"Nor forged steel, nor hempen band,

Shall e'er thy limbs confine,

Till threefold ropes of sifted sand
Around thy body twine.

"If danger press fast, knock thrice on the chest, With rusty padlocks bound;

Turn away your eyes, when the lid shall rise,
And listen to the sound."

Lord Soulis he sat in Hermitage Castle,

And Redcap was not by ;

And he call'd on a page, who was witty and sage, To go to the barmkin high.

"And look thou east, and look thou west,

And quickly come tell to me,

What troopers haste along the waste,

And what may their livery be.'

He look'd over fell, and he look'd o'er flat,
But nothing, I wist, he saw,

Save a pyot on a turret that sat

Beside a corby craw.

The page he look'd at the skrieh' of day,
But nothing, I wist, he saw,

Till a horseman gray, in the royal array,
Rode down the Hazel-shaw.

"Say, why do you cross o'er moor and moss?" So loudly cried the page;

"I tidings bring, from Scotland's King,

To Soulis of Hermitage.

"He bids me tell that bloody warden, Oppressor of low and high,

If ever again his lieges complain,

The cruel Soulis shall die."

By traitorous sleight they seized the knight,
Before he rode or ran,

And through the key-stone of the vault,
They plunged him, horse and man.

"O May she came, and May she gaed, By Goranberry green;

And May she was the fairest maid,
That ever yet was seen.

O May she came, and May she gaed,
By Goranberry tower;

And who was it but cruel Lord Soulis,

That carried her from her bower?

He brought her to his castle gray,

By Hermitage's side;

Says "Be content, my lovely May,

For thou shalt be my bride."

With her yellow hair, that glitter'd fair, She dried the trickling tear;

She sigh'd the name of Branxholm's heir,
The youth that loved her dear.
"Now, be content, my bonny May,

And take it for your hame;

Or ever and aye shall ye rue the day

You heard young Branxholm's name. "O'er Branxholm tower, ere the morning hour, When the lift is like lead sae blue,

The smoke shall roll white on the weary night, And the flame shall shine dimly through."

Syne he's ca'd on him Ringan Red,

A sturdy kemp was he;

From friend, or foe, in Border feid,
Who never a foot would flee.

Red Ringan sped, and the spearmen led
Up Goranberry slack;

Ay, many a wight, unmatch'd in fight,
Who never more came back.

And bloody set the westering sun,
And bloody rose he up;

But little thought young Branxholm's heir
Where he that night should sup.

He shot the roebuck on the lee,
The dun-deer on the law;

The glamour sure was in his ee
When Ringan nigh did draw.

O'er heathy edge, through rustling sedge,

He sped till day was set;

And he thought it was his merry-men true,

When he the spearmen met.

Far from relief, they seized the chief;

His men were far away;

Through Hermitage slack they sent him back,
To Soulis's castle gray;

Syne onward fure for Branxholm tower,
Where all his merry-men lay.

"Now, welcome, noble Branxholm's heir!

Thrice welcome," quoth Soulis, "to me!
Say, dost thou repair to my castle fair,
My wedding guest to be?
And lovely May deserves, per fay,

A brideman such as thee!

And broad and bloody rose the sun,

And on the barmkin shone;

When the page was aware of Red Ringan there, Who came riding all alone.

To the gate of the tower Lord Soulis he speeds, As he lighted at the wall,

Says "Where did ye stable my stalwart steeds,
And where do they tarry all?"—

"We stabled them sure, on the Tarras Muir;
We stabled them sure," quoth he:
"Before we could cross the quaking moss,
They all were lost but me."

3 Glamour-Magical delusion.

He clench'd his fist, and he knock'd on the chest,

And he heard a stifled groan;

And at the third knock each rusty lock

Did open one by one.

He turn'd away his eyes as the lid did rise,
And he listen'd silentlie;

And he heard breathed slow, in murmurs low, "Beware of a coming tree!"

In muttering sound the rest was drown'd;
No other word heard he;

But slow as it rose, the lid did close,
With the rusty padlocks three.

He threw them o'er his left shoulder,,
With meikle care and pain; 2
And he bade it keep them fathoms deep,
Till he return'd again.

