"I know of no such plan, reverend sir," answered the page, "and
therefore can aid none such.--My duty towards the Queen has been
simply that of an attendant; it is a task, of which, at times, I would
willingly have been freed; nevertheless--"

"It is to prepare thee for the enjoyment of something more of
liberty," said the preacher, "that I have endeavoured to impress
upon you the deep responsibility under which your office must be
discharged. George Douglas hath told the Lady Lochleven that you are
weary of this service, and my intercession hath partly determined her
good ladyship, that, as your discharge cannot be granted, you shall,
instead, be employed in certain commissions on the mainland, which
have hitherto been discharged by other persons of confidence.
Wherefore, come with me to the lady, for even to-day such duty will
be imposed on you."

"I trust you will hold me excused, reverend sir," said the page, who
felt that an increase of confidence on the part of the Lady of the
Castle and her family would render his situation in a moral view
doubly embarrassing, "one cannot serve two masters--and I much fear
that my mistress will not hold me excused for taking employment under
another."

"Fear not that," said the preacher; "her consent shall be asked and
obtained. I fear she will yield it but too easily, as hoping to avail
herself of your agency to maintain correspondence with her friends, as
those falsely call themselves, who would make her name the watchword
for civil war."

"And thus," said the page, "I shall be exposed to suspicion on all
sides; for my mistress will consider me as a spy placed on her by her
enemies, seeing me so far trusted by them; and the Lady Lochleven will
never cease to suspect the possibility of my betraying her, because
circumstances put it into my power to do so--I would rather remain as
I am."

There followed a pause of one or two minutes, during which Henderson
looked steadily in Roland's countenance, as if desirous to ascertain
whether there was not more in the answer than the precise words seemed
to imply. He failed in this point, however; for Roland, bred a page
from childhood, knew how to assume a sullen pettish cast of
countenance, well enough calculated to hide all internal emotions.

"I understand thee not, Roland," said the preacher, "or rather thou
thinkest on this matter more deeply than I apprehended to be in thy
nature. Methought, the delight of going on shore with thy bow, or thy
gun, or thy angling-rod, would have borne away all other feelings."

"And so it would," replied Roland, who perceived the danger of
suffering Henderson's half-raised suspicions to become fully
awake,--"I would have thought of nothing but the gun and the oar, and
the wild water-fowl that tempt me by sailing among the sedges yonder
so far out of flight-shot, had you not spoken of my going on shore as
what was to occasion burning of town and tower, the downfall of the
evangele, and the upsetting of the mass."

"Follow me, then," said Henderson, "and we will seek the Lady
Lochleven."

They found her at breakfast with her grandson George Douglas.--"Peace
be with your ladyship!" said the preacher, bowing to his patroness;
"Roland Graeme awaits your order."

"Young man," said the lady, "our chaplain hath warranted for thy
fidelity, and we are determined to give you certain errands to do for
us in our town of Kinross."

"Not by my advice," said Douglas, coldly.

"I said not that it was," answered the lady, something sharply. "The
mother of thy father may, I should think, be old enough to judge for
herself in a matter so simple.--Thou wilt take the skiff, Roland, and
two of my people, whom Dryfesdale or Randal will order out, and fetch
off certain stuff of plate and hangings, which should last night be
lodged at Kinross by the wains from Edinburgh."

"And give this packet," said George Douglas, "to a servant of ours,
whom you will find in waiting there.--It is the report to my father,"
he added, looking towards his grandmother, who acquiesced by bending
her head.

"I have already mentioned to Master Henderson," said Roland Graeme,
"that as my duty requires my attendance on the Queen, her Grace's
permission for my journey ought to be obtained before I can undertake
your commission."

"Look to it, my son," said the old lady, "the scruple of the youth is
honourable."

"Craving your pardon, madam, I have no wish to force myself on her
presence thus early," said. Douglas, in an indifferent tone; "it might
displease her, and were no way agreeable to me."

"And I," said the Lady Lochleven, "although her temper hath been more
gentle of late, have no will to undergo, without necessity, the
rancour of her wit."

"Under your permission, madam," said the chaplain, "I will myself
render your request to the Queen. During my long residence in this
house she hath not deigned to see me in private, or to hear my
doctrine; yet so may Heaven prosper my labours, as love for her soul,
and desire to bring her into the right path, was my chief desire for
coming hither."

"Take care, Master Henderson," said Douglas, in a tone which seemed
almost sarcastic, "lest you rush hastily on an adventure to which you
have no vocation--you are learned, and know the adage, _Ne
accesseris in consilium nisi vocatus_.--Who hath required this at
your hand?"

"The Master to whose service I am called," answered the preacher,
looking upward,--"He who hath commanded me to be earnest in season and
out of season."

"Your acquaintance hath not been much, I think, with courts or
princes," continued the young Esquire.

"No, sir," replied Henderson, "but like my Master Knox, I see nothing
frightful in the fair face of a pretty lady."

"My son," said the Lady of Lochleven, "quench not the good man's zeal
--let him do the errand to this unhappy Princess."

"With more willingness than I would do it myself," said George
Douglas.  Yet something in his manner appeared to contradict his
words.

The minister went accordingly, followed by Roland Graeme, and,
demanding an audience of the imprisoned Princess, was admitted. He
found her with her ladies engaged in the daily task of embroidery. The
Queen received him with that courtesy, which, in ordinary cases, she
used towards all who approached her, and the clergyman, in opening his
commission, was obviously somewhat more embarrassed than he had
expected to be.--"The good Lady of Lochleven--may it please your
Grace--"

He made a short pause, during which Mary said, with a smile, "My Grace
would, in truth, be well pleased, were the Lady Lochleven our
_good_ lady--But go on--what is the will of the good Lady of
Lochleven?"

