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I borrowed the above line from a beautiful old rhyme which I have often heard my mother repeat, but of which she knew no tradition; and from this introduction the part of the dove naturally arose. The rhyme runs thus:

The river Dryfe forms the south-east district of Annandale; on its banks the ruins of the tower of Graeme still remain in considerable uniformity.

Keilder Fells are those hills which lie eastward of the sources of North Tyne.

It is not long ago since a shepherd's dog watched his corpse in the snow among the mountains of this country, until nearly famished, and at last led to the discovery of the body of his disfigured master.

The lady here alluded to was the second wife of Sir Robert Scott, the last knight of Thirlestane, of whom the reader shall hear further. Thirlestane is situated high on the Ettrick, and was the baronial castle of the Scotts of Thirlestane. It is now the property of the Right Honourable Lord Napier, who wears the arms of that ancient house. The mill is still on the old site.

By the dead-bell is meant the tinkling in the ears, which our peasantry in the country regard as a secret intelligence of some friend's decease. Thus this natural occurrence strikes many with a superstitous awe. This reminds me of a trifling anecdote, which I will here relate as an instance. Our two servant-girls agreed to go an errand of their own, one night after supper, to a considerable distance, from which I strove to persuade them, but could not prevail. So, after going to the apartment where I slept, I took a drinking-glass, and, coming close to the back of the door, made two or three sweeps round the lips of the glass with my finger, which caused a loud shrill noise. I then overheard the following dialogue:—

“Ah, mercy! the dead-bell went through my head just nowwith such a knell as I never heard.”

“I heard it too.”

“Did you indeed? That is remarkable. I never knew of two hearing it at the same time before.”

“We will not go to Midgehope to-night.”

“I would not go for all the world. I shall warrant it is my poor brother Wat: who knows what these wild Irishes may have done to him?”

Amongst people less conversant in the manners of the cottage than I have been, it may reasonably be suspected that I am prone to magnify these vulgar superstitions, in order to give countenance to several of them hinted at in the ballads. Therefore, as this book is designed solely for amusement, I hope I shall be excused for here detailing a few more of them, which still linger amongst the wilds of the country to this day, and which I have been an eye-witness to a thousand times; and from these the reader may judge what they must have been in the times to which these ballads refer.

In addition to the dead-bell.—If one of the ears is at any time seized with a glowing heat, which may very easily happen, if exposed to a good fire or a strong wind, they straight conclude that some person is talking of them. They then turn to such as are near them, and put the following question: “Right lug, left lug, whilk lug glows?” That person immediately guesseth; and if the one that glows is hit upon, they say, “You love me better than they who talk of me;” and so conclude they are all ill spoken of. But if the guesser hits upon the wrong lug, they say, “You love me worse than they who talk of me; and rest satisfied that some person is saying good of them. When the nostrils itch, they are sure to hear tell of some person being dead; and the death-watch, the death-tap, and the death-swap, which last is a loud sharp stroke, are still current; whilst the belief in wraiths, ghaists, and bogles is little or nothing abated.

When they sneeze on first stepping out of bed in the morning, they are thence certified that strangers will be there in the course of the day, in numbers corresponding to the times they sneeze; and if a feather, a straw, or any such thing, be observed hanging at a dog's nose or beard, they call that a guest, and are sure of the approach of a stranger. If it hang long at the dog's nose, the visitant is to stay long; but if it fall instantly away, the person is to stay a short time. They judge also, from the length of this guest, what will be the size of the real one, and from its shape, whether it will be a man or a woman: and they watch carefully on what part of the floor it drops, as it is on that very spot the stranger will sit. And there is scarcely a shepherd in the whole country, who, if he chances to find one of his flock dead on a Sabbath, is not thence assured that he will have two or three more in the course of the week. During the season that ewes are milked, the bught door is always carefully shut at even; and the reason they assign for this is, that when it is negligently left open, the witches and fairies never miss the opportunity of dancing in it all night. Nothing in the world can be more ridiculous than this supposition: for the bught is commonly so foul, that they are obliged to wade to the ancles in mud, consequently the witches could not find a more inconvenient spot for dancing on the whole farm. Many, however, still adhere to that custom; and I was once present when an old shoe was found in the bught that none of them would claim, and they gravely and rationally concluded that one of the witches had lost it while dancing in the night. When any of them eat an egg, as soon as they have emptied it of its contents, they always crush the shell. An English gentleman asked Mr. William Laidlaw why the Scots did that. He being well acquainted with the old adage, replied, “That it was for fear the witches got them to sail over to Flanders in.” “What though they should,” said he: “are you so much afraid that the witches should leave you?”