And still, when seven years are o'er,

Is heard the jarring sound;
When slowly opes the charm'd door
Of the chamber under ground.
And some within the chamber door
Have cast a curious eye:

But none dare tell, for the spirits in hell,
The fearful sights they spy.

Now rose with Branxholm's ae brother
The Teviot, high and low;
Bauld Walter by name, of meikle fame,
For none could bend his bow.

O'er glen and glade, to Soulis there sped
The fame of his array,

And that Teviotdale would soon assail
His towers and castle gray.

With clenched fist, he knock'd on the chest,
And again he heard a groan;

And he raised his eyes as the lid did rise,
But answer heard he none.

The charm was broke, when the spirit spoke,
And it murmur'd sullenlie,-

"Shut fast the door, and for evermore, Commit to me the key.

"Alas! that ever thou raised'st thine eyes, Thine eyes to look on me!1

Till seven years are o'er, return no more,
For here thou must not be."

Think not but Soulis was wae to yield
His warlock chamber o'er;
He took the keys from the rusty lock,
That never were ta'en before.

When Soulis thought on his merry-men now,
A woful wight was he;

Says "Vengeance is mine, and I will not repine!
But Branxholm's heir shall die!"
Says "What would you do, young Branxholm,
Gin ye had me, as I have thee ? ”-
"I would take you to the good greenwood,
And gar your ain hand wale3 the tree.”-
"Now shall thine ain hand wale the tree,

For all thy mirth and meikle pride;
And May shall choose, if my love she refuse,
A scrog bush thee beside."

They carried him to the good greenwood,

Where the green pines grew in a row; And they heard the cry, from the branches high, Of the hungry carrion crow.

They carried him on from tree to tree,

The spiry boughs below;

"Say, shall it be thine, on the tapering pine, To feed the hooded crow?"

"The fir-tops fall by Branxholm wall,

When the night-blast stirs the tree,
And it shall not be mine to die on the pine,
I loved in infancie."

[See Note A., (by Sir Walter Scott,) at the end of this Ballad.]

The circumstance of Lord Soulis having thrown the key over bis left shoulder, and bid the fiend keep it till his return, is noted in the introduction, as a part of his traditionary history. In the course of this autumn, the Earl of Dalkeith being encamped near the Hermitage Castle, for the amusement of shooting, directed some workmen to clear away the rubbish from the door of the dungeon, in order to ascertain its ancient dimensions and architecture. To the great astonishment of the labourers, and of the country people who were watching their proceedings, a rusty iron key, of considerable size, was found among the ruins, a little way from the dungeon door. The well-known tradition instantly passed from one to another; and it was generally agreed, that the malevolent demon, who had so long retained possession of the key of the castle, now found himself obliged to resign it to the heir-apparent of the domain. In the course of their researches, a large iron ladle, somewhat resembling that used by plumbers, was also discovered; and both the relics are now in Lord Dalkeith's possession.

In the summer of 1805, another discovery was made in the haunted ruins of Hermitage. In a recess of the wall of the castle, intended apparently for receiving the end of a beam or joist, a boy, seeking for birds' nests, found a very curious antique silver ring, embossed with hearts, the well-known cognizance of the Douglas family, placed interchangeably with quatre-foils all round the circle. The workmanship has an uncommonly rude and ancient appearance, and warrants our believing that it may have belonged to one of the Earls of Angus, who carried the heart and quatre-foils in their arms. Some heralds say, that they carried cinque-foils, others tre-foils; but all agree they bore some such distinction to mark their cadency from the elder branch of Douglas. They parted with the castle and lordship of Liddesdale, in exchange for that of Bothwell, in the beginning of the 16th century. This ring is now in the Editor's possession, by the obliging gift of Mr. John Ballantyne, of the house of Ballantyne and Company, so distinguished for typography.—1806.

3 Wale-Choose.

Young Branxholm turn'd him, and oft look'd back,
And aye he pass'd from tree to tree;
Young Branxholm peep'd, and puirly' spake,
"O sic a death is no for me!"

