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at this aggression, addressed to the hand from which the harm proceeded, a deep and dolorous bray-a moving cry of the most pathetic expostulation; and, snapping its halter in two, came rushing between the gypsey combatants, effectually shielding them from the mortal thrusts which, with bared swords, they were aiming at each other.

herself back, adding, by the movement, a nail on my auld elwand to her natural height, and shook back the profusion of raven curls from her brow. Her swarthy eyes glimmered fearfully bright, and words to give utterance to all this visible scorn and wrath were ready to pass her lips, when the interposition of a hitherto unheeded and silent dependant took all attention away from meaner things. Ere the hero of the Dub o' Dryfe had concluded his address, a young and powerful man, who sat cementing china in the corner, and who had regarded all that had hitherto happened as common occurrences, began to shew the deep interest he took in this unexpected proposal. He started up, muttering, as he rose, some of the readiest words in which fury manifests herself the forerunners of the fiercest language and the most desperate deeds, and the china he was repairing was crushed to dust against the distant walls of the room. By the cravat of your Grandfather," said he to the man of Dryfe, "and that was a hempen one-and by the hand that fitted it on, and that was the hangman's, I shall save the collar that's destined to grace the craigs of your kindred all future trouble, if ye dare but to touch the hand of my cousin, bonny Kate Marshall." To this speech, in which, perhaps, the jealousy of rivalry embittered the cup of offence that had been proffered to the lips of his kindred, the man of Drysdale replied with a loud and discordant laugh, something like the shrieking scream of the owl when, with expanded wings, it comes pounce on its prey. His face grew black as death, and even dilated with the infernal smile which curled his lips, and his whole frame quivered with rage-it was only for a moment. He seized the mortal weapon, which lay at his feet, by the point, and launched it with amazing force at the head of the cousin of Kate Marshall. But he had to combat with a man far more cool, and equally desperate as himself. He ducked his head as a water-hen does when the fowler's gun flashes; the dangerous missile grazed his hair as he sunk, and flying far beyond, sunk deep into the pannier of an old ass, the property of the Patriarch himself, which, covered with a worn mantle, and caparisons of untanned leather, stood ruminating over a sheaf of fresh corn in the corner. The ass,

During this period of controversy and aggression, the chieftain sat on the old pannier with most perfect composure and unconcern; he heard all, but heeded none; and seemed, by his silence, to decide that the death of one or two of the most ferocious and turbulent of his gang would be an acceptable event.

He even applied himself with more than common diligence to the construction of a silver mouthpiece for the living cow's horn, and I cannot say that his skill in this elegant craft was abated by the mortal conclusion to which his dependants seemed hastening; nay, he even gave one "tout" on the instrument, for the apparent purpose of proving the merit of his labour; but as it was uttered at the moment the dirks were drawn, I suspect he internally considered it as a bugle note to battle. But this composure was soon to be shaken. The moment he perceived what had be fallen his ancient and favourite ass, he started from his seat with unexpected agility, and pulling a silver mounted pistol from his girdle, cocked it, and unbuckled the panniers of the animal. The ashen hue of his cheek waxed of a kindlier colour when, on removing the caparisons, he discovered that the missile had drawn blood, but only penetrated skin deep. It had been thrown from a hand so desperate and so powerful, that it forced its way through among two bunches of horn spoons, and the lid of a brass sauce-pan. The old man uncocked his pistol, replaced it in his belt, and, stroking the neck of the old and conscious animal, said, with a visible and tender kindness, "Thou auld sonsie beast-thou best piece of ass's flesh that ever cropped cornthou that hast balanced spoons on thy back to Mall Marshall and her seventeen lad weans, and seen them all laid under the green turf, waes me! The living hand that harms thy life shall soon belong to a dead man, else let never man trust a spark wi' powder mair." So saying, he led the aged

