Chapter VI: Part III: 213 (6)

Pellow narrates a similar instance of atrocity, perpetrated after the death of Muley Ismael, emperor of Morocco, in 1727, when the inhabitants of Old Fez, throwing off all allegiance to his successor, slew "Alchyde Boel le Rosea, their old governor, boiling his flesh, and many, through spite, eating thereof, and throwing what they could not eat of it to the dogs."--See PELLOW'S _Travels in South Barbary_. And we may add, to such tales, the oriental tyranny of Zenghis Khan, who immersed seventy Tartar Khans in as many boiling cauldrons.

The punishment of boiling seems to have been in use among the English at a very late period, as appears from the following passage in STOWE'S _Chronicle_:--"The 17th of March (1524), Margaret Davy, a maid, was boiled at Smithfield, for poisoning of three households that she had dwelled in." But unquestionably the usual practice of Smithfield cookery, about that period, was by a different application of fire.

LAW OF CLAN MACDUFF.

Though it is rather foreign to the proper subject of this work, many readers may not be displeased to have some account of the curious privilege enjoyed by the descendants of the famous Macduff, thane of Fife, and thence called the Law of the Clan, or family, bearing his name.

When the revolution was accomplished, in which Macbeth was dethroned and slain, Malcolm, sensible of the high services of the thane of Fife, is said, by our historians, to have promised to grant the first three requests he should make. Macduff accordingly demanded, and obtained, first, that he and his successors, lords of Fife, should place the crown on the king's head at his coronation; secondly, that they should lead the vanguard of the army, whenever the royal banner was displayed; and, lastly, this privilege of clan Macduff, whereby any person, being related to Macduff within the ninth degree, and having committed homicide in _chaude melle_ (without premeditation), should, upon flying to Macduff's Cross, and paying a certain fine, obtain remission of their guilt. Such, at least, is the account given of the law by all our historians. Nevertheless, there seems ground to suspect, that the privilege did not amount to an actual and total remission of the crime, but only to a right of being exempted from all other courts of jurisdiction, except that of the lord of Fife. The reader is presented with an old document, in which the law of clan Macduff is pleaded on behalf of one of the ancestors of Moray of Abercairny; and it is remarkable that he does not claim any immunity, but solely a right of being re-pledged, because his cause had already been tried by Robert earl of Fife, the sole competent judge. But the privilege of being answerable only to the chief of their own clan, was, to the descendants of Macduff, almost equivalent to an absolute indemnity.

Macduff's Cross was situated near Lindores, on the march dividing Fife from Strathern. The form of this venerable monument unfortunately offended the zeal of the reformer, Knox, and it was totally demolished by his followers. The pedestal, a solid block of stone, alone escaped the besom of destruction. It bore an inscription, which, according to the apocryphal account of Sir Robert Sibbald, was a mixture of Latin, Saxon, Danish, and old French. Skene has preserved two lines:--

Propter Makgridim et hoc oblatum,
Accipe Smeleridem super lampade limpidæ labrum

_Skene, de verb. sig. voce Clan Macduff._

The full inscription, real or pretended, may be found in Sir Robert Sibbald's _History of Fife_, and in James Cunninghame's _Essay upon Macduff's Cross_, together with what is called a translation, or rather paraphrase, of the piebald jargon which composes it. In Gough's edition of Camden's Britannia, a different and more intelligible version is given, on the authority of a Mr Douglas of Newburgh. The cross was dedicated to a St Macgider. Around the pedestal are tumuli, said to be the graves of those, who, having claimed the privilege of the law, failed in proving their consanguinity to the thane of Fife. Such persons were instantly executed. The people of Newburgh believe, that the spectres of these criminals still haunt the ruined cross, and claim that mercy for their souls, which they had failed to obtain for their mortal existence.

The late Lord Hailes gives it as his opinion, that the indulgence was only to last till the tenth generation from Macduff.

Fordun and Wintoun state, that the fine, to be paid by the person taking sanctuary, was twenty-four merks for a gentleman, and twelve merks for a yeoman. Skene affirms it to be nine cows, and a colpindach (_i.e._ a quey, or cow of one or two years old).--_Fordun_, lib. 5, cap. 9.; _Wintoun's Cronykel_, b. 6, ch. 19.; _Skene, ut supra._ The last cited author avers, that he has seen an old evident, bearing, that Spens of Wormestoun, being of Macduff's kin, enjoyed this privilege for the slaughter of one Kinnermonth. The following deed, of a like nature, is published from a copy, accurately transcribed from an original deed, in the hands of the late Mr Cuming, of the Herald-Office, Edinburgh, by Messrs Brown and Gibb, librarians to the Faculty of Advocates. The blanks are occasioned by some parts of the deed having been obliterated.

"In nomine domini amen. Per presens publicum instrumentum, cunctis pateat evidenter quod anno ejusdem domini mo. cco. nonagesimo primo, indictione quinta decima Pontificatus sanctissimi in Christo Patris, ac domini nostri Clementis divina providentia Papæ septimi anno quarto decimo mensis Decembris die septimo. In mei notarii publici et testium subscriptorum presentia personaliter constitutus, nobilis et potens vir dominus Alexander de Moravia, miles, cum prolucutoribus suis, domino Bernardo de Howden, milite, et Johanne de Logie, vocatus per rotulos indictamentorum super interfectione Willielmi de Spalden coram Justiciariis; viz. Johanne de Drummond milite, Mauricio de Drummond.

"Filium Willielmi in judicio sedentibus apud Foulis et potestatus erat, quod ex quo semel pro interfectione dicti hominis antea fuit per indictamentum judicio vocatus et replegiatus ad legem de clan Macduff, per dominum Robertum comitem de Fyfe non tenebatur coram quocunque alio de dicta interfectione judiciari, quosque dicta lex de clan Macduff suo intemerata privilegio de ipso ut prædicitur ad ipsam legem atto. Petens ipsum legaliter deliberari, et per ipsos vel eorum indictamentis sic indebite ulterius non vexari. Quiquidem judicis nolle dictum dominum Alexandrum deliberarie si ipsum bene vellent respectuare eousque quod dominus de Brochepen justiciarius capitalis dicta actione ordinaverunt quod sibi et suo concilio expedientius videretur, quiquidem dominus Alexander et sui prolucutores eorum petitione et prestatione et predictorum judicum responsione, petierunt a me notario publico infra scripto præsentium acta fuerunt hæc apud Foulis in itinere justiciario ibidem tento anno mense die et pontificatu prescriptis per nobilibus et discretis viris dominis Mauricio archidiacono Dumblan, Willielmo de Grame, Vinfrido de Cunyngham, David de Militibus, Moritio de Drummond, Waltero de Drummond, Walter de Moravia, Scutiferis testibus ad præmissa vocatis specialiter et rogatis.