"She desires, madam," said the chaplain, "that your Grace will permit
this young gentleman, your page, Roland Graeme, to pass to Kinross, to
look after some household stuff and hangings, sent hither for the
better furnishing your Grace's apartments."

"The Lady of Lochleven," said the Queen, "uses needless ceremony, in
requesting our permission for that which stands within her own
pleasure.  We well know that this young gentleman's attendance on us
had not been so long permitted, were he not thought to be more at the
command of that good lady than at ours.--But we cheerfully yield
consent that he shall go on her errand--with our will we would doom no
living creature to the captivity which we ourselves must suffer."

"Ay, madam," answered the preacher, "and it is doubtless natural for
humanity to quarrel with its prison-house. Yet there have been those,
who have found, that time spent in the house of temporal captivity may
be so employed as to redeem us from spiritual slavery."

"I apprehend your meaning, sir," replied the Queen, "but I have heard
your apostle--I have heard Master John Knox; and were I to be
perverted, I would willingly resign to the ablest and most powerful of
heresiarchs, the poor honour he might acquire by overcoming my faith
and my hope."

"Madam," said the preacher, "it is not to the talents or skill of the
husbandman that God gives the increase--the words which were offered
in vain by him whom you justly call our apostle, during the bustle and
gaiety of a court, may yet find better acceptance during the leisure
for reflection which this place affords. God knows, lady, that I speak
in singleness of heart, as one who would as soon compare himself to
the immortal angels, as to the holy man whom you have named. Yet would
you but condescend to apply to their noblest use, those talents and
that learning which all allow you to be possessed of--would you afford
us but the slightest hope that you would hear and regard what can be
urged against the blinded superstition and idolatry in which you are
brought up, sure am I, that the most powerfully-gifted of my brethren,
that even John Knox himself, would hasten hither, and account the
rescue of your single soul from the nets of Romish error--"

"I am obliged to you and to them for their charity," said Mary; "but
as I have at present but one presence-chamber, I would reluctantly see
it converted into a Huguenot synod."

"At least, madam, be not thus obstinately blinded in your errors! Hear
one who has hungered and thirsted, watched and prayed, to undertake
the good work of your conversion, and who would be content to die the
instant that a work so advantageous for yourself and so beneficial to
Scotland were accomplished--Yes, lady, could I but shake the remaining
pillar of the heathen temple in this land--and that permit me to term
your faith in the delusions of Rome--I could be content to die
overwhelmed in the ruins!"

"I will not insult your zeal, sir," replied Mary, "by saying you are
more likely to make sport for the Philistines than to overwhelm
them--your charity claims my thanks, for it is warmly expressed and
may be truly purposed--But believe as well of me as I am willing to
do of you, and think that I may be as anxious to recall you to the
ancient and only road, as you are to teach me your new by-ways to
paradise."

"Then, madam, if such be your generous purpose," said Henderson,
eagerly, "--what hinders that we should dedicate some part of that
time, unhappily now too much at your Grace's disposal, to discuss a
question so weighty? You, by report of all men, are both learned and
witty; and I, though without such advantages, am strong in my cause as
in a tower of defence. Why should we not spend some space in
endeavouring to discover which of us hath the wrong side in this
important matter?"

"Nay," said Queen Mary, "I never alleged my force was strong enough to
accept of a combat _en champ clos_, with a scholar and a polemic.
Besides, the match is not equal. You, sir, might retire when you felt
the battle go against you, while I am tied to the stake, and have no
permission to say the debate wearies me.--I would be alone."

She curtsied low to him as she uttered these words; and Henderson,
whose zeal was indeed ardent, but did not extend to the neglect of
delicacy, bowed in return, and prepared to withdraw.

"I would," he said, "that my earnest wish, my most zealous prayer,
could procure to your Grace any blessing or comfort, but especially
that in which alone blessing or comfort is, as easily as the slightest
intimation of your wish will remove me from your presence."

He was in the act of departing, when Mary said to him with much
courtesy, "Do me no injury in your thoughts, good sir; it may be, that
if my time here be protracted longer--as surely I hope it will not,
trusting that either my rebel subjects will repent of their
disloyalty, or that my faithful lieges will obtain the upper hand--but
if my time be here protracted, it may be I shall have no displeasure
in hearing one who seems so reasonable and compassionate as yourself,
and I may hazard your contempt by endeavouring to recollect and repeat
the reasons which schoolmen and councils give for the faith that is in
me,--although I fear that, God help me! my Latin has deserted me with
my other possessions. This must, however, be for another day.
Meanwhile, sir, let the Lady of Lochleven employ my page as she
lists--I will not afford suspicion by speaking a word to him before he
goes.--Roland Graeme, my friend, lose not an opportunity of amusing
thyself--dance, sing, run, and leap--all may be done merrily on the
mainland; but he must have more than quicksilver in his veins who
would frolic here."

"Alas! madam," said the preacher, "to what is it you exhort the youth,
while time passes, and eternity summons? Can our salvation be insured
by idle mirth, or our good work wrought out without fear and
trembling?"

"I cannot fear or tremble," replied the Queen; "to Mary Stewart such
emotions are unknown. But if weeping and sorrow on my part will atone
for the boy's enjoying an hour of boyish pleasure, be assured the
penance shall be duly paid."