Whether it proceeds from a certain habit of body in the cattle, from their food, or what is the fundamental cause of it, I cannot tell; but the milk of whole herds of cows is liable at times to a strange infection, whereby it is converted into a tough jelly as soon as it cools from the udder, and is thus rendered loathsome and unfit for use; this being a great loss and grievance to the owner. It will scarcely be believed that there are very many of the families in Ettrick and its vicinity, and some most respectable ones, who have, at some period in the present age, been driven to use very gross incantations for the removal of this from their cattle, which they believe to proceed from witchcraft. The effects of these are so apparent on the milk in future, and so well attested, that the circumstance is of itself sufficient to stagger the resolution of the most obstinate misbeliever in witchcraft, if not finally to convert him. I am not so thoroughly initiated into this mystery as to describe it minutely; but, in the first place, a fire is set on, and surrounded with green turfs, in which a great number of pins are stuck. A certain portion of the milk of each cow, so infected, is then hung on in a pot, with a horse's shoe, and a black dish, with its mouth downward, placed in it. The doors are then carefully shut, and the milk continues to boil; and the first person who comes to that house afterwards is always blamed for the mischief. But the poor old women are generally suspected. There are, besides, a number of other freets, too tedious and too common to be minutely described here: such as spilling salt on the ground, or milk in the fire; suffering the dishwater to boil, without putting a peat in it; shavings at candles; thirteen in a company, &c.; all which are ominous, or productive of their particular effects.

Many are apt to despise their poor illiterate countrymen for these weak and superstitious notions; but I am still of opinion, that in the circumstance of their attaching credit to them, there is as much to praise as to blame. Let it be considered, that their means of information have not been adequate to the removal of these; while on the other hand, they have been used to hear them related, and attested as truths, by the very persons whom they were bound to reverence and believe.

In addition to this cry of despair, which was sometimes heard from the mill, it was common for the ghost to go down to the side of the mill-dam at a certain hour of the night, calling out, “Ho, Rob Riddle, come home to your supper, your sowens are cold!” To account for this, tradition adds, that the miller confessed at his death, that the pedlar came down to the mill to inform him that it was wearing late, and that he must come home to his supper; and that he took that opportunity to murder him. At other times it was heard crying in a lamentable voice, “O saw ye ought of John Watters? Nobody has seen John Watters!” This, it seems, was the pedlar's name.

To such a height did the horror of this apparition arrive in Ettrick, that it is certain there are few in the parish who durst go to or by the mill after sunset: but, unlike many of the country bogles, which assume a variety of fantastical shapes, this never appeared otherwise than in the shape of a pedlar with a green pack on his back; and so simple and natural was his whole deportment, that few ever suspected him for the spirit, until he vanished away. He once came so near two men in the twilight, that they familiarly offered him snuff, when he instantly sunk into the earth, and left his companions in a state of insensibility.

The great and worthy Mr. Boston was the person who is said to have laid this ghost; and the people of Ettrick are much disappointed at finding no mention made of it in his memoirs; but some yet alive have heard John Corry, who was his servant, tell the following story.—One Saturday afternoon, Mr. Boston came to him and said, “John, you must rise early on Monday, and get a kilnful of oats dried before day.” “You know very well, master,” said John, “that I dare not for my breath go to the mill before day.” “John,” said he, “I tell you to go, and I will answer for it, that nothing shall molest you.” John, who revered his master, went away, determined to obey; “but that very night,” said John, “he went to the mill, prayed with the family, and staid very late, but charged them not to mention it.” On Monday morning John arose at two o'clock, took a horse, and went to the mill, which is scarcely a mile below the kirk; and about a bowshot west of the mill, Mr. Boston came running by him, buttoned in his great coat, but was so wrapped in thought, that he neither perceived his servant nor his horse. When he came home at even, Mr. Boston said to him, “Well, John, have you seen the pedlar?” “No, no, sir,” said John, “there was nothing troubled me; but I saw that you were yonder before me this morning.” “I did not know that you saw me,” said he, “nor did I wish to be seen, John; therefore say nothing of it.” This was in March, and in May following the mill was repaired, when the remains of the pedlar and his pack were actually found, and the hearts of the poor people set at ease: for it is a received opinion, that if the body, or bones, or any part, of a murdered person are found, the ghost is then at rest, and that it leaves mankind to find out the rest. I shall only mention another instance of this. There is a place below Yarrow Kirk called Bell's Lakes, which was for a great number of years the terror of the whole neighbourhood, from a supposition that it was haunted by a ghost: I believe the Bogle of Bell's Lakes has been heard of through a great part of the south of Scotland. It happened at length, that a man and his wife were casting peats at Craighopehead, a full mile from the Lakes; and coming to a loose place in the morass, his spade slipped lightly down, and stuck fast in something below; but judge of their surprise when, on pulling it out, a man's head stuck on it, with long auburn hair, and so fresh that every feature was distinguishable. This happened in the author's remembrance; and it was supposed that it was the head of one Adam Hyslop, who had vanished about forty years before, and was always supposed to have left the country. Since that discovery, however, Bell's Lakes have been as free of bogles as any other place.

