which state they forcibly took possession of the wassailbowl and emptied it.

The following morning Mr. Chappell's band was discovered, like Spenser's allegory of February, sitting in an old waggon in the middle of the floods, in which state they had been left by the treachery of the man who was to meet them at the nearest railway station, and take them all over to the Hall; and there they would have been much longer, had not the principal cornet attracted the attention of the agricultural populationby a post-horn without the galop-to their plight. And, singular to say, this traitor went on straight to the Hall, and took the part of the Dragon, who spirited Annie away, changing again, when in the sheriff's carriage, to no less a person than young Walcot, who forthwith accompanied the lady of his heart by rail to Gretna-following the force of high example-and came back penitent and married, before Mr. and Mrs. Tonks had recovered from the anguish into which the failure of keeping Christmas in the old style had plunged them.

There was the usual business to go through the anger, the pleadings, and the forgiveness; and then, Mr. Tonks thought that Annie had perhaps done better, after all, than if she had caught old Lady Hawksy's nephew. For subsequent little rudenesses on the part of his guests disgusted him with society above him, and he began to think that, however much money he spent, he was only sneered at covertly by those whom he attempted to equalize himself with, and that, if his notions of doing good and being benevolent were real, and not conventionally chivalric, they could be carried out as well by the retired London tradesman as the gotup-for-the-purpose Old English Gentleman, to which position he had no pretensions.

(By permission of Messrs. Chapman and Hall.)

28

THE MARTYR'S BRIDE.

JAMES HOGG.

"O WHERE have you been, bonny Morley Reid? For mony a long night and day

I have missed ye sair, at the Wanlock-head,
And the cave o' the Louther brae.

Our friends are waning fast away,

Baith frae the cliff and the wood; They are tearing them frae us ilka day,

For there's naething will please but blood.

And O bonny Morley, I maun now

Gie

your heart muckle pain,

For your bridegroom is a missing too
And 'tis feared that he is ta'en.

We have sought the caves o' the Enterkin,
And the dens of the Ballybough,
And a' the howes o' the Ganna linn,
And we wot not what to do."

66 Dispel your fears, good Marjory Laing,
And hope all for the best,

For the servants of God will find a place,
Their weary heads to rest.

There are better places, than we ken o',
And seemlier to be in,

Than all the dens of the Ballybough,
Or howes o' the Ganna linn.

But sit thee down, good Marjory Laing,
And listen awhile to me,

For I have a tale to tell to you,
That will bring you to your knee,

I went to seek my own dear James
In the cave of the Louther brae,

For I had some things that of a' the world,
He best deserved to ha'e.

I had a kebbuck in my lap,

And a fadge o' the flower sae sma',

And a sark I had made for his boardly back,
As white as the new dri'en snaw.

I sought him over hill and dale,
Shouting by cave and tree,
But only the dell, with its eiry yell,
An answer returned to me.

I sought him up, and I sought him down,
And echoes returned his name,
Till the gloffs o' dread shot to my heart,
And dirled through a' my frame.

I sat me down by the Enterkin.
And saw, in a fearful line,

The red dragoons come up the path,
Wi' prisoners eight or nine,

And one of them was my dear, dear James,
The flower of a' his kin;

He was wounded behind, and wounded before,
And the blood ran frae his chin.

He was bound upon a weary hack,
Lashed both by hough and heel,

And his hands were bound behind his back,
Wi' the thumbikins of steel.

I kneeled before that popish band,

In the fervour of inward strife,

And I raised to heaven my trembling hand,
And begged my husband's life.

But all the troop laughed me to scorn,
Making my grief their game,

And the captain said some words to me,
Which I cannot tell you
for shame.

And then he cursed our whiggish race
With a proud and a scornful brow,
And bade me look at my husband's face,
And say how I liked him now.

O, I like him weel, thou proud captain,
Though the blood runs to his knee,
And all the better for the grievous wrongs
He has suffered this day frae thee.

But can you feel within

your heart, That comely youth to slay;

For the hope you have in heaven, Captain,
Let him gang wi' me away.

Then the Captain swore a fearfu' oath,

With loathsome jest and mock,

That he thought no more of a whigamore's life,
Than the life of a noisome brock.

Then my poor James to the Captain called,
And he begged baith hard and sair,
To have one kiss of his bonny bride,
Ere we parted for evermair.

I'll do that for you, said the proud Captain,
And save you the toil to-day,
And, moreover, I'll take her little store,
To support you by the way.

He took my bountith from my lap,

And I saw with sorrow dumb
That he parted it all among his men.
And gave not my love one crumb.

Now, fare you well, my very bonny bride,
Cried the Captain with disdain,
When I come back to the banks of Nith,
I shall kiss you sweetly then.

Your heartiest thanks must sure be given,
For what I have done to-day,

I am taking him straight on the road to heaven,
And short will be the way.

My love he gave me a parting look,

And blessed me ferventlye,

And the tears they mixed wi' his purple blood, And ran dower to his knee."

"What's this I hear, bonny Morley Reid?
How could these woes betide?

For, blither you could not look this day,
Were your husband by your side.
One of two things alone is left,
And dreadful the one to me,
For either your fair wits are reft,
Or else your husband's free."

"Allay your fears, good Marjory Laing,
And hear me out the rest,

You little ken what a bride will do,
For the youth she likes the best.

my

I hied me home to my father's ha',
And through a' friends I ran,
And I gathered me up a purse o' goud,
To redeem my young good man.

For I ken'd the papish lowns would well

My fair intent approve,

For they'll do far mair for the good red goud, Than they'll do for heaven above.

And away I ran to Edenburgh town,

Of my shining treasure vain,

To buy my James from the prison strong,
Or there with him remain.

I sought through a' the city jails,

I sought both long and sair,

But the guardsmen turned me frae their doors,
And swore that he was not there.

I went away to the popish duke,
Who was my love's judge to be,
And I proffered him a' my yellow store
If he'd grant his life to me.