And next they pass'd the aspin gray,

Its leaves were rustling mournfullie ; "Now, choose thee, choose thee, Branxholm gay! Say, wilt thou never choose the tree?"More dear to me is the aspin gray,

More dear than any other tree;

For beneath the shade that its branches made,
Have pass'd the vows of my love and me."
Young Branxholm peep'd, and puirly spake,
Until he did his ain men see,
With witches' hazel in each steel cap,
In scorn of Soulis' gramarye;
Then shoulder-height for glee he lap,
Methinks I spye a coming tree! ”—

66 Ay, many may come, but few return,"
Quo' Soulis, the lord of gramarye;
"No warrior's hand in fair Scotland

66

Shall ever dint a wound on me!"

Now, by my sooth," quo' bold Walter,
"If that be true we soon shall see."

His bent bow he drew, and his arrow was true,
But never a wound or scar had he.

Then up bespake him true Thomas,

He was the lord of Ersyltoun; "The wizard's spell no steel can quell, Till once your lances bear him down."They bore him down with lances bright, But never a wound or scar had he; With hempen bands they bound bim tight, Both hands and feet, on the Nine-stane lee. That wizard accurst, the bands he burst; They moulder'd at his magic spell; And neck and heel, in the forged steel, They bound him against the charms of hell. That wizard accurst, the bands he burst;

No forged steel his charms could bide; Then up bespake him true Thomas,

"We'll bind him yet, whate'er betide." The black spae-book from his breast he took, Impress'd with many a warlock spell;

And the book it was wrote by Michael Scott,
Who held in awe the fiends of hell.

They buried it deep, where his bones they sleep,
That mortal man might never it see:
But Thomas did save it from the grave,
When he return'd from Faërie.

The black spae-book from his breast he took,
And turn'd the leaves with curious hand;

Puirly-Softly.

[See the Lay of the Last Minstrel and Notes.-ED.] .3 See Note B, at the end of the Ballad.

No ropes, did he find, the wizard could bind,
But threefold ropes of sifted sand.

They sifted the sand from the Nine-stane burn,
And shaped the ropes sae curiouslie;
But the ropes would neither twist nor twine,
For Thomas true and his gramarye."
The black spae-book from his breast he took,
And again he turn'd it with Iris hand;
And he bade each lad of Teviot add

The barley chaff to the sifted sand.
The barley chaff to the sifted sand

They added still by handfuls nine; But Redcap sly unseen was by,

And the ropes would neither twist nor twine. And still beside the Nine-stane burn,

Ribb'd like the sand at mark of sea,
The ropes that would not twist nor turn,
Shaped of the sifted sand you see.

The black spae-book true Thomas he took,
Again its magic leaves he spread;
And he found that to quell the powerful spell,
The wizard must be boil'd in lead.

On a circle of stones they placed the pot,
On a circle of stones but barely nine;

They heated it red and fiery hot,

Till the burnish'd brass did glimmer and shine.

They roll'd him up in a sheet of lead,

A sheet of lead for a funeral pall;
They plunged him in the cauldron red,
And melted him, lead, and bones and all.3
At the Skelf-hill, the cauldron still

The men of Liddesdale can show;
And on the spot, where they boil'd the pot,
The spreat and the deer-hair ne'er shall grow.

APPENDIX TO LORD SOULIS.

NOTE A.

Alas! that e'er thou raised'st thine eyes,

Thine eyes to look on me.