"Et ego Johannes Symonis Clericus Dunkeldensis publicus imperial notarius prædicti domini Alexandri comparitione ipsius petitione et protestatione desuper justiciariorum responsione omnibusque aliis et singulis dum sic ut priusquam et agerentur una cum prenominatis testibus presens interfui eaque sic fieri vidi et in hanc forman publicam, redegi manuque mea propria scripsi requisitus et roga om omnium premissorum signo meo consueto signavi."

_Alas! that e'er thou raised'st thine eyes,_
_Thine eyes to look on me._--P. 261. v. 5.

The idea of Lord Soulis' familiar seems to be derived from the curious story of the spirit Orthone and the lord of Corasse, which, I think, the reader will be pleased to see, in all its Gothic simplicity, as translated from Froissart, by the lord of Berners.

"It is great marveyle to consyder one thynge, the whiche was shewed to me in the earl of Foix house at Ortayse, of hym that enfourmed me of the busynesse at Juberothe (Aljubarota, where the Spaniards, with their French allies, were defeated by the Portugueze, A.D. 1385). He showed me one thyng that I have oftentymes thought on sithe, and shall do as longe as I live. As thys squyer told me that of trouthe the next day after the battayl was thus fought, at Juberoth, the erle of Foiz knewe it, whereof I had gret marveyle; for the said Sonday, Monday, and Tuesday, the erle was very pensyf, and so sadde of chere, that no man could have a worde of hym. And all the same three days he wold nat issue out of his chambre, nor speke to any man, though they were never so nere about hym. And, on the Tuesday night, he called to him his brother Arnault Guyllyam, and sayd to hym, with a soft voice, 'Our men hath had to do, whereof I am sorrie; for it is come of them, by their voyage, as I sayd or they departed.' Arnault Guyllyam, who was a sage knight, and knewe right well his brother's condicions (_i.e._ temper), stode still and gave none answere. And than the erle, who thought to declare his mind more plainlye, for long he had borne the trouble thereof in his herte, spake agayn more higher than he dyd before, and sayd, 'By God, Sir Arnault, it is as I saye, and shortely ye shall here tidynges thereof; but the countrey of Byerne, this hundred yere, never lost such a losse, at no journey, as they have done now in Portugal.'--Dyvers knyghtes and squyers, that were there present, and herde hym say so, stode styll, and durst nat speke, but they remembered his wordes. And within a ten days after, they knewe the trouthe thereof, by such as had been at the busynesse, and there they shewed every thinge as it was fortuned at Juberoth. Than the erle renewed agayn his dolour, and all the countreye were in sorrowe, for they had lost their parentes, brethren, chyldren, and frendes. 'Saint Mary!' quod I to the squyer that shewed me thys tale, 'how is it, that the earl of Foiz could know, on one daye, what was done, within a day or two before, beyng so farre off?'--'By my faythe, Sir,' quod he, 'as it appeared well, he knewe it.'--Than he is a diviner,' quod I, 'or els he hath messangers, that flyethe with the wynde, or he must needs have some craft.' The squyer began to laugh, and sayd, "Surely he must know it, by some art of negromansye or otherwyse. To saye the trouthe, we cannot tell how it is, but by our ymaginacions.'--'Sir,' quod I, 'suche ymaginacions as ye have therein, if it please you to shew me, I wold be gladde therof; and if it be suche a thynge as ought to be secrete, I shall nat publysshe it, nor as long as I am in thys countrey I shall never speke worde thereof.'--'I praye you therof,' quod the squyer, 'for I wolde nat it shulde be knowen, that I shulde speke thereof. But I shall shewe you, as dyvers men speketh secretelye, whan they be togyder as frendes.' Than he drew me aparte into a corner of the chapell at Ortayse, and then began his tale, and sayd:

