A diligent collector of these legendary sc.r.a.ps of ancient poetry, his foot refused to cross the threshold when his ear was thus arrested, and his hand instinctively took pencil and memorandum-book. From time to time the old woman spoke as if to the children--"Oh ay, hinnies, whisht!

whisht! and I'll begin a bonnier ane than that--

"Now haud your tongue, baith wife and carle, And listen, great and sma', And I will sing of Glenallan's Earl That fought on the red Harlaw.

"The cronach's cried on Bennachie, And doun the Don and a', And hieland and lawland may mournfu' be For the sair field of Harlaw.--

I dinna mind the neist verse weel--my memory's failed, and theres unco thoughts come ower me--G.o.d keep us frae temptation!"

Here her voice sunk in indistinct muttering.

"It's a historical ballad," said Oldbuck, eagerly, "a genuine and undoubted fragment of minstrelsy! Percy would admire its simplicity-- Ritson could not impugn its authenticity."

"Ay, but it's a sad thing," said Ochiltree, "to see human nature sae far owertaen as to be skirling at auld sangs on the back of a loss like hers."

"Hush! hush!" said the Antiquary--"she has gotten the thread of the story again. "--And as he spoke, she sung--

"They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds, They hae bridled a hundred black, With a chafron of steel on each horse's head, And a good knight upon his back. "--

"Chafron!" exclaimed the Antiquary,--"equivalent, perhaps, to cheveron;--the word's worth a dollar,"--and down it went in his red book.

"They hadna ridden a mile, a mile, A mile, but barely ten, When Donald came branking down the brae Wi' twenty thousand men.

"Their tartans they were waving wide, Their glaives were glancing clear, Their pibrochs rung frae side to side, Would deafen ye to hear.

"The great Earl in his stirrups stood That Highland host to see: Now here a knight that's stout and good May prove a jeopardie:

"What wouldst thou do, my squire so gay, That rides beside my reyne, Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day, And I were Roland Cheyne?

"To turn the rein were sin and shame, To fight were wondrous peril, What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne, Were ye Glenallan's Earl?'

Ye maun ken, hinnies, that this Roland Cheyne, for as poor and auld as I sit in the chimney-neuk, was my forbear, and an awfu' man he was that dayin the fight, but specially after the Earl had fa'en, for he blamed himsell for the counsel he gave, to fight before Mar came up wi' Mearns, and Aberdeen, and Angus."

Her voice rose and became more animated as she recited the warlike counsel of her ancestor--

"Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide, And ye were Roland Cheyne, The spur should be in my horse's side, And the bridle upon his mane.

"If they hae twenty thousand blades, And we twice ten times ten, Yet they hae but their tartan plaids, And we are mail-clad men.

"My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude, As through the moorland fern, Then neer let the gentle Norman blude Grow cauld for Highland kerne.'"

"Do you hear that, nephew?" said Oldbuck;--"you observe your Gaelic ancestors were not held in high repute formerly by the Lowland warriors."

"I hear," said Hector, "a silly old woman sing a silly old song. I am surprised, sir, that you, who will not listen to Ossian's songs of Selma, can be pleased with such trash. I vow, I have not seen or heard a worse halfpenny ballad; I don't believe you could match it in any pedlar's pack in the country. I should be ashamed to think that the honour of the Highlands could be affected by such doggrel. "--And, tossing up his head, he snuffed the air indignantly.

Apparently the old woman heard the sound of their voices; for, ceasing her song, she called out, "Come in, sirs, come in--good-will never halted at the door-stane."

They entered, and found to their surprise Elspeth alone, sitting "ghastly on the hearth," like the personification of Old Age in the Hunter's song of the Owl,* "wrinkled, tattered, vile, dim-eyed, discoloured, torpid."

* See Mrs. Grant on the Highland Superst.i.tions, vol. ii. p. 260, for this fine translation from the Gaelic.

"They're a' out," she said, as they entered; "but an ye will sit a blink, somebody will be in. If ye hae business wi' my gude-daughter, or my son, they'll be in belyve,--I never speak on business mysell. Bairns, gie them seats--the bairns are a' gane out, I trow,"--looking around her;--"I was crooning to keep them quiet a wee while since; but they hae cruppen out some gate. Sit down, sirs, they'll be in belyve;" and she dismissed her spindle from her hand to twirl upon the floor, and soon seemed exclusively occupied in regulating its motion, as unconscious of the presence of the strangers as she appeared indifferent to their rank or business there.