erle was very pensyf, and so sadde of chere, that no man could have a worde of hym. And all the said three days he wold nat issue out of his chambre, nor speke to any man, though they were never so nere about hym. And, on the Tuesday night, he called to him his brother Arnault Guyilyam, and sayd to him, with a soft voice, Our men hath had to do, whereof I am sorrie; for it is come of them by their voyage, as I sayd or they departed.' Arnault Guyllyam, who was a sage knight, and knewe right well his brother's condicions [i. e. temper, ] stode still, and gave none answere. And than the Erle, who thought to declare his mind more plainlye, for long he had borne the trouble thereof in his herte, spake agayn more higher than he dyd before, and sayd, 'By God, Sir Arnault, it is as I saye, and shortely ye shall here tidynges thereof; but the countrey of Byerne, this hundred yere, never lost suche a losse at no journey, as they have done now in Portugal.'-Dyvers knights and squyers, that were there present, and herde hym say so, stode styll, and durst nat speke, but they remembered his wordes. And within a ten days after, they knewe the trouthe thereof, by such as had been at the busynesse, and there they shewed every thinge as it was fortuned at Juberoth. Than the erle renewed agayn his dolor, and all the countreye were in sorrowe, for they had lost their parentes, brethren, chyldren, and frendes. Saint Mary!' quod I to the squyer that shewed me thys tale, how is it that the Earl of Foiz could know, on one daye, what was done within a day or two before, beyng so farre off?'-' By my faythe, sir,' quod he, 'as it appeared well, he knewe it.'-'Than he is a diviner, quod I, 'or els he hath messangers, that flyethe with the wynde, or he must needs have some craft. The squyer began to laugh, and sayd Surely he must know it by some art of negromansye or otherwyse. To say the trouthe, we cannot tell how it is, but by our ymaginacions.' —'Sir,' quod I, suche ymaginacions as ye have therein, if it plase you to shew me, I wolde be gladde thereof; and if it bee suche a thynge as ought to be secrete, I shall not publysshe it, nor as long as I am in thys countrey I shall never speke word thereof. I praye you thereof,' quod the squyer, for I wolde nat it shulde be knowen, that I shulde speke thereof. But I shall shewe you, as dyvers men speketh secretelye, whan they be togyder as frendes.' Than he drew me aparte into a corner of the chappell at Ortayse, and then began his tale, and sayd:

"It is well a twenty yeares paste, that there was, in this coun trey, a Barone, called Raymond, Lord of Corasse, whyche is a sevyn leagues from this towne of Ortayse. Thys Lorde of Corasse had that same tyme, a plee at Avignon before the Pope, for the dysmes [i. e. tithes ] of his churche, against a clerk, curate there; the whiche priest was of Catelogne. He was a grete clerk, and claymed to have ryghte of the dysmes, in the towne of Corasse, which was valued to an hundred florens by the yere, and the ryghte that he had, he shewed and proved it; and, by sentence diffynitive, Pope Urbane the Fyfthe, in consistory generall, condempned the knighte, and gave judgement wyth the preest, and of this last judgment he had letters of the Pope, for his possession, and so rode tyll he came into Berne, and there shewed his letters and bulles of the Popes for his possession of his dysmes. The Lord of Corasse had gret indignacion at this preest, and came to hym, and said, 'Maister Pers, or Maister Mairtin, (as his name was,) thinkest thou, that by reason of thy letters I will lose mine herytage-be not so hardy, that thou take any thynge that is myne; if thou do, it shall cost thee thy life. Go thy waye into some other place to get thee a benefyce, for of myne herytage thou geltest no parte, and ones for alwayes, I defy thee. The clerk douted the knight, for he was a cruell man, therefore he durst nat parceyver.-Then he thought to return to Avignon, as he dyde; but, whan he departed, he came to the knight, the Lord of Corasse, and said, 'Sir, by force, and nat by ryght, ye take away from me the ryght of my churche, wherein you greatly hurt your conscience. I am not so strong in this countrey as ye be; but, sir, knowe for trouthe, that as soon as I may, I shall sende to you suche a champyon, whom ye shall double more than me.' The knight, who doubted nothyng his threlynges, said, 'God be with thee; do what thou mayst; I doute no more dethe than lyfe; for all thy wordes, I will not lese mine herytage. Thus, the clerk departed from the Lord of Corasse, and went I cannot tell whether into Avygnon or into Catalogne, and forgat nat the promise that he had made to the Lord of Corasse or he departed. For when the knight thoughte leest on hym, about a three monethes after, as the knyght laye