"It is well a twenty yeares paste, that there was, in this countre, a barone, called Raymond, lorde of Corasse, whyche is a sevyn leagues from this towne of Ortayse. Thys lord of Corasse had that same tyme, a plee at Avygnon before the Pope, for the dysmes (_i.e._ tithes) of his churche, against a clerk, curate there; the whiche priest was of Catelogne. He was a grete clerk, and claymed to have ryghte of the dysmes, in the towne of Corasse, which was valued to a hundred florens by the yere, and the ryghte that he had, he shewed and proved it; and, by sentence diffynitive, Pope Urbane the fythe, in consistory generall, condempned the knighte, and gave judgement wyth the preest, and of this last judgment he had letters of the Pope, for his possession, and so rode tyll he came into Berne, and there shewed his letters and bulles of the Popes for his possession of his dysmes. The lord of Corasse had gret indignacion at this preest, and came to hym, and said, 'Maister Pers, or Maister Martin (as his name was) thinkest thou, that by reason of thy letters I will lose mine herytage--be nat so hardy, that thou take any thynge that is myne; if thou do, it shall cost thee thy life. Go thy waye into some other place to get thee a benefyce, for of myne herytage thou gettest no parte, and ones for alwayes, I defende thee.' The clerk douted the knight, for he was a cruell man, therefore he durst nat parceyver.--Than he thoughte to return to Avignon, as he dyde; but, whan he departed, he came to the knight, the lord of Corasse, and sayd, 'Sir, by force, and nat by ryght, ye take away from me the ryght of my churche, wherein you greatly hurt your conscience.--I am not so strong in this countrey as ye be; but, sir, knowe, for trouthe, that as soon as I maye, I shall sende to you suche a champyon, whom ye shall doubte more than me.' The knight, who doubted nothyng his thretynges, said, 'God be with thee; do what thou mayst; I doute no more dethe than lyfe; for all thy wordes, I wyll not lese mine herytage.' Thus, the clerk departed from the lord of Corasse, and went I cannot tell wheder to Avygnon or into Catalogne, and forgat nat the promise that he had made to the lord of Corasse or he departed. For whan the knight thoughte leest on hym, about a three monethes after, as the knyght laye on a nyght a-bedde in his castelle of Corasse, with the lady, there came to hym messangers invisible, and made a marvellous tempest and noise in the castell, that it seemed as thoughe the castell shulde have fallen downe, and strak gret strokes at his chambre dore, that the goode ladye, his wife, was soore afrayde. The knight herd alle, but he spoke no word thereof; bycause he wolde shewe no abasshed corage, for he was hardy to abyde all adventures. Thys noyse and tempest was in sundry places of the castell, and dured a long space, and, at length, cessed for that nyght. Than the nexte mornyng, all the servants of the house came to the lord, whan he was risen, and sayd, 'Sir, have you nat herde this night, that we have done?' The lord dissembled, and sayd, 'No! I herd nothyng--what have you herde?' Than they shewed him what noyse they hadde herde, and howe alle the vessel in the kechyn was overtowrned. Than the lord began to laugh, and sayd, 'Yea, sirs! ye dremed, it was nothynge but the wynde.'--'In the name of God!' quod the ladye, 'I herde it well.' The next nyght there was as great noyse and greatter, and suche strokes gyven at his chambre dore and windows, as alle shulde have broken in pieces. The knyghte starte up out of his bedde, and wolde not lette, to demaunde who was at his chambre dore that tyme of the nyght; and anone he was answered by a voyce that sayd, 'I am here.' Quod the knyght, 'Who sent thee hyder?'--'The clerk of Catelogne sent me hyder,' quod the voice, 'to whom thou dost gret wronge, for thou hast taken from hym the ryghtes of his benefyce; I will nat leave thee in rest tylle thou haste made hym a good accompte, so that he be pleased.' Quod the knight, 'What is thy name, that thou art so good a messangere?' Quod he, 'I am called Orthone.'--'Orthone!' quod the knight, 'the servyce of a clerke is lytell profyte for thee. He will putte thee to moche payne if thou beleve hym. I pray thee leave hym, and come and serve me; and I shall give thee goode thanke.' Orthone was redy to aunswere, for he was inamours with the knyghte, and sayde, 'Woldest thou fayne have my servyce?'--'Yea, truly,' quod the knyghte, 'so thou do no hurte to any persone in this house.'--'No more I will do,' quod Orthone, 'for I have no power to do any other yvell, but to awake thee out of thy slepe, or some other.'--'Well,' quod the knyght, 'do as I telle thee, and we shall soone agree, and leave the yvill clerke, for there is no good thyng in him, but to put thee to payne; therefore, come and serve me.'--'Well,' quod Orthone, 'and sythe thou wilt have me, we are agreed.'

"So this spyrite Orthone loved so the knight, that oftentymes he wold come and vysyte hym, while he lay in his bedde aslepe, and outher pull him by the eare, or els stryke at his chambre dore or windowe. And, whan the knyght awoke, than he wolde saye, 'Orthone, lat me slepe.'--'Nay,' quod Orthone, 'that will I nat do, tyll I have shewed thee such tydinges as are fallen a-late.' The ladye, the knyghtes wyfe, wolde be sore afrayed, that her heer wald stand up, and hyde herself under the clothes. Than the knyght wolde saye, 'Why, what tidynges hast thou brought me?'--Quod Orthone, 'I am come out of England, or out of Hungry, or some other place, and yesterday I came hens, and such things are fallen, or such other.' So thus the lord of Corasse knewe, by Orthone, every thing that was done in any part of the worlde. And in this case he contynued a fyve yere, and could not kepe his own counsayle, but at last discovered it to the Erle of Foiz. I shall shewe you howe.

