THE THREE PERILS OF MAN (Historical Novel ). James Hogg

be so closely connected with an old respectable Northumberland family.

      The boy was called Elias, and was the property of Jock o' Gilmanscleuch, having been taken by him in a night foray at Rothbury. When the warden applied to Jock for him, bidding him name his ransom, he answered, that if he wist "Michael wad either mak a warlock o' him, or tak out his harigalds to be a sacrifice to the deil, he wadna gie him up for a' the lands o' Newburgh an' Birkendely." Being pacified on these points as well as matters would bear, the two captives were dressed in elegant robes, and delivered to the embassy; Charlie was deputed their captain and leader; the rest were all to be equals, on the same footing, and to choose their own speakers.

      After getting every direction regarding the purport of their mission, the caution and respect which they were to use toward the Master, and the questions they were to get answered, they departed; every one well mounted on an English horse, the friar on his own substantial mule, and such provision with them as they judged necessary. Carol, the bard, had a lyre and a flute. Gibby Jordan, ycleped of the Peatstacknowe, had nothing beside a rusty sword; the friar had an immense wallet below him, judged to be all implements of enchantment; the others had deer or goatskin wallets, stuffed with such things as they deemed necessary; and all of them wore arms, in case of meeting with any unknown interruption. Several of the gallant kinsmen shed tears on taking leave of Delany; who, contrary to what they all expected, seemed full of gaiety, and rather fond of the change than disheartened at it.

      Well, away they rode; and, as soon as they were fairly out of sight of the army, every one began to attach himself to Delany more closely than his neighbour. The friar talked to her of penances, and the sins of youth, and the unlimited confidence due to the professors of religion. The bard chanted his wildest and most amorous ditties. Tam punned and quibbled on the words of the rest; and Gibby continued to narrate his long-winded parables, sometimes to one, sometimes to another, as he found them disposed to listen, and sometimes to none at all. As for Charlie, he contented himself with laughing at them all alternately, and occasionally exchanging a word or sentiment with a valued friend of his.

      "Corby, what's a' this cocking o' your lugs, an' casting up o' your head for, lad? Ye're gaun the wrang road for a battle e'en now. An let you but see the sword an' pree the spur, ye dog, ye wad carry your master to the deil: an' troth, for ought he kens, ye may be carrying him born-head to his honour just now, ye unconscionable tike that ye are."

      Corby first laid back one ear and then the other, which Charlie took for a kind answer; and, patting his mane, he continued: "Na, na, Corby; I ken ye hae nae ill designs; but only ye ken ye like a little mischief, an' a bit splutter now an' than."

      "That minds me o' the story o' Janet Sandilands an' her son Jock," said Gibby Jordan the philosopher, "when he ruggit her hair, an' raive her bussing. 'That callant sude hae his hide threshed for lifting his hand to his mother,' said one: 'Na, na,' quo Janet, 'he maunna be threshed; Jock has nae ill in his mind, only he likes a tulzie.' She that wad hae a close cog sude keep a hale laiggen, Yardbire; for as the auld saying rins, 'Lippen to a Corby, an' he'll pike out your een.'"

      "Shame fa' me gin I see the drift o' your philosophy, Peatstacknowe; but as I'm sure it is weel meant, it sanna be ill ta'en. Corby an' me's twa auld friends, an' we hae a great deal to lippen to ane another. But I wish we had this unsonsy job ower, laird—we're gaun on kittle ground."

      "It minds me something o' the fisher that ran away after the Willy-an'-the-wisp," said Jordan: "It's a lang story, but it's weel wordy the hearing."

      "If it be a very lang story, we might as weel crack about something else," said Charlie. "My heart's unco muckle turned on this daft job o' prying into the time that's to come, an' on what we're to say to the warlock. Gude saif us, laird, wha's to be the speaker? I wish that fleysome job maunna light on you? For you see, gin we set the deil's Tam to address him, he'll put him mad at the very first. The poet can bring out naething but rhames o' high flown nonsense; an' for mysel, I'm an unco plain matter-o'-fact man, an' better at good straiks than good words. Sae that the matter maun lie atween you an' the friar. What say you to this, Peatstacknowe?"