animal back to its stance, adding a piece of wheat bread to its pittance of corn, and then slowly returned and resumed his seat. All this passed in a few moment's space. I had seen blood heated, and blood spilt at fairs, at trystes, and even at hill preachings, but I had never witnessed mortal weapons drawn in mortal wrath before; and I began to look around for some edge tool to defend myself during the general strife which I saw approaching. But the moment the chieftain cocked his pistol, a signal, I understood afterwards, that he was deeply incensed, and resolved to punish, the men who fronted each other in desperate and deadly opposition, and all those who were preparing to second them, recoiled and dropt their weapons, and stood silent and dark, waiting to see on whom the storm would burst. The old man, however, singled out no one for punishment either by eye or by word, but, seated in his pannier, resumed his labour at the harvest-horn, with an unruffled composure worthy of a saint. All the others, weary of the monotony of opposition and strife, resumed their employments the chieftain began to croon, or sing in an under tone, a gyp sey ballad of ancient adventure-the Galwegian tinker, imitating the example of the chief, ranted out some stray verses, which required the purifying pen of those who make family Fieldings, and family Shakspeares, and the hammer of the hero of the Dub o' Dryfe produced, from the bottom of an old cauldron, a corresponding clamour, for he was much too angry for song.

Peace having resumed her reign once more in the unfinished mansion of the Laird of Collieson, the gypsie damsel, Katherine Marshall, walked slowly away to her place of repose, shrouding her beauties as she went in the Sanquhar mantle. "Damsel," said the chieftain, stopping her, " hast thou ought on spit, in cauldron, in bottle or in basket, to comfort this cannie youth with-he has heen leaping on the top of the Lagg hill for three lang nights and a day, holding his two hands to the cauld moon, with deel soupit atween his lips, save the fizzenless verse of a sang." Willingly, and with a smile that came direct from the heart, the maiden turned back, and said" It is nigh the supper hour, and the strange lad will like company-a single spoon is aye laithu

ful"-and so she proceeded to prepare supper, glad to be the means of placing horns reeking with delicious soup in her companion's hands, instead of cold and merciless steel. Two loaded panniers were placed on the floor, a cloth was spread over them-of its whiteness I have little to say-and a sheaf of horn spoons was thrown down loose on this simple supper board. The clatter of these instruments of good cheer was the signal for supper, and instantly from all parts of the house came man and woman, and squatted down as they arrived around the table. From a cauldron that had sometime simmered on the fire, the damsel came charged, in succession, with two capacious basins turned out of the solid bole of a plane tree, and hooped with bands of copper-she placed them on the board, and the savoury steam of hares, and hens, and onions, ascended thick and luscious, and eddyed round our heads. A cake of meal, brown and thick, and bearing the knuckle marks of the maiden who brought it, was placed beside each person, the spoons were snatched up, and all seemed to await the signal to commence-grace, I dare not presume to call it-from the lips of the chieftain -whatever the old man's wishes were -he was forestalled by the impatient Galwegean of the lineage of the Macgrabs, who, plunging his spoon into one of the basins, sang out, horns a piece and hae done we't," and instantly the spoons passed from the dish to the lip, and from the lip to the dish, with a rapidity I had never seen equalled. The soup, thick and brown, and delicious, and thickened with fowls both wild and tame and other choice things, began to vanish before the application of the guests. The damsel, who had seated herself beside me, and furnished my hand with a good implement of green horn, invited me, by many a kind look, to prove the merits of her cookery. This I performed with a good will, and a celerity almost rivalling the proverbial prowess of Hughie Hiddlestane, who supped the parridge of three mowers, to show he had no ill will to the house. My ability at the spoon was welcomed in the kindest manner, and the chieftain said, in his softest tone, "Fair fall ye, lad-ye're a red-handed chield-slow to meat and slow to wark-ye'll either make a good spoon or spill a fair horn."

"Ram

As soon as we had emptied the basins of their savoury contents, the damsel removed them, and in their place produced a large jar full of smuggled brandy. Drinking cups made of horn, both deep and wide, accompanied it, and the guests proceeded to replenish and empty them with the regularity and rapidity of platoon firing. The gloom and wrath which were visible on the brows of the Galwegean, the man of Dryfe Dubs, and the fiery cousin of Kate Marshall, began to brighten up, smiles were succeeded by opener mirth-mirth by laughter, loud, and long, and boisterous. The names of the ancient heroes and heroines of the clan were toasted, and the toasts were accompanied by brief notices and allusions to their characters and their achievements.The chieftain, hoary and furrowed, and his might subdued by the force of eighty years and odd, sat up erect, and joyous as the glories of ancient times arose to his recollection. The light of youth came back to his faded eyes in fitful and broken gleams. "Ah! lads," said he, with a tone of sorrowful reflection, and conscious that he was fallen on evil days and among little men, "the times are sadly changed-and man, once stately and stark, is now stunted and fecklesswhere is the fallow now like black Jamie Macall, the game cock of Glenmannah, who threw a fat wether o'er the West Bow Port of Edinburgh, on a wager of a plack with a porter." "And sad and sair he rued it," said Kate Marshall," the deed was done in anger, and the poor creature bleated as it flew owre the wall, thirty feet high and three, and Jamie said he heard the bleat o' the waefu brute in his lug as he lay on his death-bed!" "Then there was Jock Johnstone," said the chieftain, heedless of his grand-daughter's illustrations, "Rab's Jock of the Donkeydubs of Lochmaben, kenned far and near by the name of double-ribbed Jock, who fought his way from among iron stanchells, with