A story similar to this of Mr. Boston and the pedlar, is told of a contemporary of his, the Rev. Henry Davieson of Galashiels. The ghost of an old wicked laird of Buckholm, in that parish, who had died a long time previous to that period, so haunted and harassed the house, that they could not get a servant to stay about it: whereupon, in compliance with the earnest entreaties of the family, Mr. Davieson went up one night to speak to and rebuke it. After supper he prayed with the family, and then charged them all, as they valued their peace, to go quietly to their beds. This injunction they all obeyed; but one lady lay down without undressing, and, from a small aperture in the partition which separated her chamber from the apartment in which he was left, watched all his motions. She said that he searched long in the Bible, and folded down leaves in certain places. He then kneeled and prayed; and afterwards taking the Bible, and putting his fingers in at the places he had marked, he took it below his arm and went out. Prompted by curiosity, she followed him, unperceived, through several of the haunted lanes. She sometimes heard him muttering, but saw nothing. When he came to his chamber, he acted the same scene over again; and she followed him at a distance round all the town, as before. When he came to his chamber the third time, he prayed with greater fervency than ever; and when he rose, and took the Bible to go out, his looks were so stern and severe, that she was awed at the very sight of them; and on following him out of the court-yard, she was seized with an involuntary terror, and fled back to her apartment. When the family assembled next morning to prayers, he conjured them to tell him who of them were out of bed last night; and the rest all denying, the lady confessed the whole. “I knew,” said he, “there was somebody watching me, at which I was troubled: but it was lucky for you that you did not follow me the third time; for, had you seen what I saw, you had never been yourself again. But you may now safely go out and in, up stairs and down stairs, at all hours of the night; for you will never more be troubled with old Buckholm.”

Whether these traditions have taken their origin from a much earlier period, and have, by later generations, been brought down and ascribed to these well-known characters; or whether these worthy men, in commiseration of the ideal sufferings of their visionary parishioners, have really condescended to these sham watchings, it is not now easy to determine. But an age singular as that was for devotion, would readily be as much so for superstition; for, even to this day, the country people who have the deepest sense of religion, are always those who believe most firmly in supernatural agency.

Though a pretext can scarcely be found in the annals of superstition sufficient to authorize the ascribing of this to the murder of the pedlar so many ages before, yet the misfortunes attending the millers of Thirlestane have become proverbial: and when any of the neighbours occasionally mention this, along with it the murder of the pedlar is always hinted at. And it is scarcely thirty years since one of the millers was tried for his life, for scoring a woman whom he supposed to be a witch. He had long suspected her as the cause of all the misfortunes attending him, and, enticing her into the kiln one Sabbath evening, he seized her, and cut the shape of the cross on her forehead. This is called scoring aboon the breath, and overthrows their power of doing any further mischief.

This alludes to an old and very common proverb, “That such a one will get Jeddart justice:” which is, first to hang a man, and then judge whether he was guilty or not.

Sir Gideon Murray, ancestor of the present Lord Elibank, was the third son of Andrew Murray of Blackbarony. In his youth he applied to the study of theology; but happening unfortunately to kill a man of the name of Aitchison, he was imprisoned in Edinburgh Castle. He now gave up all thoughts of the church, and became chamberlain to his nephew of the half blood, Sir Walter Scott of Buccleuch, which trust he managed with great prudence. He was first designed of Glenpottie, and had a charter of the lands of Elibank, alias Eliburne, in the county of Selkirk, with a salmon fishing in Tweed, 15th March, 1594–5. He now took the style of Elibank, and had charters to himself, and Margaret Pentland his wife, of the lands of Langschaw, in Roxburghshire, 6th June, 1606, and 2d July, 1618. He had several other charters under the great seal, of Redhead in the county of Peebles, Eldinghope in the county of Selkirk, and Ballincrief in the county of Haddington, &c. He received the honour of knighthood in 1605; was constituted treasurer-depute in 1611, under the Earl of Somerset, high treasurer; and appointed one of the lords of session, 2d November, 1613.

The entire direction of the revenue of Scotland was in Sir Gideon Murray's hands, and he managed it to such advantage, that he not only repaired the palaces and castles of Holyroodhouse, Edinburgh, Linlithgow, Stirling, Dunfermline, Falkland, and Dumbarton, adding to them all new edifices, but had so much money in the treasury, when King James VI. visited Scotland in 1617, that he defrayed the whole charges of his majesty and his court during his abode in that country, where the king appeared with as much splendour as in England. James had a very high sense of his services. Sir Gideon, visiting his majesty in England, and happening in the king's bed-chamber to let his glove fall, James, although stiff and old, stooped down, and gave him his glove again, saying, “My predecessor, Queen Elizabeth, thought she did a favour to any man who was speaking to her when she let her glove fall, that he might take it up and give it to her again; but, sir, you may say a king lifted up your glove.” Yet for all that, his majesty was induced to believe an accusation given by James Stewart, Lord Ochiltree, against Sir Gideon Murray, charging him with offences committed in his office of treasurer-depute against the king and his lieges. He was sent down a prisoner to Scotland, and a day appointed for his trial. This he took so much to heart, that he abstained from food for several days, and he died on the 28th June, 1621, after he had kept his house twenty days or thereby, stupified and silent, or at least speaking little or to no purpose.

In the first and second editions this hero was denominated Wat. I took the story from the vague traditions of the country, and on seeing some of the family records, I perceive that these have been generally incorrect. The story is true; but the youth's name was William. He was the eldest son of Wat Scott of Harden, and his lady, the celebrated Mary Scott, the flower of Yarrow.