on a nyght a-bedde in his castelle of Corasse, with the lady, there came to hym messangers invisible, and made a marvellous tempest and noise in the castell, that it seemed as thougbe the castell shulde have fallen downe, and strak gret strokes at his chambre dore, that the goode ladye, his wife, was soore afrayde. The knight herd alle, but he spoke no worde thereof; bycause he wolde shewe no abasshed corage, for he was hardy to abyde all adventures. Thys noyse and tempest was in sundry places of the castell, and dured a long space, and at length cessed for that nyght. Than the nexte mornynge, all the servants of the house came to the lord, whan he was risen, and sayd, Sir, have you nat herde this night that we have done?' The lord dissembled, and sayd, 'No! I herd nothing-what have you herde?' Than they shewed him what noyse they hadde herde, and how alle the vessel in the kychen was overtowrned. Than the lord began to laugh, and sayd, Yea, sirs! ye dremed; it was nothynge but the wynde.'— In the name of God!' quod the ladye, 'I herde it well.' The next nyght there was as great noyse and greatter, and suche strokes gyven at his chambre dore and windows, as alle shulde have broken in pieces. The knyghte starte up out of his bedde, and wolde not lette, to demaunde who was at his chambre dore that tyme of the nyght; and anone he was answered by a voyce that sayd, 'I am here.' Quod the knyght, Who sent thee hyder?' -The clerk of Catalogne sent me hyder,' quod the voice, 'to whom thou dost gret wronge, for thou hast taken from hym the ryghtes of his benefyce; I will nat leave thee in rest tylle thou haste made hym a good accompte, so that he be pleased.' Quod the knight, What is thy name, that thou art so good a messangere? Quod he. I am called Orthone.'-'Orthone!' quod the knight, the servyce of a clerke is lytell profyte for thee. He wille putte thee to moche payne if thou beleve hym. I pray thee leave bym, and come and serve me; and I shall give thee goode thanke. Orthone was redy to aunswere, for he was inamours with the knyghte, and sayde, Woldest thou fayne have my servyce? '— 'Yea, truly,' quod the knyghte, so thou do no hurte to any persone in this house.'-'No more I will do,' quod Orthone, for I have no power to do any other yvell, but to awake thee out of thy slepe, or some other.'-' Well,' quod the knyght, do as I tell thee, and we shall soone agree, and leave the yvill clerke, for there is no good thyng in him, but to put thee to payne; therefore, come and serve me.'-' Well,' quod Orthone, and sythe thou wilt have me, we are agreed.'

"So this spyrite Orthone loved so the knight, that oftentymnes he wold come and vysyte him, while he lay in his bedde aslepe, and outher pull him by the eare, or els stryke at his chambre dore or windowe. And, whan the knyght awoke, than he would saye, 'Orthone, lat me slepe.'-' Nay,' quod Orthone, that I will not do, tyll I have shewed thee such tydinges as are fallen a-late.' The ladye, the knyghtes wife, wolde be sore afrayed, that her heer wald stand up, and byde herself under the clothes. Than the knyght wolde saye, Why, what tidynges hast thou brought me?'-Quod Orthone, I am come out of England, or out of Hungry, or some other place, and yesterday I came hens, and such things are fallen, or such other. So thus the Lord of Corasse knewe, by Orthone, every thing that was done in any part of the worlde. And in this case he contynued a fyve yere, and could not kepe his own counsayle, but at last discovered it to the Earl of Foiz. I shall shewe you howe. "The firste yere, the Lord of Corasse came on a day to Ortayse, to the Erle of Foiz, and sayd to him, 'Sir, such things are done in England, or in Scotland, or in Almange, or in any other countrey. And ever the Erle of Foiz found his sayeing true, and had great marveyle how he shulde know suche things so shortly. And, on a tyme, the Earl of Foiz examined him so straitly, that the Lord of Corasse shewed hym alle toguyder howe he knewe it, and howe he came to hym firste. When the Erle of Foiz hard that, he was joyfull, and said, 'Sir of Corasse, kepe hits well in your love; I wolde I hadd suche an messanger; he costeth you nothyng, and ye knowe by him every thynge that is done in the worlde.' The knyght answered, and sayd, 'Sir, that is true.' Thus, the Lord of Corasse was served with Orthone a long season. I can nat saye if this Orthone hadde any more masters or nat; but every weke, twise or thrise, he wolde come and vysite the Lord of Corasse, and wolde shewe hym such tidynges of any thing that was fallen fro whens he came. And ever the Lord of Corasse, when he knewe any thynge, he wrote thereof to the Earl of Foiz, who had great joy thereof; for he was the lord, of all the worlde, that