"Nay, but, gracious lady," said the preacher, "in this you greatly
err;--our tears and our sorrows are all too little for our own faults
and follies, nor can we transfer them, as your church falsely teaches,
to the benefit of others."

"May I pray you, sir," answered the Queen, "with as little offence as
such a prayer may import, to transfer yourself elsewhere? We are sick
at heart, and may not now be disposed with farther controversy--and
thou, Roland, take this little purse;" (then, turning to the divine,
she said, showing its contents,) "Look, reverend sir,--it contains
only these two or three gold testoons, a coin which, though bearing my
own poor features, I have ever found more active against me than on my
side, just as my subjects take arms against me, with my own name for
their summons and signal.--Take this purse, that thou mayest want no
means of amusement. Fail not--fail not to bring met back news from
Kinross; only let it be such as, without suspicion or offence, may be
told in the presence of this reverend gentleman, or of the good Lady
Lochleven herself."

The last hint was too irresistible to be withstood; and Henderson
withdrew, half mortified, half pleased, with his reception; for Mary,
from long habit, and the address which was natural to her, had
learned, in an extraordinary degree, the art of evading discourse
which was disagreeable to her feelings or prejudices, without
affronting those by whom it was proffered.

Roland Graeme retired with the chaplain, at a signal from his lady;
but it did not escape him, that as he left the room, stepping
backwards, and making the deep obeisance due to royalty, Catherine
Seyton held up her slender forefinger, with a gesture which he alone
could witness, and which seemed to say, "Remember what has passed
betwixt us."

The young page had now his last charge from the Lady of Lochleven.
"There are revels," she said, "this day at the village--my son's
authority is, as yet, unable to prevent these continued workings of
the ancient leaven of folly which the Romish priests have kneaded into
the very souls of the Scottish peasantry. I do not command thee to
abstain from them--that would be only to lay a snare for thy folly, or
to teach thee falsehood; but enjoy these vanities with moderation, and
mark them as something thou must soon learn to renounce and contemn.
Our chamberlain at Kinross, Luke Lundin,--Doctor, as he foolishly
calleth himself,--will acquaint thee what is to be done in the matter
about which thou goest. Remember thou art trusted--show thyself,
therefore, worthy of trust."

When we recollect that Roland Graeme was not yet nineteen, and that he
had spent his whole life in the solitary Castle of Avenel, excepting
the few hours he had passed in Edinburgh, and his late residence at
Lochleven, (the latter period having very little served to enlarge his
acquaintance with the gay world.) we cannot wonder that his heart
beat, high with hope and curiosity, at the prospect of partaking the
sport even of a country wake. He hastened to his little cabin, and
turned over the wardrobe with which (in every respect becoming his
station) he had been supplied from Edinburgh, probably by order of the
Earl of Murray. By the Queen's command he had hitherto waited upon her
in mourning, or at least in sad-coloured raiment. Her condition, she
said, admitted of nothing more gay. But now he selected the gayest
dress his wardrobe afforded; composed of scarlet slashed with black
satin, the royal colours of Scotland--combed his long curled hair--
disposed his chain and medal round a beaver hat of the newest block;
and with the gay falchion which had reached him in so mysterious a
manner, hung by his side in an embroidered belt, his apparel, added to
his natural frank mien and handsome figure, formed a most commendable
and pleasing specimen of the young gallant of the period. He sought to
make his parting reverence to the Queen and her ladies, but old
Dryfesdale hurried him to the boat.

"We will have no private audiences," he said, "my master; since you
are to be trusted with somewhat, we will try at least to save thee
from the temptation of opportunity. God help thee, child," he added,
with a glance of contempt at his gay clothes, "an the bear-ward be
yonder from Saint Andrews, have a care thou go not near him."

"And wherefore, I pray you?" said Roland.

"Lest he take thee for one of his runaway jackanapes," answered the
steward, smiling sourly.

"I wear not my clothes at thy cost," said Roland indignantly.

"Nor at thine own either, my son" replied the steward, "else would thy
garb more nearly resemble thy merit and thy station."

Roland Graeme suppressed with difficulty the repartee which arose to
his lips, and, wrapping his scarlet mantle around him, threw himself
into the boat, which two rowers, themselves urged by curiosity to see
the revels, pulled stoutly towards the west end of the lake. As they
put off, Roland thought he could discover the face of Catherine
Seyton, though carefully withdrawn from observation, peeping from a
loophole to view his departure. He pulled off his hat, and held it up
as a token that he saw and wished her adieu. A white kerchief waved
for a second across the window, and for the rest of the little voyage,
the thoughts of Catherine Seyton disputed ground in his breast with
the expectations excited by the approaching revel. As they drew nearer
and nearer the shore, the sounds of mirth and music, the laugh, the
halloo, and the shout, came thicker upon the ear, and in a trice the
boat was moored, and Roland Graeme hastened in quest of the
chamberlain, that, being informed what time he had at his own
disposal, he might lay it out to the best advantage.




Chapter the Twenty-Sixth.


  Room for the master of the ring, ye swains,
  Divide your crowded ranks--before him march
  The rural minstrelsy, the rattling drum,
  The clamorous war-pipe, and far-echoing horn.
               _Rural Sports_.--SOMERVILLE.