This man's name was William Hogg, better known by the epithet of the Wild Boar of Fauldshope. Tradition reports him as a man of unequalled strength, courage, and ferocity. He was Harden's chief champion, and in great favour with his master, until once, by his temerity, he led him into a scrape that had well nigh cost him his life. It is never positively said what this scrape was, but there is reason to suppose it was the fray of Elibank.

The author's progenitors possessed the lands of Fauldshope, under the Scotts of Harden, for ages; my father says, for a period of 400 years: until the extravagance of John Scott occasioned the family to part with these lands. They now form part of the extensive estates of Buccleugh. Several of the wives of Fauldshope were supposed to be rank witches; and the famous witch of Fauldshope, who so terribly hectored Mr. Michael Scott, by turning him into a hare, and hunting him with his own dogs, until forced to take shelter in his own jaw-hole, was one of the Mrs. Hoggs, better known by the name of Lucky Hogg. The cruel retaliation which he made in showing his art to her, is also well known. It appears also, that some of the Hoggs had been poets before now, as there is still a part of an old song extant, relating much to them. Observe how elegantly it flows on:—

And afterwards near the end:—

The Brydens, too, have long been a numerous and respectable clan in Ettrick Forest and its vicinity.

This is another traditional mistake, but I cannot think to alter the ballad from its “rough, rude, rugged homeliness.” Sir Gideon, however, had only one daughter, whose name was Agnes; but as there is no doubt as to the lineaments of her face, and the dimensions of her mouth, she must continue to be “Muckle-mou'd Meg o' the Elibank” still.

Though Elibank is in the shire of Selkirk, as well as Oakwood, yet, originally, by Ettrick Forest was meant only the banks and environs of the two rivers Ettrick and Yarrow.

The ruins of St. Mary's Chapel are still visible, in a wild scene on the banks of the lake of that name; but the mansion in which the monk, or, as some call him, the curate, lived, was almost erased of late for the purpose of building a stone-wall round the old church and burying ground. This chapel is, in some ancient records, called The Maiden Kirk, and in others, The Kirk of St. Mary of the Lowes.

The hills of Bowerhope, on the south side of the loch, opposite to the chapel, rise to the height of two thousand feet above the sea's level, and were formerly covered with wood.

It is a vulgarly received opinion, that let the devil assume what appearance he will, were it even that of an angel of light, yet still his feet must be cloven; and that if he do not contrive some means to cover them, they will lead to a discovery of him and his intentions, which are only evil, and that continually. It is somewhat curious, that they should rank him among the clean beasts, which divide the hoof. They believe, likewise, that he and his emissaries can turn themselves into any shape they please, of all God's creatures, excepting those of a lion, a lamb, and a dove. Consequently their situation is the most perilous that can be conceived; for, when it begins to grow dark, they cannot be sure, but that almost all the beasts and birds they see are either deils or witches. Of cats, hares, and swine, they are particularly jealous; and a caterwauling noise hath often turned men from going to see their sweethearts, and even from seeking the midwife. And I knew a girl, who returned home after proceeding ten miles on a journey, from the unlucky and ominous circumstance of an ugly bird crossing the road three times before her: neither did her parents at all disapprove of what she had done.

If any of my fair readers should quarrel with the sentiments manifested in these two stanzas, they will recollect that they are the sentiments of a fiend, who, we must suppose, was their mortal enemy, and would not scruple to paint their refined sensibility in very false colours, or at least from a very wrong point of view.

The story says, that the priest was obliged to watch the picture very constantly; and that always when the parts next the fire began to soften, he stuck pins into them, and exposed another side; that, when each of these pins were stuck in, the lady uttered a piercing shriek; and that, as their number increased in the waxen image, her torment increased, and caused her to haste on with amazing speed.

The mountains of Polmoody, besides being the highest, are the most inaccessible in the south of Scotland; and great numbers from the western counties found shelter on them during the heat of the persecution. Many of these, it is supposed, were obliged to shift for their sustenance by stealing sheep; yet the country people, from a sense that necessity has no law, winked at the loss; their sheep being, in those days, of less value than their meal, of which they would otherwise have been obliged to part with a share to the sufferers. Part of an old ballad is still current in that neighbourhood, which relates their adventures, and the difficulties they laboured under for want of meat, and in getting hold of the sheep during the night. Some of the country people, indeed, ascribe these depredations to the persecutors; but it is not likely that they would put themselves to so much trouble. I remember only a few stanzas of this ballad, which are as follow:

This Guemshope is an extensive wild glen on the further side of these mountains; and, being in former times used as a common, to which many of the gentlemen and farmers of Tweeddale drove their flocks to feed during the summer months, consequently, it would be at that season a very fit place for a prey. The Donald mentioned may have been the famous Donald Cargill, a Cameronian preacher of great notoriety at the period.