"The firste yere, the lord of Corasse came on a day to Ortayse, to the Erle of Foiz, and sayd to him, 'Sir, such things are done in England, or in Scotland, or in Almagne, or in any other countrey.' And ever the Erle of Foiz found his sayeing true, and had great marveyle how he shulde knowe such things so shortly. And, on a tyme the Erle of Foiz examined him so straitly, that the lord of Corasse shewed hym alle toguyder howe he knewe it, and howe he came to hym firste. When the Erle of Foiz hard that, he was joyfull, and said, Sir of Corasse, kepe him well in your love; I wolde I hadd suche an messanger; he costeth you nothyng, and ye knowe by him every thynge that is done in the worlde.' The knyght answered, and sayd, 'Sir, that is true.' Thus, the lord of Corasse was served with Orthone a long season. I can nat saye if this Orthone hadde any more masters or nat; but every weke, twise or thrisse, he wolde come and vysite the lord of Corasse, and wolde shewe hym such tidyngs of any thing that was fallen fro whens he came. And ever the lord of Corasse, when he knewe any thynge, he wrote thereof to the Erle of Foiz, who had great joy thereof; for he was the lord, of all the worlde, that most desyred to here news out of straunge places. And, on a tyme, the lord of Corasse was wyth the Erle of Foiz, and the erle demaunded of hym, and sayd, 'Sir of Corasse, dyd ye ever as yet se your messengere?'--'Nay, surely, sir,' quod the knyghte, 'nor I never desyred it.'--'That is marveyle,' quod the erle; 'if I were as well acquainted with him as ye be, I wolde have desyred to have sene hym; wherefore, I pray you, desyre it of hym, and then telle me what form and facyon he is of. I have herd you say howe he speketh as good Gascon as outher you or I.'--'Truely, sir,' quod the knyght, 'so it is: he speketh as well, and as fayr, as any of us both do. And surely, sir, sithe ye counsayle me, I shall do my payne to see him as I can.' And so, on a night, as he lay in his bedde, with the ladye his wife, who was so inured to here Orthone, that she was no longer afrayd of him; than cam Orthone, and pulled the lord by the eare, who was fast asleep, and therewith he awoke, and asked who was there? 'I am here,' quod Orthone. Then he demaunded, 'From whens comest thou nowe?'--'I come,' quod Orthone, 'from Prague, in Eoesme.'--'How farre is that hens?' quod the knyght. 'A threescore days journey,' quod Orthone. 'And art thou come hens so soon?' quod the knyght. 'Yea truely,' quod Orthone, 'I come as fast as the wynde, or faster.'--'Hast thou than winges?' quod the knyght. 'Nay, truely,' quod he. 'How canst thou than flye so fast?' quod the knyght. 'Ye have nothing to do to knowe that,' quod Orthone. 'No?' quod the knyght, 'I wolde gladly se thee, to know what forme thou art of.'--'Well,' quod Orthone, 'ye have nothing to do to knowe: it sufficeth you to here me, and to shewe you tidynges.'--'In faythe,' quod the knyght, 'I wolde love the moche better an I myght se thee ones.'--'Well,' quod Orthone, 'sir, sithe ye have so gret desyre to se me, the first thynge that ye se to-morrowe, whan ye ryse out of your bedde, the same shall be I.'--'That is sufficient,' quod the lorde. 'Go thy way; I gyve thee leave to departe for this nyght.' And the next mornynge the lord rose, and the ladye his wyfe was so afrayd, that she durst not ryse, but fayned herself sicke, and sayd she wolde not ryse. Her husband wolde have had her to have rysen. 'Sir,' quod she, 'than shall I se Orthone, and I wolde not se him by my gode wille.'--'Well,' quod the knyght, 'I wolde gladly se hym.' And so he arose, fayre and easily, out of his bedde, and sat down on his bedde-syde, wenying to have sene Orthone in his owne proper form; but he sawe nothynge wherbye he myght saye, 'Lo, yonder is Orthone.' So that day past, and the next night came, and when the knyght was in his bedde, Orthone came, and began to speke, as he was accustomed. 'Go thy waye,' quod the knyght, 'thou arte but a lyer; thou promysest that I shuld have sene the, and it was not so.'--'No?' quod he, 'and I shewed myself to the.'--'That is not so,' quod the lord. 'Why,' quod Orthone, 'whan ye rose out of your bedde, sawe ye nothynge?' Than the lorde studyed a lytell, and advysed himself well. 'Yes, truely,' quod the knyght, 'now I remember me, as I sate on my bedde-syde, thynking on thee, I sawe two strawes upon the pavement, tumblynge one upon another.'--'That same was I,' quod Orthone, 'into that fourme I dyd putte myself as than.'--'That is not enough to me,' quod the lord; 'I pray thee putte thyselfe into same other fourme, that I may better se and knowe thee.'--'Well,' quod Orthone, 'ye will do so muche, that ye will lose me, and I to go fro you, for ye desyre to moch of me.'--'Nay,' quod the knyght, 'thou shalt not go fro me, let me se thee ones, and I will desyre no more.'--'Well,' quod Orthone, 'ye shall se me to-morrowe; take hede, the first thyng that ye se after ye be out of your chamber, it shall be I.'--'Well,' quod the knyght, 'I am then content. Go thy way, lette me slepe.' And so Orthone departed, and the next mornyng the lord arose, and yssued oute of his chambre, and wente to a windowe, and looked downe into the courte of the castell, and cast about his eyen. And the firste thyng he sawe was a sowe, the greattest that ever he sawe; and she seemed to be so leane and yvell-favoured, that there was nothyng on her but the skynne, and the bones, with long eares, and a long leane snout. The lord of Corasse had marveyle of that leane sowe, and was wery of the sighte of her, and comaunded his men to fetch his houndes, and sayd, 'Let the dogges hunt her to dethe, and devour her.' His servaunts opened the kenells, and lette oute his houndes, and dyd sette them on this sowe. And, at the last, the sowe made a great crye, and looked up to the lord of Corasse as he looked out at a windowe, and so sodaynely vanyshed awaye, no man wyste howe. Than the lord of Corasse entred into his chambre, right pensyve, and than he remembered hym of Orthone, his messangere, and sayd, 'I repent me that I set my houndes on him. It is an adventure, an I here any more of hym; for he sayd to me oftentymes, that if I displeased hym, I shulde lose hym.' The lord sayd trouthe, for never after he came into the castell of Corasse, and also the knyght dyed the same yere next followinge."

"So, sir," said the squyer, "thus have I shewed you the lyfe of Orthone, and howe, for a season, he served the lord of Corasse with newe tidynges."--"It is true, sir," sayd I, "but nowe, as to your firste purpose. Is the Earl of Foiz served with suche an messangere?"--"Surely," quod the squyer, it is the ymaginacion of many, that he hath such messengers, for ther is nothynge done in any place, but and he sette his mynde thereto, he will knowe it, and whan men thynke leest thereof. And so dyd he, when the goode knightes and squyers of this country were slayne in Portugale at Juberothe. Some saythe, the knowledge of such thynges hath done hym moche profyte, for and there be but the value of a spone lost in his house, anone he will know where it is.' So, thus, then I toke leave of the squyer, and went to other company; but I bare well away his tale."--BOURCHIER'S _Translation of Froissart's Chronycle_, Vol. II. chap. 37.

_He took the keys from the rusty lock,_
_That never was ta'en before._
_He threw them o'er his left shoulder,_
_With mickle care and pain;_
_And he bade it keep them, fathoms deep,_
_Till he returned again._--P. 262, v. 1. 2.

The circumstance of Lord Soulis having thrown the key over his left shoulder, and bid the fiend keep it till his return, is noted in the introduction, as a part of his traditionary history. In the course of this autumn (1806), the Earl of Dalkeith being encamped near the Hermitage Castle, for the amusement of shooting, directed some workmen to clear away the rubbish from the door of the dungeon, in order to ascertain its ancient dimensions and architecture. To the great astonishment of the labourers, and of the country people who were watching their proceedings, a rusty iron key, of considerable size, was found among the ruins, a little way from the dungeon door. The well-known tradition instantly passed from one to another; and it was generally agreed, that the malevolent dæmon, who had so long retained possession of the key of the castle, now found himself obliged to resign it to the heir-apparent of the domain. In the course of their researches, a large iron ladle, somewhat resembling that used by plumbers, was also discovered; and both the reliques are now in Lord Dalkeith's possession.