nae better weapon in his hands than the jail-door, (it had once been a harrow,) whilk he reft frae the bands, and cleared his way through the seven corporations of King Bruce's borough. He was a rough unsonsie chield, and lost his life through the fault of strang hemp, when he was but twenty years auld and twa. But where was there a man like our ain Tam Marshall, known in his own sangs by the name of Galloway Tam, who had sic a cunning hand that he stole the purse of Serjeant Macraw from his very belt, as he paid him for a new snuff-mull, and a for a wager o' twall pennys-and, by my fay, he had a hand as strang as it was cunning, for he fought the het-blooded Highlander wi' a crabtree stick against cauld steel for a round sound hour, and then gae him back his purse to mend his sair banes." "Ah, grandfather," said Kate Marshall, my uncle was the pride o' ancient Galloway. Compared with him, what are those handless and heartless coofs that carry on the calling now-reavers of auld wives haddins, and robbers of hen-roosts.And yet thae sackless sinners sigh for the hand o' strang Tam Marshall's niece-of a' the miseries and dools that women are doomed to dree, that of bearing bairns to a gomeril is the saddest and the sairest." "And what serves all this sighing about auld times," said the descendant of the Macgrabs of Galloway, "the days are gane when a stark chap, with a drawn sword, bought pleasure and wealththe hempen might of civil law lies stretched over the land, and deel soupit it is else but a desperate foumart trap -a cursed gird-an-girns to grip all kinds of spulziers-slight maun to do, for might canna do, sae said Tam Marshall, wight as he was, and sae say I-and talking o' gallant Tam,

might do waur than gie ye ane of his sangs-he had a soul to make, and a sweet voice to sing-sangs that shall live while heads wear horns, and that's a right bauld boast.'

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3

When the hare has might to break my mesh,
The feathers to flee wi' the dead birds flesh,
And the deer to bound o'er bank and river
Wi' an ounce o' lead i' th' lapp o' his liver.
Then may I dread that want and woe
Will crack my might, and crush me low;
Come maiden bonny, and frank, and free,
Leave father and mother, and follow me.

men

Marshall made sangs of a safter sorthe had a tender heart at times-it aye grew hardened by the Candlemas fair o' Dumfries-whan rade hame with dizzy heads and heavy purses. Kate Marshall, my winsome lass, e'en sing me thy uncle's sang that he made for poor Christian Kennedy o' Cummertrees, whan the salt sea swallowed up the father o' her lad bairn." The gay look of the gypsey maiden saddened as the old man spoke, and she sung, with a voice exceedingly pathetic and sweet, some verses which I have never forgotten.

The lea shall have its lily bells,

The tree its bud and blossom, But when shall I have my leal love Hame frae the faithless ocean.

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Sair, sair I pled, and followed him

With weeping and with wailing;
He broke his vow, and broke my heart,
And sighed, and went a sailing.

"Sweet be your tongue, my sonsie lass," said the man of Galloway; "I shouldna scunner at a bed aneath the billows myself-providing I could be drowned within sight o' Tongland, my native place to have sae saft and tender a voice to warble aboon me-Faith, I count it nae uncomfortable thing to have a sweet sang sung by cherry lips about ane whan their head's happit."- "And what voice shall sing owre thee," said the iron man of Dryfe, who had no sympathy for the fame of song after the turf had opened and closed upon him"The hooded crow shall have its sunket off yere brisket bane some mornin, and ye winna hear its croakdom me, if ye will-" "It's now near ane o'clock," said Kate Marshall's cousin ; "and we maun count the sheep on Cursan Collieson's hill-sidenumber the fat hens on Captain Ca

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All night I woo the tender stars,
With eyes upturned and mourning,
And every morn look to the sea,
For my leal love returning.