There are sundry cataracts in Scotland, which bear the name of The Gray Mare's Tail: in particular one in the parish of Closeburn, in Nithsdale; and one betwixt Stranraer and Newton-Stewart; but that of Polmoody, on the border of Annandale, surpasses them all; as the water, with only one small intermission, falls from a height of 300 yards. This, with the rocks overhanging it on each side, when the water is flooded, greatly excels anything I ever saw in awful grandeur. Immediately below it, in the straitest part of that narrow pass, which leads from Annandale into Yarrow, a small strong entrenchment is visible. It is called by the country people The Giant's Trench. It is of the form of a crescent, and is defended behind by a bank. As it is not nearly so much grown up as those at Philiphaugh, it is probable that a handful of the Covenanters might fortify themselves there, during the time that their brethren were in arms. But it is even more probable, that a party of the king's troops might be posted for some time in that important pass; as it is certain that Claverhouse made two sweeping circuits of that country, and, the last time, took many prisoners in the immediate vicinity of this situation. May we not likewise suppose, that the outrage committed at Saint Mary's Kirk, might contribute to his appearance in those parts?

The Laidlaws of the Chapelhope either favoured or pitied the Covenanters, for they fed and sheltered great numbers of them, even to the impairing of their fortunes. On Dundee's first approach to these parts, Mrs. Laidlaw went out to the road, and invited him and all his men to partake of a liberal refreshment, which they thankfully accepted; and this being a principal family, he went away so thoroughly convinced of the attachment of that neighbourhood to the royal cause, that a scrutiny was not only at that time effectually prevented, but the troops returned no more thither for many years, until the license which was there enjoyed gathered such numbers that it became quite notorious. The spots where conventicles were held on these grounds, are still well known, and pointed out by some devout shepherds, with anecdotes of the preachers or some of the leading characters that frequented them. One can scarcely believe, but that Mr. Graham had visited these spots, or had been present on them, when he wrote the following lines:—

These lines, with the two following pages of the sweet poem in which they occur, seem to be literal sketches of these scenes, as well as a representation of the transactions which then took place. For years more gloomy followed; and from these “green-swards gay,” they were driven into the “deep dells, by rocks o'ercanopied.” Thus it was high up in Ryskinhope where Renwick preached his last sermon, above the lakes, the sources of the Yarrow, where there is neither plat nor plain, but linns and moors. When he prayed that day, few of the hearers' cheeks were dry. My parents were well acquainted with a woman whom he there baptized.

These men's names were Halbert Dobson and David Dun; better known by those of Hab Dob and Davie Din. The remains of their cottage are still visible, and sure never was human habitation contrived on such a spot. It is on the very brink of a precipice, which is 400 feet of perpendicular height, whilst another of half that height overhangs it above. To this they resorted in times of danger for a number of years; and the precipice is still called Dob's Linn.

There is likewise a natural cavern in the bottom of the linn farther up, where they, with other ten, hid themselves for several days, while another kept watch upon the Path-knowe; and they all assembled at the cottage during the night.

Tradition relates further of these two champions, that, while they resided at the cottage by themselves, the devil appeared to them every night, and plagued them exceedingly; striving often to terrify them, so as to make them throw themselves over the linn. But one day they contrived a hank of red yarn in the form of crosses, which it was impossible the devil could pass: and, on his appearance at night, they got in behind him, and attacked him resolutely with each a Bible in one hand, and a rowan-tree staff in the other, and after a desperate encounter, they succeeded in tumbling him headlong over the linn; but to prevent hurting himself, at the moment he was overcome, he turned himself into a batch of skins! It was not those of stolen sheep, we hope. Credulity has been at this time very prevalent among the Scots, else such a story never could have obtained the least credit; yet, it is said, these men were wont to tell it as long as they lived, concluding it always with the observation, that the devil had never more troubled them, as he found it was not for his health.

A short rhyme is still extant relating to this singular tradition; but which seems to have been composed afterwards, as the linn is there called Dob's Linn. It seems not improbable, that the bard who composed the song above quoted was likewise the author of this; for, like it, it is hard to say whether it is serious or burlesque.

After seeing this, the reader will not deny, that our champions “fairly beat the prince of hell.” See the Brownie of Bodsbeck.

The “reekit duds, and reistit phiz,” which Burns attributes to the grand enemy of mankind, is perhaps borrowed from this popular rhyme.

In some places of the Highlands of Scotland, the inhabitants are still in continual terror of an imaginary being, called the water-horse. When I was travelling over the extensive and dreary isle of Lewis, I had a lad of Stornoway with me as a guide and interpreter. On leaving the shores of Loch Rogg, in our way to Harris, we came to an inland lake, called, I think, Loch Alladale; and though our nearest road lay alongst the shores of this loch, Malcolm absolutely refused to accompany me that way for fear of the water-horse, of which he told many wonderful stories, swearing to the truth of them; and, in particular, how his father had lately been very nigh taken by him, and that he had succeeded in decoying one man to his destruction, a short time previous to that. This spectre is likewise an inhabitant of Loch Aven, at the foot of Cairngorm, and of Loch Laggan, in the wilds betwixt Lochaber and Badenoch. Somewhat of a similar nature seems to have been the water-cow, which in former times haunted St. Mary's Loch, of which some extremely fabulous stories are yet related; and though rather less terrible and malevolent than the water-horse, yet, like him, she possessed the rare slight of turning herself into whatever shape she pleased, and was likewise desirous of getting as many dragged into the lake as possible. Andrew Moore, above-mentioned, said, that when he was a boy, his parents would not suffer him to go to play near the loch for fear of her; and that he remembered of seeing her once coming swimming towards him and his comrades in the evening twilight, but they all fled, and she sunk before reaching the side. A farmer of Bowerhope once got a breed of her, which he kept for many years, until they multiplied exceedingly; and he never had any cattle throve so well, until once, on some disrespect on the farmer's part toward them, the old dam came out of the lake one pleasant March evening, and gave such a roar, that all the surrounding hills shook again; upon which her progeny, nineteen in number, followed her all quietly into the loch, and were never more seen.