·

'Go

most desyred to here news out of straunge places. And, on a tyme, the Lord of Corasse was with the Erle of Foiz, and the erle demaunded of hym, and sayd, Sir of Corasse, dyd ye ever as yet se your messangere?'-' Nay, surely, sir,' quod the knyghte, 'nor I never desyred it. That is marveyle,' quod the erle; if I were as well acquainted with him as ye be, I wolde have desyred to have seen hym; wherefore, I pray you, desyre it of him, and then telle me what form and facyon he is of. I have herd you say how he speaketh as good Gascon as outher you or I.'-' Truely, sir, quod the knyght, so it is: he speketh as well, and as fayr, as any of us both do. And, surely, sir, sithe ye counsayle me, I shall do my payne to see him as I can.' And so, on a night, as he lay in his bedde, with the ladye his wife, who was so inured to here Orthone, that she was no longer afrayd of hym; than cam Orthone, and pulled the lord by the eare, who was fast asleep, and therewith he awoke, and asked who was there? I am here,' quod Orthone. Then he demanded, From whens comest thou nowe?'-'I come,' quod Orthone, from Prague, in Boesme!' -'How farre is that hens?' quod the knyght. A threescore days journey,' quod Orthone. And art thou come hens so soon?' quod the knyght. 'Yea truely,' quod Orthone, 'I come as fast as the wynde, or faster.'-'Hast thou than winges?' quod the koyght. Nay, truely,' quod he.How canst thou than flye so fast?' quod the knyght, Ye have nothing to do to knowe that,' quod Orthone. 'No?' quod the knyght, 'I would gladly se thee. to know what forme thou art of.'-' Well,' quod Orthone, ye have nothing to do to knowe: it sufficeth you to here me, and to shewe you tidynges.'-' In faythe,' quod the knyght, I wolde love thee moche better an I myght se thee ones.'-' Well,' quod Orthone, sir, sithe you have so gret desyre to se me, the first thynge that ye se tomorrowe, when ye ryse out of your bedde, the same shall be 1.'-'That is sufficient,' quod the lorde. thy way; I gyve thee leave to departe for this nyght.' And the next mornynge the lord rose, and the ladie his wife was so afrayd, that she durst not ryse, but fayned herself sicke, and sayd she wolde not ryse. Her husband wold have had her to have rysen. 'Sir,' quod she,' than I shall se Orthone, and I wolde not se him by my gode wille,'-'Well,' quod the knyght, 'I wolde gladly se him.' And so he arose, fayre and easily, out of his bedde, and sat down on his bedde-syde, wenying to have seen Orthone in his own proper form; but he sawe nothynge wherbye he myghte say, 'Lo, yonder is Orthone.' So that day past, and the next night came, and when the knyght was in his bedde, Orthone came, and began to speke, as he was accustomed. 'Go thy waye,' quod the knyght, thou arte but a lyer; thou promysest that I shuld have sene the, and it was not so.'-' No?' quod he, and I shewed myself to the. That is not so,' quod the lord. Why,' quod Orthone, whan ye rose out of your bedde, sawe ye nothynge?' Than the lorde studyed a lytell, and advysed himself well. 'Yes, truely,' quod the knyght, now I remember me, as I state on my bedde-syde, thynking on thee, I sawe two strawes upon the pavement, tumblynge one upon another.' 'That same was 1,' quod Orthone, into that fourme I dyd putte myself as than.'-' That is not enough to me,' quod the lord; I pray thee putte thyselfe into some other fourme, that I may better se and knowe thee.'-' Well,' quod Orthone, ye will do so muche, that ye will lose me, and I to go fro you, for ye desyre to much of me.'-' Nay,' quod the knyght, thou shalt not go fro me; let me se the ones, and I will desyre no more.''Well,' quod Orthone, ye shall se me to-morrowe; take hede, the first thyng that ye se after ye be out of your chamber, it shall be I.'-' Well,' quod the knyght, 'I am than content. Go thy way, lette me slepe.' And so Orthone departed, and the next mornyng the lord arose, and yssued oute of his chambre, and went to a windowe, and looked downe into the courte of the castell, and cast about his eyen. And the firste thing he sawe was a sowe, the greattest that ever he sawe; and she seemed to be so leane and yvell-favoured, that there was nothyng on her but the skynne and the bones, with long eares, and a long leane snout. The Lord of Corasse had marveyle of that leane sowe, and was wery of the sighte of her, and commanded his men to fetch his houndes, and sayd, Let the dogges hunt her to deth, and devour her. His servants opened the kenells, and lette oute his houndes, and dyd sette them on this sowe. And, at the last, the sowe made a great crye, and looked up to the Lord of Corasse as he looked out at a windowe, and so sodaynely vanyshed awaye, no man

