"Dear friar, teach me to read and understand that book, for my breast yearneth to know more about it. I am, it is true, not my own at present to give, but I have some forebodings here that tell me I soon shall; and, father, I will serve thee, and be thy handmaid, if thou wilt teach me the words and the mysteries of that little book."

"Alas! and wo is me, for the ignorance of my people!" said he, with the tears streaming over his grim cheek; "they are troubled about that which availeth them nothing, while the way of life is hid from their eyes.

Their leaders have caused them to err; and I, even I, have been a dweller in the tabernacles of sin! But the day-star hath shone upon my soul and my spirit: For that have I been persecuted, and hunted as a partridge upon the mountains, chased from the habitations of my brethren, and forced to dwell among a strange and savage people. Yet there are among them whom I love; and could I be the mean of opening thine eyes, and turning thee from darkness unto light, then would I know for what purpose the finger of heaven had pointed out my way to this barren wilderness. Thou can'st not be a servant or a handmaiden unto one who is little better than an outcast and a vagabond on the earth. But better days may come to us both: I am not what I seem; but, maiden, thou mayest trust me. My love for thee surpa.s.seth the love of women, for it is with more than an earthly love that I behold and delight in thee.

Come unto me this night, and I will tell thee things that shall make thine ears tingle. The book of wonders is here with me, and thou mayest look thereon and be glad."

The poet and his a.s.sociates listened to this rhapsody apart.

"What book does he mean?" said the poet: "If it is not True Thomas's book, or the book of Sir Gawin, he must be speaking absolute nonsense. I could recite these to lovely Delany, word for word; and must this clumsy old friar wile her from me by any better book than these?"

"You are clean mista'en, maister poeter," said Tam; "I ken mair about auld Roger than you do, or than ony that's here. It is a book o' black art that he carries about wi' him, and studies on it night and day. He gat it at a place they ca' Oxford, where they study nought else but sic cantrips. They hae tried to hang him, and they hae tried to cut off his head, and they hae tried to burn him at the stake; but tow wadna hang, water wadna drown, steel wadna nick, and a' the fire o' the land wadna singe ae hair o' the auld loun's head."

"Gude forgie me!" said Charlie: "An that be true, Corby, you and I had maybe mair pith than our ain yon time. I wondered that he rade sae furiously on the drawn swords of men and armour, the auld warlock.

He-he-he! we'll aiblins try auld Michael at his ain weapons, an that be the gate."

"Ye maunna lippen ower muckle to a' this," said he of the Peatstacknowe; "else ye may play like Marion's Jock, when he gaed away to douk in Commonside loch. 'It is a hard matter,' says Jock to himself, 'that a'

the lave o' Commonside's men can swatter and swim in the loch like sae mony drakes but me. I am fain either to poutter about the side, or down I gang. I can neither sink nor swim; for when I try to get to the bottom to creep, there I stick like a woundit paddock, wagging my arms and my legs, and can neither get to the top nor the bottom. Just half way, there stick I. But I's be even hands wi' them an' mair, an' then I'll laugh at the leishest o' them; for I'll stand, and wade, and gang ower the waves afore them a', aye, and that wi' my head boonmost.' Jock, after this grand contrivance, coudna rest, but off he sets to Hawick, and gets four big blawn bladders; and the next day, when a' the lave went to bathe, Jock he went to bathe amang the rest; and he gangs slyly into a bush by himsel', and ties twa o' the bladders to every foot.

'Now,' thinks Jock, 'I'll let them see a trick.' Sae he slips into the loch, and wades into the deep; but the bladders they aye gart him hobble and bob up and down, till, faith, he loses the balance, and ower he coups. Nane o' them kend o' Jock's great plan, and they were a' like to burst their sides wi' laughing when they saw Jock diving. But when they saw he wasna like to come up again, they swattered away to the place, and there was Jock swimming wi' his head straight to the bottom, and his feet and the four bladders walking a minuay aboon. Now, let me tell ye, an ye lippen to the friar's warlockry, and his enchantments, and divinations, ye trust to as mony bladders fu' o' wind, and down gae a'

your heads, and your heels uppermost. Na, na; nane maun try to cope wi'

auld Michael."

"I hae heard, indeed, that he coudna brook ony rivalry," said Charlie; "and I hae heard waur instances, and waur stories too, than that o'

yours, laird. But let us draw slyly near to the twasome, and make lang lugs, to try if we can learn ony mair about that same beuk. If the friar hae ony power o' enchantment, it is my opinion the first glamour he'll thraw will be ower that bonny wench."

"We ought to keep them asunder by force," said the poet; "it would be a shame and a disgrace to us, if we were to let the auld rogue seduce either her person or her morals."

"Morals?" said Charlie; "I dinna ken about them, for I watna weel what they are; but as to seducing hersel', I think I could answer for auld Roger the friar. I see there's nae man can help liking a bonny la.s.s; but the better a good man likes ane he'll be the mair sweer to do her ony skaith."

"Aye; but then how can an enchanter be a good man?" said the poet.

"That's the thing that puzzles me," said Charlie: "Let us hear what they are on about sae briskly now."

They then drew near, and heard the following words, while the remarks that they made were said aside among themselves.

"My fate, you see, has been a strange one, father. I was separated from my parents so young that I scarcely remember them. But the Scots have been kind to me, and I have loved them. I have never been unhappy, except when long confined to a place, which I dislike exceedingly; and as I have hopes that this change will add somewhat to my freedom, I rejoice in it, without weighing circ.u.mstances. If those fond hopes should be realised, I promise to you, father, that the first use I will make of my liberty, shall be to sit at your feet, and learn that wonderful and mysterious book."