After the subject of a ballad is fairly introduced, great particularity is disgusting; therefore, the lass of Craigieburn, after this line, is no more mentioned. But the story adds that she died of a broken heart, and of the heats which she got in being forced to run so fast. Another tradition, which I heard more lately, says, that she was conveyed secretly to a nunnery in Ireland, and that her father, whose name was Nicolson, afterward lived in Craigbeck.

So far hath the old ballad led me to whatever it may allude. If it was indeed the Lady Douglas, the following is a sketch of her history. She was the only daughter of Donald, the twelfth Earl of Mar, and was married, when young, to John Earl of Monteith, and shortly after to William, the first Earl of Douglas. But the fourth year afterwards, Douglas growing jealous of her and his kinsmen, William Lord of Liddisdale, waylaid the latter as he was hunting in William-hope, above Yair, and slew him treacherously; mastering him, as was supposed, by numbers; for William of Liddisdale was so brave and so gallant a man, that he was styled “The Flower of Chivalry.” Earl Douglas pretended to his followers, that this assassination was in revenge for the deaths of Ramsey of Dalhousie, and Sir David Berkeley, both of whom the knight of Liddisdale had cruelly slain; but it appears, both from the ballad, and the hints thrown out by Godscroft, that it was through jealousy of Liddisdale and his lady.

This is so far true. The Earl of Douglas was her second husband, and shortly after this business with Liddisdale, he divorced her, although she had then born him a son and a daughter. Shortly after this divorce, she was again, by a third marriage, united to Thomas Douglas, third Earl of Angus, and on his death, by a fourth marriage, to Sir John Swinton; a success in noble conquests that few ladies of our day can boast.

If there be any truth at all in the story of her being wounded by her brother, it must have been by Thomas, the thirteenth Earl of Mar, as he was her only brother. He died childless, and this lady's son James, by the Earl of Douglas, succeeded to his estate and titles. This was the brave James Earl of Douglas and Mar, of whom so much legendary lore prevails, both in song and traditionary tale. He was knighted by his father, along with two of the king's sons, on a field of battle, which was fought on the lands of Abbotsford in the year 1378, and in which old Douglas gained a signal and great success over the English, headed by Sir Thomas Musgrave; and after a life of warlike adventures, was slain at the battle of Otterburn —alias, “The Huntyng of the Chevyote.”

The name of this ancient fane is Dumgree. It is beautifully situated on the west side of the Kinnel, one of the rivers which joins the Annan from the west; and is now in ruins. It is still frequented by a few peaceable spirits, at certain seasons. As an instance: Not many years ago, a neighbouring farmer, riding home at night upon a mare, who, besides knowing the road well enough, had her foal closed in at home, thought himself hard at his own house, but was surprised to find that his mare was stopped at the door of the old kirk of Dumgree. He mounted again, and essayed it a second and a third time; but always with the same result, and farther from home than when he first set out. He was now sensible that the beast was led by some invisible hand, so alighting, he went into the chapel and said his prayers; after which he mounted, and rode as straight home as if it had been noon. If the farmer had told his story to my uncle Toby, he would certainly have whistled, Lillabullero.

Auchincastle is situated on the west side of the Evan, another of the tributary streams of the Annan. It seems to have been a place of great strength and antiquity; is surrounded by a moat and a fosse; and is perhaps surpassed by none in Scotland for magnitude.

If he lived and died like other men, it appears that he was not at all buried like other men. When on his deathbed, he charged his sons, as they valued their peace and prosperity, to sing no requiem nor say any burial-service over his body; but to put a strong withie to each end of his coffin, by which they were to carry him away to Dumgree, and see that all the attendants were well mounted. On the top of a certain eminence they were to set down the corpse and rest a few minutes, and if nothing interfered, they might proceed. If they fulfilled these, he promised them the greatest happiness and prosperity for four generations; but if they neglected them in one point, the utmost misery and wretchedness. The lads performed everything according to their father's directions; and they had scarcely well set down the corpse on the place he mentioned when they were alarmed by the most horrible bellowing of bulls; and instantly two dreadful brindered ones appeared, roaring and snuffing, and tossing up the earth with their horns and hoofs; on which the whole company turned and fled. When the bulls reached the coffin, they put each of them one of their horns in their respective withies and ran off with the corpse, stretching their course straight to the westward. The relatives, and such as were well mounted, pursued them, and kept nigh them for several miles; but when they came to the small water of Brann, in Nithsdale, the bulls went straight through the air, from the one hill-head to the other, without descending to the bottom of the glen. This unexpected manœuvre threw the pursuers quite behind, though they needed not to have expected anything else, having before observed that their feet left no traces on the ground, though ever so soft. However, by dint of whip and spur, they again got sight of them; but when they came to Loch Ettrick, on the heights of Closeburn, they had all lost sight of them but two, who were far behind: but the bulls there meeting with another company, plunged into the lake with the corpse, and were never more seen at that time. Ever since his spirit has haunted that loch, and continues to do so to this day.