In the summer of 1805, another discovery was made in the haunted ruins of Hermitage. In a recess of the wall of the castle, intended apparently for receiving the end of a beam or joist, a boy, seeking for birds nests, found a very curious antique silver-ring, embossed with hearts, the well-known cognisance of the Douglas family, placed interchangeably with quatre-foils all round the circle. The workmanship has an uncommonly rude and ancient appearance, and warrants our believing that it may have belonged to one of the Earls of Angus, who carried the heart and quatre-foils[76] in their arms. They parted with the castle and lordship of Liddesdale, in exchange for that of Bothwell, in the beginning of the 16th century. This ring is now in the editor's possession, by the obliging gift of Mr John Ballantyne, of the house of Ballantyne and Company, so distinguished for typography.

FOOTNOTES:

[65] Dalrymple's Collections concerning the Scottish History, p. 395.

[66] Transactions of the Antiquarian Society of Scotland, Vol. I, p. 269.

[67] Index of many records of charters granted between 1309 and 1413, published by W. Robertson, Esq.

[68] As the people thronged to the execution of the gallant youth, they were bitterly rebuked by Sir Ingram de Umfraville, an English or Norman knight, then a favourite follower of Robert Bruce. "Why press you," said he, "to see the dismal catastrophe of so generous a knight? I have seen ye throng as eagerly around him to share his bounty, as now to behold his death." With these words he turned from the scene of blood, and, repairing to the king, craved leave to sell his Scottish possessions, and to retire from the country. "My heart," said Umfraville, "will not, for the wealth of the world, permit me to dwell any longer, where I have seen such a knight die by the hands of the executioner." With the king's leave, he interred the body of David de Brechin, sold his lands, and left Scotland for ever. The story is beautifully told by Barbour, book 19th.

[69] _Skrieh_--Peep.

[70] _Lift_--Sky.

[71] _Glamour_--Magical delusion.

[72] _Wale_--Chuse.

[73] _Puirly_--Softly.

[74] _Spreat_--The spreat is a species of water-rush.

[75] _Deer-hair_--The deer-hair is a coarse species of pointed grass, which, in May, bears a very minute, but beautiful yellow flower.

[76] Some heralds say, that they carried cinque-foils, others trefoils; but all agree they bore some such distinction to mark their cadency from the elder branch of Douglas.

THE COUT OF KEELDAR.

BY J. LEYDEN.

* * * * *

The tradition on which the following ballad is founded, derives considerable illustration from the argument of the preceding. It is necessary to add, that the most redoubted adversary of Lord Soulis was the Chief of Keeldar, a Northumbrian district, adjacent to Cumberland, who perished in a sudden encounter on the banks of the Hermitage. Being arrayed in armour of proof, he sustained no hurt in the combat; but stumbling in retreating across the river, the hostile party held him down below water with their lances till he died; and the eddy, in which he perished, is still called the Cout of Keeldar's Pool. His grave, of gigantic size, is pointed out on the banks of the Hermitage, at the western corner of a wall, surrounding the burial-ground of a ruined chapel. As an enemy of Lord Soulis, his memory is revered; and the popular epithet of _Cout_, _i.e._ Colt, is expressive of his strength, stature, and activity. Tradition likewise relates, that the young chief of Mangerton, to whose protection Lord Soulis had, in some eminent jeopardy, been indebted for his life, was decoyed by that faithless tyrant into his castle of Hermitage, and insidiously murdered at a feast.

The Keeldar Stone, by which the Northumbrian chief passed in his incursion, is still pointed out, as a boundary mark, on the confines of Jed forest, and Northumberland. It is a rough insulated mass, of considerable dimensions, and it is held unlucky to ride thrice _withershins_[77] around it. Keeldar Castle is now a hunting seat, belonging to the Duke of Northumberland.

The _Brown Man of the Muirs_ is a Fairy of the most malignant order, the genuine _duergar_. Walsingham mentions a story of an unfortunate youth, whose brains were extracted from his skull, during his sleep, by this malicious being. Owing to this operation, he remained insane many years, till the virgin Mary courteously restored his brains to their station.

THE COUT OF KEELDAR.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED--J. LEYDEN.

* * * * *

The eiry blood-hound howled by night,
The streamers[78] flaunted red,
Till broken streaks of flaky light
O'er Keeldar's mountains spread.

The lady sigh'd as Keeldar rose:
"Come tell me, dear love mine,
"Go you to hunt where Keeldar flows,
"Or on the banks of Tyne?"

"The heath-bell blows where Keeldar flows,
"By Tyne the primrose pale;
"But now we ride on the Scottish side,
"To hunt in Liddesdale."

"Gin you will ride on the Scottish side,
"Sore must thy Margaret mourn;
"For Soulis abhorred is Lyddall's lord,
"And I fear you'll ne'er return.

"The axe he bears, it hacks and tears;
"'Tis formed of an earth-fast flint;
"No armour of knight, tho' ever so wight,
"Can bear its deadly dint.

"No danger he fears, for a charm'd sword he wears;
"Of adderstone the hilt;
"No Tynedale knight had ever such might,
"But his heart-blood was spilt."

"In my plume is seen the holly green,
"With the leaves of the rowan tree;
"And my casque of sand, by a mermaid's hand,
"Was formed beneath the sea.

"Then, Margaret dear, have thou no fear!
"That bodes no ill to me,
"Though never a knight, by mortal might,
"Could match his gramarye."--

Then forward bound both horse and hound,
And rattle o'er the vale;
As the wintry breeze, through leafless trees,
Drives on the pattering hail.

Behind their course the English fells
In deepening blue retire;
Till soon before them boldly swells
The muir of dun Redswire.

And when they reached the Redswire high,
Soft beam'd the rising sun;
But formless shadows seemed to fly
Along the muir-land dun.

And when he reached the Redswire high,
His bugle Keeldar blew;
And round did float, with clamorous note
And scream, the hoarse curlew.

The next blast that young Keeldar blew,
The wind grew deadly still;
But the sleek fern, with fingery leaves,
Waved wildly o'er the hill.

The third blast that young Keeldar blew,
Still stood the limber fern;
And a wee man, of swarthy hue,
Up started by a cairn.

His russet weeds were brown as heath,
That clothes the upland fell;
And the hair of his head was frizzly red,
As the purple heather bell.

An urchin,[79] clad in prickles red,
Clung cowring to his arm;
The hounds they howl'd, and backward fled,
As struck by Fairy charm.

"Why rises high the stag-hound's cry,
"Where stag-hound ne'er should be?
"Why wakes that horn the silent morn,
"Without the leave of me?"

