his brother John entered with looks which betrayed unusual anxiety. "My brother," said he, you must resume these weapons, which your studious habits have thrown into the corner. Praying must give way to fighting now. A trooper advances at full speed. And he is followed by a dark column. We have not even time to fly." The mind of the laird, like those of the rest of the wanderers, always brightened up at the approach of danger. "I guessed some such tidings from that tragedy face of yours," said he: "Our perils are so great that they do not allow us time to vent our complaints," added he, as he girded on his sword, and put on his helmet. "Let us reconnoitre." What do I see? But one trooper? And that motley cloud is a rabble-not a troop. That trooper is not of Clavers' band. Nor does he belong to Douglas: nor to Inglis-nor to Strachan's dragoons. He waves a small flag-I can discover the scarlet and blue colour of the covenanter's flag. Ha! welcome you, John Howie of Lochgoin. But what news?.... Lives our country? Lives "the good old cause?" "Glorious news!" exclaimed Howie, "Scotland forever! She is free. The tyrant James has abdicated. The Stewarts are banished by an indignant nation. Orange triumphs. Our wounds are binding up. Huzza! Scotland and king William and the covenant forever."

The laird made no reply. He laid his steel cap on the ground; and threw himself on his knees. He uttered a brief prayer-of which this was the close. "My bleeding country, and thy wailing kirk, and my brethren in the furnace have come in remembrance before thee..... For ever lauded be thy name." "Hasten to the meeting at Lesmehago. Our friends, behind me you see, have already set out," said Howie. And he set off with enthu siastic ardour to spread the news,

"These news," said the laird, after a long pause, while his eyes followed the courser over the plains of Aven; these news are to me as life from the dead: Our martial toils have not been unprofitable. Nor has our blood been shed in vain. We have at last roused our sleeping country. We have saved her. We have gained our civil and religious liberties. I feel a fresh vigour poured into my nerves. I feel already the full glow of liberty. I feel that I am a free man. . . . . and no tyrant's slave.-The parliament and the assembly will, I trust, set all things right again. My forfeiture shall be restored. And my wife and babes shall surround me in the domestic circle. And brother John, what is no small affair, . . . I shall now have a respite..... far from the horrid din of war-quietly to finish that work, over which I have literally trimmed the midnight lamp; with my sword and musketoon lying before me. Gaun Witherspoon," said the laird in a higher tone, call my moss headed ostler, and let us have our horses. I have a mind to meet my old friends at Lesmehago. And, then, when serious business is dispatched, we can take Bothwell field on our return. It will yield me at least a melancholy pleasure to visit the spot where we fought, I trust, our last battle against the enemies of our country-and of the good old cause."

Serious matters of church and state having been discussed at the public meeting, the brothers found themselves, on the fourth day, on the battle ground of Bothwell.

"On that moor," said the laird, after a long silence— and without being conscious of it, he had, by a kind of instinct natural enough to a soldier, drawn his sword, and was pointing with it" On that moor the enemy first formed under Monmouth. There on the right, Clavers led on the life guards, breathing fury, and resolute to wipe off the disgrace of the affair of Drumclog. Dalzell formed his men on that knoll. Lord Livingstone led his van of the foemen. We had taken care to have Bothwell Bridge strongly secured by a barricade. And our little battery of cannon was planted on that spot below us, in order to sweep the bridge. And we did rake it. The foemen's blood streamed there. Again and again, the troops of the tyrant marched on: and our cannon annihilated their