He was, when alive, very fond of the game of curling on the ice, at which no mortal man could beat him; nor has his passion for it ceased with death; for he and his hellish confederates continue to amuse themselves with this game during the long winter nights, to the great terror and annoyance of the neighbourhood, not much regarding whether the loch be frozen or not. I have heard sundry of the neighbouring inhabitants declare, with the most serious countenances, that they have heard them talking, and the sound of the stones running along the ice and hitting each other, as distinctly as ever they did when present at a real and substantial curling. Some have heard him laughing, others lamenting; and others have seen the two bulls plashing and swimming about in the loch at the close of the evening. In short, every one allows it to be a dangerous place, and a place where very many have been affrighted: though there is little doubt that, making allowances for the magnifying qualities of fear, all the above phenomena might be accounted for in a natural way. Wilkin's descendants are still known; and the poorer sort of them have often their great predecessor mentioned to them as a ground of reproach, whom they themselves allow to have been an awesome body.

Sir Robert Scott, knight of Thirlestane, was first married to a lady of high birth and qualifications, whom he most tenderly loved; but she, soon dying, left him an only son. He was afterwards married to a lady of a different temper, by whom he had several children; whose jealousy of the heir made Sir Robert dote still more on this darling son. She, knowing that the right of inheritance belonged to him, and that, of course, a very small share would fall to her sons, seeing he loved the heir so tenderly, grew every year more uneasy. But the building, and other preparations which were going on at Gamescleuch, on the other side of the Ettrick, for his accommodation on reaching his majority, when he was also to be married to a fair kinswoman, drove her past all patience, and made her resolve on his destruction. The masonry of his new castle of Gamescleuch was finished on his birth-day, when he reached his twentieth year; but it never went farther. This being always a feast-day at Thirlestane, the lady prepared, on that day, to put her hellish plot in execution; for which purpose she had previously secured to her interest John Lally, the family piper. This man, tradition says, procured her three adders, of which they chose the parts replete with the most deadly poison; these they ground to a fine powder, and mixed with a bottle of wine. On the forenoon before the festival commenced, he went over to Gamescleuch to regale his workmen, who had exerted themselves to get their work finished on that day, and Lally the piper went with him as a server. When his young lord called for wine to drink a health to the masons, John gave him a cup of the poisoned bottle, which he drank off. Lally went out of the castle, as if about to return home; but that was the last sight of him. He could never be found nor heard of, though the most diligent and extended search was made for him. The heir swelled and burst almost instantaneously. A large company of the then potent name of Scott, with others, were now assembled at Thirlestane to grace the festival; but what a woeful meeting it turned out to be! They with one voice pronounced him poisoned; but where to attach the blame remained a mystery, as he was so universally loved and esteemed. The first thing the knight caused to be done, was blowing the blast on the trumpet or great bugle, which was the warning for all the family instantly to assemble; which they did in the court of the castle. He then put the following question: “Now, are we all here?” A voice answered from the crowd, “We are all here but Lally the piper.” Simple and natural as this answer may seem, it served as an electrical shock to old Sir Robert. It is supposed that, knowing the confidence which his lady placed in this menial, the whole scene of cruelty opened to his eyes at once; and the trying conviction that his peace was destroyed by her most dear to him, struck so forcibly upon his feelings, that it totally deprived him of reason. He stood a long time speechless, and then fell to repeating the answer he had received, like one half awakened out of a sleep; nor was he ever heard, for many a day, to speak another word than these, “We're all here but Lally the piper:” and when any one accosted him, whatever was the subject, that was sure to be the answer he received.

The method which he took to revenge his son's death was singular and unwarrantable. He said that the estate of right belonged to his son, and since he could not bestow it upon him living, he would spend it all upon him now he was dead; and that neither the lady, nor her children, should ever enjoy a farthing of that which she had played so foully for. The body was accordingly embalmed, and lay in great splendour at Thirlestane for a year and a day; during all which time Sir Robert kept open house, welcoming and feasting all who chose to come, and actually spent or mortgaged his whole estate, saving a very small patrimony in Eskdale-muir, which belonged to his wife. Some say, that while all the country, who chose to come, were thus feasting at Thirlestane, she remained shut up in a vault of the castle, and lived on bread and water.