No long space intervened ere Roland Graeme was able to discover among
the crowd of revellers, who gambolled upon the open space which
extends betwixt the village and the lake, a person of so great
importance as Dr. Luke Lundin, upon whom devolved officially the
charge of representing the lord of the land, and who was attended for
support of his authority by a piper, a drummer, and four sturdy clowns
armed with rusty halberds, garnished with party-coloured ribbons;
myrmidons who, early as the day was, had already broken more than one
head in the awful names of the Laird of Lochleven and his chamberlain.

[Footnote: At Scottish fairs, the bailie, or magistrate, deputed by
the lord in whose name the meeting is held, attends the fair with his
guard, decides trifling disputes, and punishes on the spot any petty
delinquencies. His attendants are usually armed with halberds, and
sometimes, at least, escorted by music. Thus, in the "Life and Death
of Habbie Simpson," we are told of that famous minstrel,--

   "At fairs he play'd before the spear-men,
   And gaily graithed in their gear-men;--
   Steel bonnets, jacks, and swords shone clear then,
        Like ony bead;
   Now wha shall play before sic weir-men,
        Since Habbie's dead! ]

As soon as this dignitary was informed that the castle skiff had
arrived, with a gallant, dressed like a lord's son at the least, who
desired presently to speak to him, he adjusted his ruff and his black
coat, turned round his girdle till the garnished hilt of his long
rapier became visible, and walked with due solemnity towards the
beach. Solemn indeed he was entitled to be, even on less important
occasions, for he had been bred to the venerable study of medicine, as
those acquainted with the science very soon discovered from the
aphorisms which ornamented his discourse. His success had not been
equal to his pretensions; but as he was a native of the neighbouring
kingdom of Fife, and bore distant relation to, or dependence upon, the
ancient family of Lundin of that Ilk, who were bound in close
friendship with the house of Lochleven, he had, through their
interest, got planted comfortably enough in his present station upon
the banks of that beautiful lake. The profits of his chamberlainship
being moderate, especially in those unsettled times, he had eked it
out a little with some practice in his original profession; and it was
said that the inhabitants of the village and barony of Kinross were
not more effectually thirled (which may be translated enthralled) to
the baron's mill, than they were to the medical monopoly of the
chamberlain. Wo betide the family of the rich boor, who presumed to
depart this life without a passport from Dr. Luke Lundin! for if his
representatives had aught to settle with the baron, as it seldom
happened otherwise, they were sure to find a cold friend in the
chamberlain. He was considerate enough, however, gratuitously to help
the poor out of their ailments, and sometimes out of all their other
distresses at the same time.

Formal, in a double proportion, both as a physician and as a person in
office, and proud of the scraps of learning which rendered his
language almost universally unintelligible, Dr. Luke Lundin approached
the beach, and hailed the page as he advanced towards him.--"The
freshness of the morning upon you, fair sir--You are sent, I warrant
me, to see if we observe here the regimen which her good ladyship hath
prescribed, for eschewing all superstitious observances and idle
anilities in these our revels. I am aware that her good ladyship would
willingly have altogether abolished and abrogated them--But as I had
the honour to quote to her from the works of the learned Hercules of
Saxony, _omnis curatio est vel canonica vel coacta_,--that is,
fair sir, (for silk and velvet have seldom their Latin _ad
unguem_,) every cure must be wrought either by art and induction of
rule, or by constraint; and the wise physician chooseth the former.
Which argument her ladyship being pleased to allow well of, I have
made it my business so to blend instruction and caution with
delight--_fiat mixtio_, as we say--that I can answer that the
vulgar mind will be defecated and purged of anile and Popish fooleries
by the medicament adhibited, so that the _primae vice_ being
cleansed, Master Henderson, or any other able pastor, may at will
throw in tonics, and effectuate a perfect moral cure, _tuto, cito,
jucunde_."

"I have no charge, Dr. Lundin," replied the page--

"Call me not doctor," said the chamberlain, "since I have laid aside
my furred gown and bonnet, and retired me into this temporality of
chamberlainship."

"Oh, sir," said the page, who was no stranger by report to the
character of this original, "the cowl makes not the monk, neither the
cord the friar--we have all heard of the cures wrought by Dr.
Lundin."

"Toys, young sir--trifles," answered the leech with grave disclamation
of superior skill; "the hit-or-miss practice of a poor retired
gentleman, in a short cloak and doublet--Marry, Heaven sent its
blessing--and this I must say, better fashioned mediciners have
brought fewer patients through--_lunga roba corta scienzia_,
saith the Italian--ha, fair sir, you have the language?"

Roland Graeme did not think it necessary to expound to this learned
Theban whether he understood him or no; but, leaving that matter
uncertain, he told him he came in quest of certain packages which
should have arrived at Kinross, and been placed under the
chamberlain's charge the evening before.

"Body o' me!" said Doctor Lundin, "I fear our common carrier, John
Auchtermuchty, hath met with some mischance, that he came not up last
night with his wains--bad land this to journey in, my master; and the
fool will travel by night too, although, (besides all maladies from
your _tussis_ to your _pestis_, which walk abroad in the
night-air,) he may well fall in with half a dozen swash-bucklers, who
will ease him at once of his baggage and his earthly complaints. I
must send forth to inquire after him, since he hath stuff of the
honourable household on hand--and, by our Lady, he hath stuff of mine
too--certain drugs sent me from the city for composition of my
alexipharmics--this gear must be looked to.--Hodge," said he,
addressing one of his redoubted body-guard, "do thou and Toby Telford
take the mickle brown aver and the black cut-tailed mare, and make out
towards the Kerry-craigs, and see what tidings you can have of
Auchtermuchty and his wains--I trust it is only the medicine of the
pottle-pot, (being the only _medicamentum_ which the beast
useth,) which hath caused him to tarry on the road. Take the ribbons
from your halberds, ye knaves, and get on your jacks, plate-sleeves,
and knapskulls, that your presence may work some terror if you meet
with opposers." He then added, turning to Roland Graeme, "I warrant
me, we shall have news of the wains in brief season. Meantime it will
please you to look upon the sports; but first to enter my poor lodging
and take your morning's cup. For what saith the school of Salerno?