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Oh sweetly sweet would be the sleep,
That knows no dream or waking,
And lang and green may the grass grow
Aboon a heart that's breaking.

poncrapin's numerous roosts-see if the carse pool keeps a salmon with a fat mergh-fin-seek for a hare in the hedge, and a moorhen on the hill-and, aboon a', pluck some ripe plumbs and apples for my fair and kind cousin Kate-We maun cease singing and rin."

Instant preparation was made for this excursion, and I had no doubt that the laird and the captain would mourn o'er their diminished flocks in the morning, and plan an expedition with hound and horn, against the foxes of Dalswinton wood and Queensberry mountain. The alert Macgrab, and the cousin of bonny Kate, stood ready awaiting the signal to march from the chieftain, but the desperado from the Dub of Drufe shewed evident reluctance to prepare, and seemed contending with some strong internal feeling. He put his emotions in

words: By the spur o' the Johnstones," said he, "and its a winged ane, if the sough of Christian Kennedy's sang is no ringing in baith my lugs, like the wether's bleat i' the lug o' black Jamie o' Glenmannah. De'il hae me if I'se owre prood ot. Kate, my winsome kimmer, hae ye nae sang -some kissing kind ane, to drive this wail o' dool and sorrow out of my lug. Conscience, if ye'll sing me ane, I'se bribe your lips with a pocket-full o' the sweetest plumbs that ever hung under a green leaf to the sun, d-n me

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if I disna." The gypsey maiden looked on the Drysdale suppliant with mingled pity and scorn;-but her grandfather said: "Sing him a sang, Katherine, my dow; its a sad thing to have the sough of a dirge in ane's ear, it never comes but dole and sorrow follow-dinna let him gang to his doom, may be, uncheered, if your tongue can charm him." To her grandfather's request the maiden complied, and sung, with an easy and arch grace, the ballad I shall try to repeat to you.

O, haste ye, and come to our gate en',
And solder the stroup o' my lady's pan:
My lord's away to hunt the doe,
Quo' the winsome lass o' Gallowa'.

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I ha'e a pan o' my ain to clout,
Before I can solder your lady's stroup;
And ye maun bide, my mettle to blaw,
My winsome lass o' Gallowa'.

3.

Now, wad ye but leave your gay lady, And carry the tinkling tools wi' me; And lie on kilns, on clean ait straw, My winsome lass o' Gallowa."

4.

The fingers that starch my lady's frills
Never could carry your tinkling tools;
Ye're pans wad grime my neck of snaw,
Quo' the winsome lass o' Gallowa'.

During the gypsey maiden's song, the sky, which before had become cloudy and overcast, darkened down to earth at once; thunder was heard nearer and nearer, and the crooked fires came flashing rapid and bright among the green branches of the forest. The applause which succeeded her song was sobered down by the presence of the tempest ;-I was busy with internal prayer; the old man alone seemed unawed,-he snatched up the unfinished harvest-horn that lay at his feet, and gave one brief blast: "Bairns, to

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Her hair in hanks gowden thread
O'er her milky shoulders was loosely spread;
And her bonnie blue e'en blinked love below,
My winsome lass o' Gallowa'.

6.

I took her by the jimpy waist;
And her lips stood tempting to be kist;
But whether I kiss'd them well or no,
Ye may ask the lass o' Gallowa'.

7.

Now quat the grip, thou gypsey loon.
Thou hast touzell'd me till my breath is
done;

And my lady will fret frae bower to ha',
Quo' the winsome lass o' Gallowa'.

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Ye've coupit the soldering-pan, my lass, And ye have scaled my clinks o' brass; And my gude spoon caams ye've split in twa, My winsome lass o' Gallowa'. wark!" he half shouted, "bairns to wark! when mankind are humbled we maun work,-a praying eye is aye steeked ;-a dunt o' thunder and a flaff o' fire are just the tongue and the light to make our trade thrive ;-mind, the fattest ewe has the fairest fleece; and the best hen sits at the wing o' the cock;-prime matters to remember.Rin, rin while the light shines."And away started the gypsey marauders, leaving me alone with the hoary conductor of this roving horde, and his hopeful grand-daughter.