"Brown dwarf, that o'er the muir-land strays,
"Thy name to Keeldar tell!"--
"The Brown Man of the Muirs, who stays
"Beneath the heather bell.

"'Tis sweet, beneath the heather-bell,
"To live in autumn brown;
"And sweet to hear the lav'rocks swell
"Far far from tower and town.

"But woe betide the shrilling horn,
"The chace's surly cheer!
"And ever that hunter is forlorn,
"Whom first at morn I hear."

Says, "Weal nor woe, nor friend nor foe,
"In thee we hope nor dread."
But, ere the bugles green could blow,
The Wee Brown Man had fled.

And onward, onward, hound and horse,
Young Keeldar's band have gone;
And soon they wheel, in rapid course,
Around the Keeldar Stone.

Green vervain round its base did creep,
A powerful seed that bore;
And oft, of yore, its channels deep
Were stained with human gore.

And still, when blood-drops, clotted thin,
Hang the grey moss upon,
The spirit murmurs from within,
And shakes the rocking stone.

Around, around, young Keeldar wound,
And called, in scornful tone,
With him to pass the barrier ground,
The Spirit of the Stone.

The rude crag rocked; "I come for death!
"I come to work thy woe!"
And 'twas the Brown Man of the Heath,
That murmured from below.

But onward, onward, Keeldar past,
Swift as the winter wind,
When, hovering on the driving blast,
The snow-flakes fall behind.

They passed the muir of berries blae,
The stone cross on the lee;
They reached the green, the bonny brae,
Beneath the birchen tree.

This is the bonny brae, the green,
Yet sacred to the brave,
Where still, of ancient size, is seen
Gigantic Keeldar's grave.

The lonely shepherd loves to mark
The daisy springing fair,
Where weeps the birch of silver bark,
With long dishevelled hair.

The grave is green, and round is spread
The curling lady-fern;
That fatal day the mould was red,
No moss was on the cairn.

And next they passed the chapel there;
The holy ground was by,
Where many a stone is sculptured fair,
To mark where warriors lie.

And here, beside the mountain flood,
A massy castle frown'd,
Since first the Pictish race in blood
The haunted pile did found.

The restless stream its rocky base
Assails with ceaseless din;
And many a troubled spirit strays
The dungeons dark within.

Soon from the lofty tower there hied
A knight across the vale;
"I greet your master well," he cried,
"From Soulis of Liddesdale.

"He heard your bugle's echoing call,
"In his green garden bower;
"And bids you to his festive hall,
"Within his ancient tower."

Young Keeldar called his hunter train;
"For doubtful cheer prepare!
"And, as you open force disdain,
"Of secret guile beware.

"'Twas here for Mangerton's brave lord
"A bloody feast was set;
"Who, weetless, at the festal board,
"The bull's broad frontlet met.

"Then ever, at uncourteous feast,
"Keep every man his brand;
"And, as you mid his friends are placed,
"Range on the better hand.

"And, if the bull's ill-omened head
"Appear to grace the feast,
"Your whingers, with unerring speed,
"Plunge in each neighbour's breast."

In Hermitage they sat at dine,
In pomp and proud array;
And oft they filled the blood-red wine,
While merry minstrels play.

And many a hunting song they sung,
And song of game and glee;
Then tuned to plaintive strains their tongue,
"Of Scotland's luve and lee."

To wilder measures next they turn:
"The Black Black Bull of Noroway!"
Sudden the tapers cease to burn,
The minstrels cease to play.

Each hunter bold, of Keeldar's train,
Sat an enchanted man;
For cold as ice, through every vein,
The freezing life-blood ran.

Each rigid hand the whinger wrung,
Each gazed with glaring eye;
But Keeldar from the table sprung,
Unharmed by gramarye.

He burst the door; the roofs resound;
With yells the castle rung;
Before him, with a sudden bound,
His favourite blood-hound sprung.

Ere he could pass, the door was barr'd;
And, grating harsh from under,
With creaking, jarring noise, was heard
A sound like distant thunder.

The iron clash, the grinding sound,
Announce the dire sword-mill;
The piteous howlings of the hound
The dreadful dungeon fill.

With breath drawn in, the murderous crew
Stood listening to the yell;
And greater still their wonder grew,
As on their ear it fell.

They listen'd for a human shriek
Amid the jarring sound;
They only heard, in echoes weak,
The murmurs of the hound.

The death-bell rung, and wide were flung
The castle gates amain;
While hurry out the armed rout,
And marshal on the plain.

Ah! ne'er before in border feud
Was seen so dire a fray!
Through glittering lances Keeldar hewed
A red corse-paven way.

His helmet, formed of mermaid sand,
No lethal brand could dint;
No other arms could e'er withstand
The axe of earth-fast flint.

In Keeldar's plume the holly green,
And rowan leaves, nod on,
And vain Lord Soulis's sword was seen,
Though the hilt was adderstone.

Then up the Wee Brown Man he rose,
By Soulis of Liddesdale;
"In vain," he said, "a thousand blows
"Assail the charmed mail.

"In vain by land your arrows glide,
"In vain your faulchions gleam--
"No spell can stay the living tide,
"Or charm the rushing stream."

And now, young Keeldar reached the stream,
Above the foamy lin;
The border lances round him gleam,
And force the warrior in.

The holly floated to the side,
And the leaf of the rowan pale:
Alas! no spell could charm the tide,
Nor the lance of Liddesdale.

Swift was the Cout o' Keeldar's course,
Along the lily lee;
But home came never hound nor horse,
And never home came he.

Where weeps the birch with branches green,
Without the holy ground,
Between two old gray stones is seen
The warrior's ridgy mound.

And the hunters bold, of Keeldar's train,
Within yon castle's wall,
In a deadly sleep must ay remain,
Till the ruined towers down fall.

Each in his hunter's garb array'd,
Each holds his bugle horn;
Their keen hounds at their feet are laid,
That ne'er shall wake the morn.

NOTES

ON

THE COUT OF KEELDAR.

* * * * *

_'Tis formed of an earth-fast flint._--P. 287. v. 2.

An earth-fast stone, or an insulated stone, inclosed in a bed of earth, is supposed to possess peculiar properties. It is frequently applied to sprains and bruises, and used to dissipate swellings; but its blow is reckoned uncommonly severe.