  _Poculum, mane haustum,
  Restaurat naturam exhaustam."_

"Your learning is too profound for me," replied the page; "and so
would your draught be likewise, I fear."

"Not a whit, fair sir--a cordial cup of sack, impregnated with
wormwood, is the best anti-pestilential draught; and, to speak truth,
the pestilential miasmata are now very rife in the atmosphere. We live
in a happy time, young man," continued he, in a tone of grave irony,
"and have many blessings unknown to our fathers--Here are two
sovereigns in the land, a regnant and a claimant--that is enough of
one good thing--but if any one wants more, he may find a king in every
peel-house in the country; so if we lack government, it is not for
want of governors. Then have we a civil war to phlebotomize us every
year, and to prevent our population from starving for want of
food--and for the same purpose we have the Plague proposing us a
visit, the best of all recipes for thinning a land, and converting
younger brothers into elder ones. Well, each man in his vocation. You
young fellows of the sword desire to wrestle, fence, or so forth, with
some expert adversary; and for my part, I love to match myself for
life or death against that same Plague."

As they proceeded up the street of the little village towards the
Doctor's lodgings, his attention was successively occupied by the
various personages whom he met, and pointed out to the notice of his
companion.

"Do you see that fellow with the red bonnet, the blue jerkin, and the
great rough baton in his hand?--I believe that clown hath the strength
of a tower--he has lived fifty years in the world, and never
encouraged the liberal sciences by buying one penny-worth of
medicaments.--But see you that man with the _facies
hippocratica_?" said he, pointing out a thin peasant, with swelled
legs, and a most cadaverous countenance; "that I call one of the
worthiest men in the barony--he breakfasts, luncheons, dines, and sups
by my advice, and not without my medicine; and, for his own single
part, will go farther to clear out a moderate stock of pharmaceutics,
than half the country besides.--How do you, my honest friend?" said he
to the party in question, with a tone of condolence.

"Very weakly, sir, since I took the electuary," answered the patient;
"it neighboured ill with the two spoonfuls of pease-porridge and the
kirnmilk."

"Pease-porridge and kirnmilk! Have you been under medicine these ten
years, and keep your diet so ill?--the next morning take the electuary
by itself, and touch nothing for six hours."--The poor object bowed,
and limped off.

The next whom the Doctor deigned to take notice of, was a lame fellow,
by whom the honour was altogether undeserved, for at sight of the
mediciner, he began to shuffle away in the crowd as fast as his
infirmities would permit.

"There is an ungrateful hound for you," said Doctor Lundin; "I cured
him of the gout in his feet, and now he talks of the chargeableness of
medicine, and makes the first use of his restored legs to fly from his
physician. His _podagra_ hath become a _chiragra_, as honest
Martial hath it--the gout has got into his fingers, and he cannot
draw his purse. Old saying and true,

  Praemia cum poscit medicus, Sathan est.

We are angels when we come to cure--devils when we ask payment--but I
will administer a purgation to his purse I warrant him. There is his
brother too, a sordid chuff.--So ho, there! Saunders Darlet! you have
been ill, I hear?"

"Just got the turn, as I was thinking to send to your honour, and I am
brawly now again--it was nae great thing that ailed me."

"Hark you, sirrah," said the Doctor, "I trust you remember you are
owing to the laird four stones of barleymeal, and a bow of oats; and I
would have you send no more such kain-fowls as you sent last season,
that looked as wretchedly as patients just dismissed from a
plague-hospital; and there is hard money owing besides."

"I was thinking, sir," said the man, _more Scotico_, that is,
returning no direct answer on the subject on which he was addressed,
"my best way would be to come down to your honour, and take your
advice yet, in case my trouble should come back."

"Do so, then, knave," replied Lundin, "and remember what
Ecclesiasticus saith--'Give place to the physician-let him not go from
thee, for thou hast need of him.'"

His exhortation was interrupted by an apparition, which seemed to
strike the doctor with as much horror and surprise, as his own visage
inflicted upon sundry of those persons whom he had addressed.

The figure which produced this effect on the Esculapius of the
village, was that of a tall old woman, who wore a high-crowned hat and
muffler. The first of these habiliments added apparently to her
stature, and the other served to conceal the lower part of her face,
and as the hat itself was slouched, little could be seen besides two
brown cheek-bones, and the eyes of swarthy fire, that gleamed from
under two shaggy gray eyebrows. She was dressed in a long
dark-coloured robe of unusual fashion, bordered at the skirts, and on
the stomacher, with a sort of white trimming resembling the Jewish
phylacteries, on which were wrought the characters of some unknown
language. She held in her hand a walking staff of black ebony.

"By the soul of Celsus," said Doctor Luke Lundin, "it is old Mother
Nicneven herself--she hath come to beard me within mine own bounds,
and in the very execution of mine office! Have at thy coat, Old Woman,
as the song says--Hob Anster, let her presently be seized and
committed to the tolbooth; and if there are any zealous brethren here
who would give the hag her deserts, and duck her, as a witch, in the
loch, I pray let them in no way be hindered."