During the three last days of this wonderful feast, the crowds which gathered were immense; it seemed as if the whole country were assembled at Thirlestane. The butts of wine were carried to the open fields, the ends knocked out of them with hatchets, stones, or whatever came readiest to hand, and the liquor carried about, “in stoups and in caups.” On these days the burn of Thirlestane ran constantly red with wine, and even communicated its tincture to the river Ettrick. The family vault, where his corpse was interred in a leaden chest, is under the same roof with the present parish church of Ettrick, and distant from Thirlestane about a Scots mile. To give some idea of the magnitude of the burial, the old people tell us, that though the whole way was crowded with attendants, yet when the leaders of the procession reached the church, the rearmost were not nearly got from Thirlestane.

Sir Robert shortly after dying, left his family in a state little short of downright beggary, which, they say, the lady herself came to before she died. As Sir Robert's first lady was of the family of Buccleuch, some suspected him of having a share in forwarding the knight's desperate procedure. Certain it is, however, he did not, in this instance, depart from the old family maxim, “Keep what you have, and catch what you can,” but made a noble hand of the mania of grief, which so overpowered the faculties of the old baron; for when accounts came to be cleared up, a large proportion of the lands turned out to be Buccleuch's. And it is added, on what authority I know not, that when the extravagance of Sir William Scott obliged the Harden family to part with the Thirlestane property, which fell into their hands, the purchasers were bound by the bargain to refund these lands, should the Scotts of Thirlestane ever make good their right to them, either by law or redemption.

The nearest lineal descendent from this second marriage is one Robert Scott, a poor man who lives at the Binks on Teviot, whom the generous Buccleuch has taken notice of and provided for. He is commonly distinguished by the appellation of Rob the Laird, from the conviction of what he would have been had he got fair play. With this man, who is very intelligent, I could never find an opportunity of conversing, though I sought it diligently. It is said, he can inform as to many particulars relating to this sad catastrophe; and that, whenever he has occasion to mention a certain great predecessor of his (the Lady of Thirlestane), he distinguishes her by a very uncouth epithet. It must be remarked, that I had access to no records for the purpose of ascertaining the facts above stated, though I believe they are, for the most part, pretty correct. Perhaps much might be learned by applying to the noble representative of the family, the Honourable Lord Napier, who is still possessed of the beautiful mountains round Thirlestane, and who has it at present in contemplation to rebuild and beautify it; which may God grant him health and prosperity to accomplish. It is to this story that the following fragment alludes.

It is not a little singular, that in the Napier genealogy, published in Wood's Peerage, from a manuscript contained in Lord Napier's charter-chest, there is no mention made of this catastrophe; nor is it possible, from that genealogy, to ascertain who the heir that was thus taken off has been. Yet there is so little doubt of the traditionary story having been true, that it was the foundation of a lawsuit, which lasted for generations, regarding a part of the lands that belonged either to Sir Robert's second lady, or were hers in reversion. The Sir Robert Scott of Thirlestane, who was warden-depute of the West Border in 1567, and who married Margaret, daughter of Sir Walter Scott, had in fact three sons, and in this chronicle no second lady is mentioned. But on the other hand, his eldest son and heir, Robert, is merely mentioned; and it is evident that he had died young, and without issue. From this it is highly probable, that he was the heir who was supposed to have been poisoned; for it further appears, that some remnants of the estate fell to his brother William, and to his children; but from that time forth they are no more styled Scotts of Thirlestane, until 1666, when one Francis Scott was created a baronet by patent, and designed of Thirlestane in the county of Selkirk. He was the eldest son of Patrick Scott of Tanlawhill, commonly called Pate the Laird, and great-grandson to the last Sir Robert Scott by Walter his third son. There is therefore apparently some confusion in the manuscript about this period, which is manifestly very short and imperfect; a circumstance which would naturally enough occur in the embarrassed state of the family. Pate the Laird recovered a mere fragment of the ample estate of Thirlestane, by purchasing the wadsets of a few of the best of the farms around the castle. When Sir Robert was appointed keeper of the West Marches under his father-in-law, he could have mounted his horse at Eltrive Lake, and ridden to the Crurie, near Langholm, on his own lands, a distance of 30 miles. The Honourable Captain William Napier has built a splendid mansion at the old family seat, and beautified the country by many improvements. Why does he not resume the old paternal name?

This ballad relates to an engagement which took place betwixt the Scots and English, in Cumberland, A.D. 1524; for a particular account of which, see the historians of that period.

The page's account of this action seems not to be wide of the truth: “On the 17th of Julie, the Lord Maxwell, and Sir Alexander Jardein, with diverse other Scottishmen, in great numbers entered England by the west marches, and Caerleill, with displayed banners, and began to harrie the country, and burn diverse places. The Englishmen assembled on every side, so that they were far more in number than the Scottishmen, and thereupon set feircelie upon their enemies; insomuch that, for the space of an hour, there was a sore fight continued betwixt them. But the Lord Maxwell, like a true politike captain, as of all that knew him he was no less reputed, ceased not to encourage his people; and after that, by the taking of Sir Alexander Jardein and others, they had beene put backe, he brought them in arraie again, and beginning a new skirmish, recovered in manner all the prisoners; took and slew diverse Englishmen; so that he returned with victorie, and led above 300 prisoners with him into Scotland.” —Holinshed.