_Of adderstone the hilt._--P. 287. v. 3.

The adderstone, among the Scottish peasantry, is held in almost as high veneration, as, among the Gauls, the _ovum anguinum_, described by Pliny.--_Natural History_, l. xxix. c. 3. The name is applied to celts, and other round perforated stones. The vulgar suppose them to be perforated by the stings of adders.

_With the leaves of the rowan tree._--P. 287. v. 4.

The rowan tree, or mountain ash, is still used by the peasantry, to avert the effects of charms and witchcraft. An inferior degree of the same influence is supposed to reside in many evergreens; as the holly, and the bay. With the leaves of the bay, the English and Welch peasants were lately accustomed to adorn their doors at midsummer.--Vide BRAND's _Vulgar Antiquities_.

_And shakes the rocking stone._--P. 291. v. 1.

The rocking stone, commonly reckoned a Druidical monument, has always been held in superstitious veneration by the people. The popular opinion, which supposes them to be inhabited by a spirit, coincides with that of the ancient Icelanders, who worshipped the dæmons, which they believed to inhabit great stones. It is related in the _Kristni Saga_, chap. 2, that the first Icelandic bishop, by chaunting a hymn over one of these sacred stones, immediately after his arrival in the island, split it, expelled the spirit, and converted its worshippers to Christianity. The herb vervain, revered by the Druids, was also reckoned a powerful charm by the common people; and the author recollects a popular rhyme, supposed to be addressed to a young woman by the devil, who attempted to seduce her in the shape of a handsome young man:

Gin ye wish to be leman mine,
Lay off the St John's wort, and the vervine.

By his repugnance to these sacred plants, his mistress discovered the cloven foot.

_Since first the Pictish race in blood._--P. 292. v. 5.

Castles, remarkable for size, strength, and antiquity, are, by the common people, commonly attributed to the Picts, or Pechs, who are not supposed to have trusted solely to their skill in masonry, in constructing these edifices, but are believed to have bathed the foundation-stone with human blood, in order to propitiate the spirit of the soil. Similar to this is the Gaelic tradition, according to which St Columba is supposed to have been forced to bury St Oran alive, beneath the foundation of his monastery, in order to propitiate the spirits of the soil, who demolished by night what was built during the day.

_And, if the bull's ill-omened head, &c._--P. 294. v. 2.

To present a bull's head before a person at a feast, was, in the ancient turbulent times of Scotland, a common signal for his assassination. Thus, Lindsay of Pitscottie relates in his History, p. 17, that "efter the dinner was endit, once alle the delicate courses taken away, the chancellor (Sir William Crichton) presentit the bullis head befoir the Earle of Douglas, in signe and toaken of condemnation to the death."

_Then tuned to plaintive strains their tongue,_
_"Of Scotland's luve and lee."_--P. 294. v. 4.

The most ancient Scottish song known is that which is here alluded to, and is thus given by Wintoun, in his Chronykil, Vol. I. p. 401.

Quhen Alysandyr our kyng wes dede,
That Scotland led in luve and le,
Away wes sons of ale and brede,
Of wyne and wax, of gamyn and gle:

Oure gold wes changyd into lede,
Cryst, borne into virgynyte,
Succour Scotland and remede,
That stad is in perplexyte.

That alluded to in the following verse, is a wild fanciful popular tale of enchantment, termed "_The Black Bull of Noroway_." The author is inclined to believe it the same story with the romance of the "_Three Futtit Dog of Noroway_," the title of which is mentioned in the _Complaynt of Scotland_.

_The iron clash, the grinding sound,_
_Announce the dire sword-mill._--P. 295. v. 5.

The author is unable to produce any authority, that the execrable machine, the sword-mill, so well known on the continent, was ever employed in Scotland; but he believes the vestiges of something very similar have been discovered in the ruins of old castles.

_No spell can stay the living tide._--P. 297. v. 3.

That no species of magic had any effect over a running stream, was a common opinion among the vulgar, and is alluded to in Burns's admirable tale of _Tam o' Shanter_.

FOOTNOTES:

[77] _Withershins._--German, _widdersins_. A direction contrary to the course of the sun; from left, namely, to right.

[78] _Streamers_--Northern lights.

[79] _Urchin_--Hedge-hog.

GLENFINLAS,

OR

LORD RONALD'S CORONACH.[80]

BY THE EDITOR.

* * * * *

The simple tradition, upon which the following stanzas are founded, runs thus: While two Highland hunters were passing the night in a solitary _bathy_ (a hut, built for the purpose of hunting), and making merry over their venison and whisky, one of them expressed a wish, that they had pretty lasses to complete their party. The words were scarcely uttered, when two beautiful young women, habited in green, entered the hut, dancing and singing. One of the hunters was seduced by the syren, who attached herself particularly to him, to leave the hut: the other remained, and, suspicious of the fair seducers, continued to play upon a trump, or Jew's harp, some strain, consecrated to the Virgin Mary. Day at length came, and the temptress vanished. Searching in the forest, he found the bones of his unfortunate friend, who had been torn to pieces and devoured by the fiend, into whose toils he had fallen. The place was from thence called the Glen of the Green Women.

Glenfinlas is a tract of forest-ground, lying in the Highlands of Perthshire, not far from Callender, in Menteith. It was formerly a royal forest, and now belongs to the Earl of Moray. This country, as well as the adjacent district of Balquidder, was, in times of yore, chiefly inhabited by the Macgregors. To the west of the forest of Glenfinlas lies Loch Katrine, and its romantic avenue, called the Troshachs. Benledi, Benmore, and Benvoirlich, are mountains in the same district, and at no great distance from Glenfinlas. The river Teith passes Callender and the castle of Doune, and joins the Forth near Stirling. The pass of Lenny is immediately above Callender, and is the principal access to the Highlands, from that town. Glenartney is a forest, near Benvoirlich. The whole forms a sublime tract of Alpine scenery.

This ballad first appeared in the _Tales of Wonder_.

GLENFINLAS,

OR

LORD RONALD'S CORONACH.

