in the Dukit park.”—The Laird made no answer, but continued to look at the fi gure which was thus perched above his path. "Ride your ways," said the gypsey, "ride your ways, Laird of Ellangowanride your ways, Godfrey Bertram !-This day have ye quenched seven smoking hearths-see if the fire in your ain parlour burn the blither for that.-Ye have riven the thack off seven cottar houses-look if your ain roof-tree stand the faster.-Ye may stable your stirks in the shealings at Derncleugh-see that the hare does not couch on the hearthstane at Ellangowan. -Ride your ways, Godfrey Bertramwhat do ye glowr after our folk for?There's thirty hearts there, that wad hae wanted bread ere ye had wanted sunkets, and spent their life-blood ere ye had scratched your finger. Yes-there's thirty yonder, from the auld wife of an hundred to the babe that was born last week, that have turned out o' their bits o' bields, ye to sleep with the tod and the black-cock in the muirs!-Ride your ways, Ellangowan. Our bairns are hinging at our weary backs-look that your braw cradle at hame be the fairer spread up-not that I am wishing ill to little Harry, or to the babe that's yet to be born-God forbidand make them kind to the poor, and better folk than their father.-And now, ride e'en your ways, for these are the last words ye'll ever hear Meg Merrilies speak, and this is the last reise that I'll ever cut in the bonny woods of Ellangowan.” So saying, she broke the sapling she held in her hand, and flung it into the road. Margaret of Anjou, bestowing on her triumphant foes her keen-edged malediction, could not have turned from them. with a gesture more proudly contemptuous. The Laird was clearing his voice to speak, and thrusting his hand in his pocket. to find half-a-crown; the gypsey waited neither for his reply nor his donation, but strode down the hill to overtake the caravan. Ellangowan rode pensively home; and it was remarkable that he did not mention this interview to any of his family. The groom was not so reserved: he told the story at great length to a full audience in the kitchen, and concluded by swearing, that "if ever the devil spoke by the mouth of a woman, he had spoken by that of Meg Merrilies that blessed day." CHAPTER IX. Paint Scotland greeting ower her thrissie, Seizing a stell; Triumphant crushin't like a mussell, Or lampit shell. BURNS. DURING the period of Mr Bertram's active magistracy, he did not forget the affairs of the revenue. Smuggling, for which the Isle of Man then afforded peculiar facilities, was general, or rather uni versal, all along the south-western coast of Scotland. Almost all the common peoplewere engaged in these practices, the gentry connived at them, and the officers of the revenue were frequently discounte nanced in the exercise of their duty, bythose who should have protected them.. There was, at this period, employed as a riding officer or supervisor, in that part of the country, a certain Francis Kennedy, already named in our narrative; a stout, resolute, and active man, who had made seizures to a great amount, and was proportionally hated by those who had an interest in the fair-trade, as they called these contraband adventurers. This person was natural son to a gentleman of good family, owing to which circumstance, and to his being of a jolly convivial disposition, and singing a good song, he was admitted to the occasional society of the gentlemen of the country, and was a member of several of their clubs for practising athletic games, at which he was particularly expert. At Ellangowan, Kennedy was a frequent and always an acceptable guest. His vivacity relieved Mr Bertram of the trouble of thought, and the labour which it cost him to support a detailed communication of ideas; while the daring and dangerous exploits which he had undertaken |