But the myrmidons of Dr. Lundin showed in this case no alacrity to do
his bidding. Hob Anster even ventured to remonstrate in the name of
himself and his brethren. "To be sure he was to do his honour's
bidding; and for a' that folks said about the skill and witcheries of
Mother Nicneven, he would put his trust in God, and his hand on her
collar, without dreadour. But she was no common spaewife, this Mother
Nicneven, like Jean Jopp that lived in the Bricrie-baulk. She had
lords and lairds that would ruffle for her. There was Moncrieff of
Tippermalloch, that was Popish, and the laird of Carslogie, a kend
Queen's man, were in the fair, with wha kend how mony swords and
bucklers at their back; and they would be sure to make a break-out if
the officers meddled with the auld Popish witch-wife, who was sae weel
friended; mair especially as the laird's best men, such as were not in
the castle, were in Edinburgh with him, and he doubted his honour the
Doctor would find ower few to make a good backing, if blades were
bare."

The doctor listened unwillingly to this prudential counsel, and was
only comforted by the faithful promise of his satellite, that "the old
woman should," as he expressed it, "be ta'en canny the next time she
trespassed on the bounds."

"And in that event," said the Doctor to his companion, "fire and fagot
shall be the best of her welcome."

This he spoke in hearing of the dame herself, who even then, and in
passing the Doctor, shot towards him from under her gray eyebrows a
look of the most insulting and contemptuous superiority.

"This way," continued the physician, "this way," marshalling his guest
into his lodging,--"take care you stumble not over a retort, for it is
hazardous for the ignorant to walk in the ways of art."

The page found all reason for the caution; for besides stuffed birds,
and lizards, and snakes bottled up, and bundles of simples made up,
and other parcels spread out to dry, and all the confusion, not to
mention the mingled and sickening smells, incidental to a druggist's
stock in trade, he had also to avoid heaps of charcoal crucibles,
bolt-heads, stoves, and the other furniture of a chemical laboratory.

Amongst his other philosophical qualities, Doctor Lundin failed not to
be a confused sloven, and his old dame housekeeper, whose life, as she
said, was spent in "redding him up," had trotted off to the mart of
gaiety with other and younger folks. Much chattering and jangling
therefore there was among jars, and bottles, and vials, ere the Doctor
produced the salutiferous potion which he recommended so strongly, and
a search equally long and noisy followed, among broken cans and
cracked pipkins, ere he could bring forth a cup out of which to drink
it. Both matters being at length achieved, the Doctor set the example
to his guest, by quaffing off a cup of the cordial, and smacking his
lips with approbation as it descended his gullet.--Roland, in turn,
submitted to swallow the potion which his host so earnestly
recommended, but which he found so insufferably bitter, that he became
eager to escape from the laboratory in search of a draught of fair
water to expel the taste. In spite of his efforts, he was nevertheless
detained by the garrulity of his host, till he gave him some account
of Mother Nicneven.

"I care not to speak of her," said the Doctor, "in the open air, and
among the throng of people; not for fright, like yon cowardly dog
Anster, but because I would give no occasion for a fray, having no
leisure to look to stabs, slashes, and broken bones. Men call the old
hag a prophetess--I do scarce believe she could foretell when a brood
of chickens will chip the shell--Men say she reads the heavens--my
black bitch knows as much of them when she sits baying the moon--Men
pretend the ancient wretch is a sorceress, a witch, and, what
not--_Inter nos_, I will never contradict a rumour which may
bring her to the stake which she so justly deserves; but neither will
I believe that the tales of witches which they din into our ears are
aught but knavery, cozenage, and old women's fables."

"In the name of Heaven, what is she then," said the page, "that you
make such a stir about her?"

"She is one of those cursed old women," replied the Doctor, "who take
currently and impudently upon themselves to act as advisers and curers
of the sick, on the strength of some trash of herbs, some rhyme of
spells, some julap or diet, drink or cordial."

"Nay, go no farther," said the page; "if they brew cordials, evil be
their lot and all their partakers!"

"You say well, young man," said Dr. Lundin; "for mine own part, I know
no such pests to the commonwealth as these old incarnate devils, who
haunt the chambers of the brain-sick patients, that are mad enough to
suffer them to interfere with, disturb, and let, the regular process
of a learned and artificial cure, with their sirups, and their julaps,
and diascordium, and mithridate, and my Lady What-shall-call'um's
powder, and worthy Dame Trashem's pill; and thus make widows and
orphans, and cheat the regular and well-studied physician, in order to
get the name of wise women and skeely neighbours, and so forth. But no
more on't--Mother Nicneven [Footnote: This was the name given to the
grand Mother Witch, the very Hecate of Scottish popular superstition.
Her name was bestowed, in one or two instances, upon sorceresses, who
were held to resemble her by their superior skill in "Hell's black
grammar."] and I will meet one day, and she shall know there is danger
in dealing with the Doctor."

"It is a true word, and many have found it," said the page; "but under
your favour, I would fain walk abroad for a little, and see these
sports."

"It is well moved," said the Doctor, "and I too should be showing
myself abroad. Moreover the play waits us, young man-to-day, _totus
mundus agit histrionem_."--And they sallied forth accordingly into
the mirthful scene.




Chapter the Twenty-Seventh.


