most ardent among themselves. William knew that minutes were worth hours in this case, and that a very brief space spent in this way might accomplish the deliverance of the helpless persons who were fleeing for their lives. And admirably did they succeed; for a breathing-time was afforded to the fugitives, and an opportunity of retiring to a greater distance. The promptitude which he displayed on this occasion attracted the notice of Claverhouse, and he formed a very high opinion of him. He was at this time in all the prime and activity of manhood; and he appeared to the leader of the party, from his assiduity and bodily prowess, to be a man quite fit for his purpose, and he proposed to enlist him as a trooper, offering him very advantageous terms. William inwardly shrank from such a proposal, his whole nature recoiled from such a service; and he declined the proffers of the commander, but in such a way, no doubt, as not to excite unnecessary suspicion.

The soldiers continued the pursuit in the direction of Moffat, having swept along the skirts of Tinwald, and passed Parkgate, where inquiries were made respecting the fugitives. When they had gone thus far, they were informed that the persons of whom they were in quest had betaken themselves to Kinnel Water, to seek in the retreats of that locality a hiding-place. Kinnel Water and its neighbourhood had often concealed the wanderers in the day of their destitution. In this direction, then, the soldiers turned in the pursuit, and Swan and the widow were trudging on foot. As a great deal was supposed to depend on Swan's guidance, Claverhouse, not willing to be retarded by one on foot, and the day beginning to decline, commanded him to vault one of the horses, even though a trooper should dismount and walk. The order was speedily obeyed, and William was seated on a horse which happened to be his own. Nor was the poor widow forgotten; for, seeing that she would inevitably be left alone in the moor, he placed her on horseback behind himself. The circumstance, however, displeased Claverhouse; but Swan's entreaties prevailed, and she was allowed to remain.

The fugitives had frequently, during the course of the day been nearly overtaken by the pursuers, but still they had succeeded in eluding them. Their hopes now began to fail, and they feared that there would be no possibility of escape. Their only refuge now was Queensberry Hill, a height which rises conspicuously in the desert, and on whose head the grey mists often rest in lazy volumes. To this eminence they now fled with all speed, and succeeded in their object before

the horsemen could reach them. When they reached the mountain it is said that the mantling mist descended from the hovering clouds, and enveloped them. This circumstance often happened, and is of every-day occurrence in mountainous parts of the country. It is, however, probable, that the mist was reposing on the sides of the hill at the very time that the fugitives were in its vicinity; and that this induced them to flee to the height, that, if possible, they might get behind its snowy curtains, and hide themselves from their enemies.

The dragoons, it would appear, had a full view of the fleeing party, and pushed on with all eagerness to overtake them. Their disappointment, therefore, was excessive, when they saw them vanish behind the drapery of the mist that was creeping down the slopes of the hill; and Claverhouse, in an especial manner, gave vent to his rage, in the utterance of profane and blasphemous expressions. "There," he exclaimed," is the devil's mist again, which has once more prevented us from seizing those rebels, when they were almost within our grasp."

Their search was now fruitless, unless, in the misty atmosphere, they had been pleased to take windle-straws for men. The day was now drawing to a close, and the haze was spreading downwards into the more level parts, threatening to envelop the whole in bewilderment and perplexity. The concern of the soldiers was now extreme; for they feared that if they should leave their way, as the night was approaching, they would perish in the waste. Their eagerness to apprehend the conventiclers was absorbed in solicitude about their own safety; and every consideration was merged in the single one of immediate self-preservation. The bold commander now felt himself helpless as a child; for he could neither extricate himself nor his men from their perilous situation. And what was it? Were they surrounded with innumerable hosts of savage men, with whom they had no power to cope? Were they encompassed with the devouring floods, expecting every moment to be engulfed in their terrible depths? Were they enveloped in the heart of the desolating tempest, when the hot thunderbolts, with destructive energy, were darting their living fires on every side of them? No. They were only infolded in the soft mantling of the dewy mist, which presented no frightful object to their sight, and uttered no terrible sounds in their ears; and yet they were panic-struck, and at their wits' end. Could one have supposed that a thing so simple would have so entirely un