      "Gude troth, Yardbire, an the task light on either of us, it may weel bring me in mind o' the laird o' Glencarthon, when he stack i' the midden at Saint Johnston, an' tint himsel i' the dark entry. The laird, you see, he comes to the door of a sow-house, an' calls out, 'Good people within there, can you tell me the way to the Queen's hostlery?' 'Oogh?' cried the auld sow. The laird repeated his question quite distinctly, which disturbing some o' the pigs, they came to the back o' the door an' fell a murmuring an' squeaking. 'What do you say?' said the laird in his turn: 'I'll thank you if you will not just speak so vehemently.' The pigs went on. 'Oh, I hear you speak Erse in this house,' said the laird; 'but, no matter: thank you for your information, I will try to work my way.' Now you see, Yardbire, like draws aye to like; an' for the friar, wi' his auld warld says, or me, to address the great Master, it wad be a reversing o' nature an' the very order of things. I hae nae hope o' our good success at a', an it warna for that bonnie Delany. If he's a man, an' no just an incarnate deil, he will be delightit wi' her."

      "I wish we had her safely at him, laird," said Charlie; "for, troth, do ye see, thae chaps hing about her, an' look at her as gin they wadna care to eat her."

      "She brings me amind o' a weelfaurd dink gimmer that wench," said Jordan, "that I aince saw gaun up Sowerhopeburn. There was a tichel o' wallidraggle tup hoggs rinning after her, an' plaguing her, till I was just grieved for the poor beast. At length down there comes a wheel-horned ram, the king o' the flock, an' he taks up his station by the side o' the bonny thing, an' than a' the young ranigalds slinkit away as their noses had been blooding. Then the bonny she thing got peace, for whenever ony o' the rascallions began to jee up his lug, an' draw near her, ae glent o' the auld fellow's ee stoppit him short. Now, Yardbire, I trow it is a shame to see a pretty maid jaumphed an' jur-mummled in that gate: if you will just ride close up to the tae side o' her, I'll tak up the tither, an' we'll gar them keep a due distance. There's nane o' them dares shoulder you aside."

      "I doubt, laird, there is something selfish in that plan o' yours," said Charlie; "ye hae a hankering yonder yourself, but ye darena try to make your ain way without ye get me to back ye. Fight dog, fight bane, Peatstacknowe; gin I be to tulzie for a bonny may, I tulzie for my ain hand."

      "It wad be sae weel done to chap them back," said Jordan: "See to the metre poet how he's capering an' turning up his mou': Yon fat hypocrite, the warlock friar, is blinking out frae aneath his sanctified ee-brees like a Barbary ape: An' there's the deil's Tam; od I think he'll hae his lang coulter nose stappit into her lug."

      "Ride up, neighbour," quoth Charlie, "an' tell them that face to face. I like nae yethering ahint backs. Ane may ward a blow at the breast, but a prod at the back's no fair. A man wears neither ee nor armour there. Ride up, ride up, neighbour, gin you winna tell them a' you have said, I'll e'en tell them mysel."

      "Yardbire, I hope ye're no gaen gyte, to breed despite amang the warden's ambassadors to the deil. Stop till I tell you a queer joke that's come into my mind by your speaking about armour ahint. Last year, when the dalesmen were cried out in sic a hurry for the Durham raide, there was ane o' Fairniehirst's troopers got strong breastplates o' steel made to defend his heart. There was ane Brogg Paterson in Hawick, a wag that I kenned weel, was employed to fit the harnessing to the clothes; and learning that the raide was to be early in the morning, an' nae leisure for shifting, an' seeing the trooper so intent on protecting his heart, instead o' putting the steel plates in the inside o' his doublet, Paterson fastened them in the seat of his trews. After passing the Tine, the Scots encamped within a half moon of an impervious brake, and sent out a party of foragers, among whom was this trooper Turnbull. The party were pursued by a body of English horse, and several of them slain; but Turnbull reaching the brake, plunged into it, horse and man. The horse stuck fast, and just as poor Turnbull was trying to extricate himself, by scrambling over the horse's head, an Englishman came riding fiercely up, and struck him such a blow with his lance behind as would have spitted him to the neck,—but hitting right on the steel plate, he made him fly heels-o'er-head over the brake, and into a place of safety. A comrade perceiving, came to assist him, and found Turnbull lying on the ground, repeating to himself these words with the utmost devotion:—"God bless Brogg Paterson in Hawick! God bless Brogg Paterson