"I wish," said Oldbuck, "she would resume that canticle, or legendary fragment. I always suspected there was a skirmish of cavalry before the main battle of the Harlaw."*

* Note H. Battle of Harlaw.

"If your honour pleases," said Edie, "had ye not better proceed to the business that brought us a' here? I'se engage to get ye the sang ony time."

"I believe you are right, Edie--Do ma.n.u.s--I submit. But how shall we manage? She sits there the very image of dotage. Speak to her, Edie--try if you can make her recollect having sent you to Glenallan House."

Edie rose accordingly, and, crossing the floor, placed himself in the same position which he had occupied during his former conversation with her. "I'm fain to see ye looking sae weel, c.u.mmer; the mair, that the black ox has tramped on ye since I was aneath your roof-tree."

"Ay," said Elspeth; but rather from a general idea of misfortune, than any exact recollection of what had happened,--"there has been distress amang us of late--I wonder how younger folk bide it--I bide it ill. I canna hear the wind whistle, and the sea roar, but I think I see the coble whombled keel up, and some o' them struggling in the waves!--Eh, sirs; sic weary dreams as folk hae between sleeping and waking, before they win to the lang sleep and the sound! I could amaist think whiles my son, or else Steenie, my oe, was dead, and that I had seen the burial.

Isna that a queer dream for a daft auld carline? What for should ony o'

them dee before me?--it's out o' the course o' nature, ye ken."

"I think you'll make very little of this stupid old woman," said Hector,--who still nourished, perhaps, some feelings of the dislike excited by the disparaging mention of his countrymen in her lay--"I think you'll make but little of her, sir; and it's wasting our time to sit here and listen to her dotage."

"Hector," said the Antiquary, indignantly, "if you do not respect her misfortunes, respect at least her old age and grey hairs: this is the last stage of existence, so finely treated by the Latin poet--

--Omni Membrorum d.a.m.no major dementia, quae nec Nomina, servorum, nec vultus agnoscit amici, c.u.m queis preterita coenavit nocte, nec illos Quos genuit, quos eduxit."

"That's Latin!" said Elspeth, rousing herself as if she attended to the lines, which the Antiquary recited with great pomp of diction--"that's Latin!" and she cast a wild glance around her--"Has there a priest fund me out at last?"

"You see, nephew, her comprehension is almost equal to your own of that fine pa.s.sage."

"I hope you think, sir, that I knew it to be Latin as well as she did?"

"Why, as to that--But stay, she is about to speak."

"I will have no priest--none," said the beldam, with impotent vehemence; "as I have lived I will die--none shall say that I betrayed my mistress, though it were to save my soul!"

"That bespoke a foul conscience," said the mendicant;--"I wuss she wad mak a clean breast, an it were but for her sake;" and he again a.s.sailed her.

"Weel, gudewife, I did your errand to the Yerl."

"To what Earl? I ken nae Earl;--I ken'd a Countess ance--I wish to Heaven I had never ken'd her! for by that acquaintance, neighbour, their cam,"-- and she counted her withered fingers as she spoke "first Pride, then Malice, then Revenge, then False Witness; and Murder tirl'd at the door-pin, if he camna ben. And werena thae pleasant guests, think ye, to take up their quarters in ae woman's heart? I trow there was routh o'

company."

"But, c.u.mmer," continued the beggar, "it wasna the Countess of Glenallan I meant, but her son, him that was Lord Geraldin."

"I mind it now," she said; "I saw him no that langsyne, and we had a heavy speech thegither. Eh, sirs! the comely young lord is turned as auld and frail as I am: it's muckle that sorrow and heartbreak, and crossing of true love, will do wi' young blood. But suldna his mither hae lookit to that hersell?--we were but to do her bidding, ye ken. I am sure there's naebody can blame me--he wasna my son, and she was my mistress. Ye ken how the rhyme says--I hae maist forgotten how to sing, or else the tune's left my auld head--

"He turn'd him right and round again, Said, Scorn na at my mither; Light loves I may get mony a ane, But minnie neer anither.

Then he was but of the half blude, ye ken, and her's was the right Glenallan after a'. Na, na, I maun never maen doing and suffering for the Countess Joscelin--never will I maen for that."

Then drawing her flax from the distaff, with the dogged air of one who is resolved to confess nothing, she resumed her interrupted occupation.