  See on yon verdant lawn, the gathering crowd
  Thickens amain; the buxom nymphs advance,
  Usher'd by jolly clowns; distinctions cease,
  Lost in the common joy, and the bold slave
  Leans on his wealthy master unreproved.
              _Rural Games_.--SOMERVILLLE.

The re-appearance of the dignified Chamberlain on the street of the
village was eagerly hailed by the revellers, as a pledge that the
play, or dramatic representation, which had been postponed owing to
his absence, was now full surely to commence. Any thing like an
approach to this most interesting of all amusements, was of recent
origin in Scotland, and engaged public attention in proportion. All
other sports were discontinued. The dance around the Maypole was
arrested--the ring broken up and dispersed, while the dancers, each
leading his partner by the hand, tripped, off to the silvan theatre. A
truce was in like manner achieved betwixt a huge brown bear and
certain mastiffs, who were tugging and pulling at his shaggy coat,
under the mediation of the bear-ward and half a dozen butchers and
yeomen, who, by dint of _staving and tailing_, as it was
technically termed, separated the unfortunate animals, whose fury had
for an hour past been their chief amusement. The itinerant minstrel
found himself deserted by the audience he had collected, even in the
most interesting passage of the romance which he recited, and just as
he was sending about his boy, with bonnet in hand, to collect their
oblations. He indignantly stopped short in the midst of _Rosewal and
Lilian_, and, replacing his three-stringed fiddle, or rebeck, in
its leathern case, followed the crowd, with no good-will, to the
exhibition which had superseded his own. The juggler had ceased his
exertions of emitting flame and smoke, and was content to respire in
the manner of ordinary mortals, rather than to play gratuitously the
part of a fiery dragon. In short, all other sports were suspended, so
eagerly did the revellers throng towards the place of representation.

They would err greatly, who should regulate their ideas of this
dramatic exhibition upon those derived from a modern theatre; for the
rude shows of Thespis were far less different from those exhibited by
Euripides on the stage of Athens, with all its magnificent decorations
and pomp of dresses and of scenery. In the present case, there were no
scenes, no stage, no machinery, no pit, box, and gallery, no
box-lobby; and, what might in poor Scotland be some consolation for
other negations, there was no taking of money at the door. As in the
devices of the magnanimous Bottom, the actors had a greensward plot
for a stage, and a hawthorn bush for a greenroom and tiring-house; the
spectators being accommodated with seats on the artificial bank which
had been raised around three-fourths of the playground, the remainder
being left open for the entrance and exit of the performers. Here
sate the uncritical audience, the Chamberlain in the centre, as the
person highest in office, all alive to enjoyment and admiration, and
all therefore dead to criticism.

The characters which appeared and disappeared before the amused and
interested audience, were those which fill the earlier stage in all
nations--old men, cheated by their wives and daughters, pillaged by
their sons, and imposed on by their domestics, a braggadocia captain,
a knavish pardoner or quaestionary, a country bumpkin and a wanton
city dame. Amid all these, and more acceptable than almost the whole
put together, was the all-licensed fool, the Gracioso of the Spanish
drama, who, with his cap fashioned into the resemblance of a coxcomb,
and his bauble, a truncheon terminated by a carved figure wearing a
fool's cap, in his hand, went, came, and returned, mingling in every
scene of the piece, and interrupting the business, without having any
share himself in the action, and ever and anon transferring his gibes
from the actors on the stage to the audience who sate around, prompt
to applaud the whole.

The wit of the piece, which was not of the most polished kind, was
chiefly directed against the superstitious practices of the Catholic
religion; and the stage artillery had on this occasion been levelled
by no less a person than Doctor Lundin, who had not only commanded the
manager of the entertainment to select one of the numerous satires
which had been written against the Papists, (several of which were
cast in a dramatic form,) but had even, like the Prince of Denmark,
caused them to insert, or according to his own phrase, to infuse here
and there, a few pleasantries of his own penning, on the same
inexhaustible subject, hoping thereby to mollify the rigour of the
Lady of Lochleven towards pastimes of this description. He failed not
to jog Roland's elbow, who was sitting in state behind him, and
recommend to his particular attention those favourite passages. As for
the page, to whom, the very idea of such an exhibition, simple as it
was, was entirely new, he beheld it with the undiminished and ecstatic
delight with which men of all ranks look for the first time on
dramatic representation, and laughed, shouted, and clapped his hands
as the performance proceeded. An incident at length took place, which
effectually broke off his interest in the business of the scene.

One of the principal personages in the comic part of the drama was, as
we have already said, a quaestionary or pardoner, one of those
itinerants who hawked about from place to place relics, real or
pretended, with which he excited the devotion at once, and the charity
of the populace, and generally deceived both the one and the other.
The hypocrisy, impudence, and profligacy of these clerical wanderers,
had made them the subject of satire from the time of Chaucer down to
that of Heywood. Their present representative failed not to follow the
same line of humour, exhibiting pig's bones for relics, and boasting
the virtues of small tin crosses, which had been shaken in the holy
porringer at Loretto, and of cockleshells, which had been brought from
the shrine of Saint James of Compostella, all which he disposed of to
the devout Catholics at nearly as high a price as antiquaries are now
willing to pay for baubles of similar intrinsic value. At length the
pardoner pulled from his scrip a small phial of clear water, of which
he vaunted the quality in the following verses:--

  Listneth, gode people, everiche one
  For in the londe of Babylone,
  Far eastward I wot it lyeth,
  And is the first londe the sonne espieth,
  Ther, as he cometh fro out the sГ©;
  In this ilk londe, as thinketh me,
  Right as holie legendes tell.
  Snottreth from a roke a well,
  And falleth into ane bath of ston,
  Where chaste Susanne, in times long gon,

  Wax wont to wash her bodie and lim
  Mickle vertue hath that streme,
  As ye shall se er that ye pas,
  Ensample by this little glas--
  Through nightГ©s cold and dayГ©s hote
  Hiderward I have it brought;
  Hath a wife made slip or side,
  Or a maiden stepp'd aside,
  Putteth this water under her nese,
  Wold she nold she, she shall snese.