4

·

wyste howe. Than the Lord of Corasse entred into his chambre, right pensyve, and than he remembered hym of Orthone, his messangere, and sayd, I repent me that I set my houndes on him. It is an adventure an I here any more of hym; for he sayd to me oftentymes, that if 1 displeased hym, I shulde lose hym.' The lord said trouthe, for never after he cam into the castell of Corasse, and also the knyght dyed the same yere next followinge. "So, sir,' said the squyer, thus have I shewed you the lyfe of Orthone, and howe, for a season, he served the Lord of Corasse with newe tidynges. It is true, sir,' sayd I, 'but nowe, as to your firste purpose: Is the Earl of Foiz served with suche an messangere?, Surely,' quod the squyer, it is the ymagination of many, that he hath such messengers, for ther is nothynge done in any place, but and he sette his myne thereto, he will knowe it, and whan men thynke leest thereof. And so dyd he, when the goode knyghtes and squyers of this country were slayne in Portugale at Guberothe. Some saythe, the knowledge of such thynges hath done him moche profyte, for and there be but the value of a spone lost in his house, anone he will know where it is.' So thus, then, I toke leave of the squyer, and went to other company; but I bare well away his tale."-Bourchier's Translation of Froissart's Chronycle, vol. ii. chap. 37.

NOTE B.

And melted him, etc.

The tradition regarding the death of Lord Soulis, however singular, is not without a parallel in the real history of Scotland. The same extraordinary mode of cookery was actually practised (horresco referens!) upon the body of a sheriff of the Mearns. This person, whose name was Melvill of Glenbervie, bore his faculties so harshly, that he became detested by the barons of the country. Reiterated complaints of his conduct having been made to James I. (or, as others say, to the Duke of Albany,) the monarch answered, in a moment of unguarded impatience, "Sorrow gin the sheriff were sodden, and supped in broo!" The complainers retired, perfectly satisfied. Shortly after, the Lairds of Arbuthot, Mather, Laureston, and Pittaraw, decoyed Melville to the top of the hill of Garvock, above Lawrencekirk, under pretence of a grand hunting party. Upon this place, (still called the Sheriff's Pot,) the barons had prepared a fire and a boiling cauldron, into which they plunged the unlucky sheriff. After he was sodden (as the King termed it) for a sufficient time, the savages, that they might literally observe the royal mandate, concluded the scene of abomination by actually partaking of the hell-broth.

The three lairds were outlawed for this offence; and Barclay, one of their number, to screen himself from justice, erected the kaim (i. e. the camp, or fortress) of Mathers, which stands upon a rocky and almost inaccessible peninsula, overhanging the German Ocean. The laird of Arbuthnot is said to have eluded the royal vengeance, by claiming the benefit of the law of clan Macduff, concerning which the curious reader will find some particulars subjoined. A pardon, or perhaps a deed of replegiation, founded upon that law, is said to be still extant among the records of the Viscount of Arbuthnot.

Pellow narrates a similar instance of atrocity, perpetrated after the death of Muley Ismael, Emperor of Morocco, in 1727, when the inhabitants of Old Fez, throwing off all allegiance to his successor, slew "Alchyde Boel le Roeea, their old governor, boiling his flesh, and many, through spite, eating thereof, and throwing what they could not eat of it to the dogs,"-See PELLOW's Travels in South Barbary. And we may add, to such tales, the Oriental tyranny of Zenghis Khan, who immersed seventy Tartar Kans in as many boiling cauldrons.

The punishment of boiling seems to have been in use among the English at a very late period, as appears from the following passage in STOWE'S Chronicle :-" The 47th March (1524), Margaret Davy, a maid, was boiled at Smithfield, for poisoning of three households that she had dwelled in." But unquestionably the usual practice of Smithfield cookery, about that period, was by a different application of fire.

LAW OF CLAN MACDUFF.

Though it is rather foreign to the proper subject of this work,