manned the redoubted cavalier and his magnanimous troopers? And yet so it was. Claverhouse, in utter consternation, offered William Swan a tempting reward if he would conduct them safely off the hill, and through the moors, to some place of abode during the night. Swan inwardly enjoyed the sport, and rejoiced to see the heroes of the moors so completely cowed before the noiseless rolling of the gentle mist; and he determined for once to lead the party at his pleasure, even at the expense of a sleepless night. Claverhouse greatly feared lest, in the murkiness of the evening, he should fall over some precipice, or tumble into some moss-hag, which might prove the grave both of himself and his goodly warsteed. His military skill could not help him here, and his bravery was equally unavailing. He who was so reckless on the field of conflict, and who was rather a savage than a hero, now manifested an excess of concern and timidity that was truly astonishing. But the doughty chieftain found it one thing to face death in the bustle and excitement of the battle-field, and another thing to meet it calmly and ingloriously on the moor.

Swan, though he might be somewhat perplexed by the mist, knew the locality well, and he could, with considerable ease, have conducted them to a regular road, and left them to plod their own way; but this he was resolved not to do, for he was desirous of inflicting some slight chastisement on the troopers, who caused so much distress to the unoffending peasantry. This purpose, however, was defeated; for the party stumbled accidentally on a strolling-shepherd, who was wending his way through the wild. Claverhouse entreated the man to aid them in their difficulty, and threatened him with instant death if he should deceive them. The man, through interest or through fear, did the best he could, and succeeded in conducting them to Mitchelslacks, a farm-house among the hills, where they staid during the night, and then repaired to their garrison in the morning. William Swan and the widow returned home in safety, and, it is said, brought their horses with them-a thing little expected, as Claverhouse seldom parted with such animals when they suited his purpose. Thus terminated the incidents of this day, the morning of which threatened death to the Covenanters and, the evening, destruction to the troopers.

William Swan of Braehead lived to the great age of ninetysix, and "came to his grave in a full age, like as a shock of corn cometh in his season; an old man and full of years, and was gathered to his people." "The memory of the just

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shall be blessed;" and the memorial of this good man is still warmly cherished, not only by his descendants, but by all to whom his good report has reached. His daughter, Helen Swan, was seventy-four years old when she was gathered to her fathers; and his grand-daughter, Helen Fraser, who lives in the village of Minihive in Dumfriesshire, is at present seventy-seven.

CHAPTER VI.

Bellybught-Scene at Auchengrouch-The Pursuit.

THE farm of Bellybught, in the parish of Morton, is situated in a very wild spot among the mountains, and, in the times of our suffering ancestors was occasionally resorted to as a place of seclusion from the fury of their persecutors. In this wilderness there was a lonely shieling, which stood in a moor encircled with hills, and in its neighbourhood was a deep and rugged ravine, whose precipitous sides were thickly covered with wood, the dark and unfrequented mazes and recesses of which afforded a sure and safe retreat. On one occasion, a company of wanderers, one of whom was Adam Clark of Glenim, had concealed themselves in this solitary haunt. Adam, on several accounts, was generally regarded as a leader by the party with whom he was connected, and their movements were usually guided by his direction. In this dreary seclusion they held delightful communion on spiritual things, and enjoyed much sweet intercourse with God. It was to preserve unimpaired the full liberty of worshipping according to their conscience the God of their fathers, that they withstood the unrighteous usurpation of those who wished to wreath about their necks the yoke both of a spiritual and a political bondage; and hence they sought, and found, in the remote solitudes, that freedom which could not elsewhere be enjoyed. In this exile, however, they were often in much distress through hunger; and unless when a friend who knew their situation brought them a supply, they were obliged to travel a considerable distance, and in great secrecy, to procure food to preserve their lives. An anecdote is told of a pious man, who had secluded himself in a cave by the Water of Æ, and who was so closely watched by his enemies, that he dared not venture abroad night or day for a considerable time. In this situation, being greatly