The jest, as the reader skilful in the antique language of the drama
must at once perceive, turned on the same pivot as in the old minstrel
tales of the Drinking Horn of King Arthur, and the Mantle made Amiss.
But the audience were neither learned nor critical enough to challenge
its want of originality. The potent relic was, after such grimace and
buffoonery as befitted the subject, presented successively to each of
the female personages of the drama, not one of whom sustained the
supposed test of discretion; but, to the infinite delight of the
audience, sneezed much louder and longer than perhaps they themselves
had counted on. The jest seemed at last worn threadbare, and the
pardoner was passing on to some new pleasantry, when the jester or
clown of the drama, possessing himself secretly of the phial which
contained the wondrous liquor, applied it suddenly to the nose of a
young woman, who, with her black silk muffler, or screen drawn over
her face, was sitting in the foremost rank of the spectators, intent
apparently upon the business of the stage. The contents of the phial,
well calculated to sustain the credit of the pardoner's legend, set
the damsel a-sneezing violently, an admission of frailty which was
received with shouts of rapture by the audience. These were soon,
however, renewed at the expense of the jester himself, when the
insulted maiden extricated, ere the paroxysm was well over, one hand
from the folds of her mantle, and bestowed on the wag a buffet, which
made him reel fully his own length from the pardoner, and then
acknowledge the favour by instant prostration.

No one pities a jester overcome in his vocation, and the clown met
with little sympathy, when, rising from the ground, and whimpering
forth his complaints of harsh treatment, he invoked the assistance and
sympathy of the audience. But the Chamberlain, feeling his own dignity
insulted, ordered two of his halberdiers to bring the culprit before
him. When these official persons first approached the virago, she
threw herself into an attitude of firm defiance, as if determined to
resist their authority; and from the sample of strength and spirit
which she had already displayed, they showed no alacrity at executing
their commission. But on half a minute's reflection, the damsel
changed totally her attitude and manner, folded her cloak around her
arms in modest and maiden-like fashion, and walked of her own accord
to the presence of the great man, followed and guarded by the two
manful satellites. As she moved across the vacant space, and more
especially as she stood at the footstool of the Doctor's
judgment-seat, the maiden discovered that lightness and elasticity of
step, and natural grace of manner, which connoisseurs in female beauty
know to be seldom divided from it. Moreover, her neat russet-coloured
jacket, and short petticoat of the same colour, displayed a handsome
form and a pretty leg. Her features were concealed by the screen; but
the Doctor, whose gravity did not prevent his pretensions to be a
connoisseur of the school we have hinted at, saw enough to judge
favourably of the piece by the sample.

He began, however, with considerable austerity of manner.--"And how
now, saucy quean!" said the medical man of office; "what have you to
say why I should not order you to be ducked in the loch, for lifting
your hand to the man in my presence?"

"Marry," replied the culprit, "because I judge that your honour will
not think the cold bath necessary for my complaints."

"A pestilent jade," said the Doctor, whispering to Roland Graeme; "and
I'll warrant her a good one--her voice is as sweet as sirup.--But, my
pretty maiden," said he, "you show us wonderful little of that
countenance of yours--be pleased to throw aside your muffler."

"I trust your honour will excuse me till we are more private,"
answered the maiden; "for I have acquaintance, and I should like ill
to be known in the country as the poor girl whom that scurvy knave put
his jest upon."

"Fear nothing for thy good name, my sweet little modicum of candied
manna," replied the Doctor, "for I protest to you, as I am Chamberlain
of Lochleven, Kinross, and so forth, that the chaste Susanna herself
could not have snuffed that elixir without sternutation, being in
truth a curious distillation of rectified _acetum_, or vinegar of
the sun, prepared by mine own hands--Wherefore, as thou sayest thou
wilt come to me in private, and express thy contrition for the offence
whereof thou hast been guilty, I command that all for the present go
forward as if no such interruption of the prescribed course had taken
place."

The damsel curtsied and tripped back to her place. The play proceeded,
but it no longer attracted the attention of Roland Graeme.

The voice, the figure, and what the veil permitted to be seen of the
neck and tresses of the village damsel, bore so strong a resemblance
to those of Catherine Seyton, that he felt like one bewildered in the
mazes of a changeful and stupifying dream. The memorable scene of the
hostelrie rushed on his recollection, with all its doubtful and
marvellous circumstances. Were the tales of enchantment which he had
read in romances realized in this extraordinary girl? Could she
transport herself from the walled and guarded Castle of Lochleven,
moated with its broad lake, (towards which he cast back a look as if
to ascertain it was still in existence,) and watched with such
scrupulous care as the safety of a nation demanded?--Could she
surmount all these obstacles, and make such careless and dangerous use
of her liberty, as to engage herself publicly in a quarrel in a
village fair?  Roland was unable to determine whether the exertions
which it must have cost her to gain her freedom or the use to which
she had put it, rendered her the most unaccountable creature.