* * * * *

"For them the viewless forms of air obey,
"Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair;
"They know what spirit brews the stormful day,
"And heartless oft, like moody madness, stare,
"To see the phantom-train their secret work prepare."[81]

* * * * *

"O hone a rie'! O hone a rie'![82]
"The pride of Albin's line is o'er,
"And fallen Glenartney's stateliest tree;
"We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more!

O, sprung from great Macgillianore,
The chief that never feared a foe,
How matchless was thy broad claymore,
How deadly thine unerring bow!

Well can the Saxon widows tell,
How, on the Teith's resounding shore,
The boldest Lowland warriors fell,
As down from Lenny's pass you bore.

But o'er his hills, on festal day,
How blazed Lord Ronald's beltane-tree;
While youths and maids the light strathspey
So nimbly danced with Highland glee.

Cheer'd by the strength of Ronald's shell,
E'en age forgot his tresses hoar;
But now the loud lament we swell,
O ne'er to see Lord Ronald more!

From distant isles a Chieftain came,
The joys of Ronald's halls to find,
And chase with him the dark-brown game,
That bounds o'er Albin's hills of wind.

'Twas Moy; whom in Columba's isle
The seer's prophetic spirit found,
As, with a minstrel's fire the while,
He waked his harp's harmonious sound.

Full many a spell to him was known,
Which wandering spirits shrink to hear;
And many a lay of potent tone,
Was never meant for mortal ear.

For there, 'tis said, in mystic mood,
High converse with the dead they hold,
And oft espy the fated shroud,
That shall the future corpse enfold.

O so it fell, that on a day,
To rouse the red deer from their den,
The chiefs have ta'en their distant way,
And scour'd the deep Glenfinlas glen.

No vassals wait their sports to aid,
To watch their safety, deck their board?
Their simple dress, the Highland plaid,
Their trusty guard, the Highland sword.

Three summer days, through brake and dell,
Their whistling shafts successful flew;
And still, when dewy evening fell,
The quarry to their hut they drew.

In grey Glenfinlas' deepest nook
The solitary cabin stood,
Fast by Moneira's sullen brook,
Which murmurs through that lonely wood.

Soft fell the night, the sky was calm,
When three successive days had flown;
And summer mist in dewy balm
Steep'd heathy bank, and mossy stone.

The moon, half-hid in silvery flakes,
Afar her dubious radiance shed,
Quivering on Katrine's distant lakes,
And resting on Benledi's head.

Now in their hut, in social guise,
Their sylvan fare the chiefs enjoy;
And pleasure laughs in Ronald's eyes,
As many a pledge he quaffs to Moy.

--"What lack we here to crown our bliss,
"While thus the pulse of joy beats high?
"What, but fair woman's yielding kiss,
"Her panting breath, and melting eye?

"To chase the deer of yonder shades,
"This morning left their father's pile
"The fairest of our mountain maids,
"The daughters of the proud Glengyle.

"Long have I sought sweet Mary's heart,
"And dropp'd the tear, and heav'd the sigh;
"But vain the lover's wily art,
"Beneath a sister's watchful eye.

"But thou may'st teach that guardian fair,
"While far with Mary I am flown,
"Of other hearts to cease her care,
"And find it hard to guard her own.

"Touch but thy harp, thou soon shalt see
"The lovely Flora of Glengyle,
"Unmindful of her charge and me,
"Hang on thy notes, 'twixt tear and smile.

"Or, if she chuse a melting tale,
"All underneath the greenwood bough,
"Will good St Oran's rule prevail,
"Stern huntsman of the rigid brow?"--

--"Since Enrick's fight, since Morna's death,
"No more on me shall rapture rise,
"Responsive to the panting breath,
"Or yielding kiss, or melting eyes.

"E'en then, when o'er the heath of woe,
"Where sunk my hopes of love and fame,
"I bade my harp's wild wailings flow,
"On me the Seer's sad spirit came.

"The last dread curse of angry heaven,
"With ghastly sights and sounds of woe,
"To dash each glimpse of joy, was given--
"The gift, the future ill to know.

"The bark thou saw'st, yon summer morn,
"So gaily part from Oban's bay,
"My eye beheld her dash'd and torn,
"Far on the rocky Colonsay.

"Thy Fergus too--thy sister's son,
"Thou saw'st, with pride, the gallant's power,
"As marching 'gainst the Lord of Downe,
"He left the skirts of huge Benmore.

"Thou only saw'st their tartans[83] wave,
"As down Benvoirlich's side they wound,
"Heard'st but the pibroch[84], answering brave
"To many a target clanking round.

"I heard the groans, I mark'd the tears,
"I saw the wound his bosom bore,
"When on the serried Saxon spears
"He pour'd his clan's resistless roar.

"And thou, who bidst me think of bliss,
"And bidst my heart awake to glee,
"And court, like thee, the wanton kiss--
"That heart, O Ronald, bleeds for thee!

"I see the death damps chill thy brow;
"I hear thy Warning Spirit cry;
"The corpse-lights dance--they're gone, and now....
"No more is given to gifted eye!"----

----"Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams,
"Sad prophet of the evil hour!
"Say, should we scorn joy's transient beams,
"Because to-morrow's storm may lour?

"Or false, or sooth, thy words of woe,
"Clangillian's chieftain ne'er shall fear;
"His blood shall bound at rapture's glow,
"Though doom'd to stain the Saxon spear.

"E'en now, to meet me in yon dell,
"My Mary's buskins brush the dew;"
He spoke, nor bade the chief farewell,
But call'd his dogs, and gay withdrew.

Within an hour return'd each hound;
In rush'd the rouzers of the deer;
They howl'd in melancholy sound,
Then closely couch beside the seer.

No Ronald yet; though midnight came,
And sad were Moy's prophetic dreams,
As, bending o'er the dying flame,
He fed the watch-fire's quivering gleams.

Sudden the hounds erect their ears,
And sudden cease their moaning howl;
Close press'd to Moy, they mark their fears
By shivering limbs, and stifled growl.

Untouch'd, the harp began to ring,
As softly, slowly, oped the door;
And shook responsive every string,
As light a footstep press'd the floor.

And, by the watch-fire's glimmering light,
Close by the minstrel's side was seen
An huntress maid, in beauty bright,
All dropping wet her robes of green.

All dropping wet her garments seem;
Chill'd was her cheek, her bosom bare,
As, bending o'er the dying gleam,
She wrung the moisture from her hair.