"Do you hear that?" said the poet with great emphasis, but in a half whisper; "he has gotten her broken already to learn the book of the black art. Then the deil's bargain and witchcraft comes next; then the hara.s.sing of the whole country side, dancing in kirkyards, and riding on the wind; and then, mayhap, the stake and the f.a.ggot end the matter that is but just beginning. Alak, and wo is me! I say, in the king's name, and in the warden's, let them be separated."

"Gude sauf us!" exclaimed Charlie. "There's nae man sure o' his life an a' this be true! But a' fair play. Nae self amang us. Hist, and let us hear what he is saying in answer."

"Daughter," said the friar, half crying with joy, "doth not my heart yearn over thee, even as a mother yearneth over the child of her bosom?

Lo, I will be unto thee as a father, and thou shalt be unto me as a daughter."

"Hear what the old rascal is saying!" said the poet.

"And behold the fruits of our labours shall spring up into life;"--

"Oh, this is past all sufferance!" said the poet.

--"For, O thou fair one, whose beauty is as the beauty of the morning, and whose innocence surpa.s.seth that of the kid, or the lamb, or the young roe, when they are playing upon the mountains,"--

"Gude faith, Mr Carol," said Charlie aside, "it's that auld chap that's the poet; an' no you."

"Humph! mere fustian!" said the poet.

The friar still went on:--

--"That beauty will decay, as the rose fadeth on the brows of Shinar or Hermon; and that innocence shall be perverted by the sinful and regardless people among whom thou sojournest, and shall become, as it were, betrothed to sin and corruption; yea, and that eye, that shineth like the dews of the morning, shall be darkened. But, O beloved maiden!

there is that in this little book, yea, I say unto thee, even in this old, neglected, and despised book, that, unto those who learn it, shall prove the savour of life unto life; and if thou dost learn and cherish the things contained in this book thou shalt never die!"

"Ay, billy, that is a yanker!" said Tam aside: "When ane is gaun to tell a lie, there's naething like telling a plumper at aince, and being done wi't."

"Now, but hear to the deceitful old rogue," said the poet: "All the books of black art in the world cannot accomplish that. In the name of Saint Barnabas, I say let them be separated!"

"It wad be weel done," said Tam, "if ane durst;"--for he wanted to blow up the poet's wrath, for the sake of a little sport.

"Durst!" said the poet, "durst!--If none other dare, I shall, in spite of all his h.e.l.lish arts. Durst! that is a good one,--to be dursted with an old sackbut!"

They did not hear what answer Delany made to the extraordinary information, as they took it, that, by learning the little black book, she was to be redeemed from death; for the fierce jealousy of the enamoured bard prevented them. But when they listened again so as to hear distinctly, the friar was still increasing in fervency. All that he said was in raptures of divine ecstacy; while his a.s.sociates, who knew nothing, and cared as little about these things, understood it in another way.

"For I say unto thee, if thou wilt suffer me to instil these truths into thee, thou shalt both blossom and bring forth fruit abundantly; yea, thou shalt shine as the stars in the firmament of heaven. Seest thou yon sun that walketh above the clouds in majesty and brightness? Beyond yon sun shall thine habitation be fixed; and the blue arch that encircles the regions of the air, which thou hast so often seen studded over with diamonds, shall be unto thee a pavement whereon thou shalt tread. All this and more shalt thou possess, if thou wilt learn and obey the things that are written in this book, where it is said by one that cannot err, 'Lo, I will be always with you, and my arms shall be underneath and around you, and when you are faint and weary I will hide you in my bosom.'"

"For the blood that is in your body dare to attempt such a thing!" cried the enraged poet. "Down with hypocrisy and sensuality together! Hurray for the combat, and G.o.d defend the right!"

So, crying as loud as he could yell, he pulled out his sword, and rode furiously up between Delany and the friar, shoving the latter rudely as he pa.s.sed. The maiden's palfrey sprung away, but the friar's mule only leaned with all his might to the poet's steed as he pressed against him in pa.s.sing; and feeling his prop give way, he leaned round in the same direction, till his tail was exactly where his head was before; and then, dreading some abhorred exertion, he set his feet asunder, and stood immovable. The poet drew up, and wheeled about, and seeing still the hinder parts of the friar and his beast, he cried, exultingly, "Ay, you are more ready to seduce an innocent and lovely maiden, than to answer for the crime! Vile lump of sin and hypocrisy! turn round and meet me face to face, that I may chastise thee for thy graceless attempt!"

The friar spurred most furiously, but the mule only dashed his head downward and his heels in a contrary direction, and kept his position.

All the rest were like to burst with laughter, which still increasing the bard's insolence, he fumed about enchantments and the black art, and dared the friar to turn and look him in the face.

What with one provocation, what with another, the friar's angry pa.s.sions were roused; and, not being able to make his mule turn round, he drew out his sword, saying at the same time in a voice of great vehemence, "G.o.d do so to me and more also, if I make not--"

He got no farther with his speech, for the mule interrupted him.

Obstinate as the brute was, the sight of the sword, and the sound of his master's angry voice operated on him like magic. Perhaps he understood that all further opposition was vain,--for in one moment he wheeled around, his eyes gleaming with rage; and p.r.i.c.king up his ears to see where the storm of his and his master's wrath was to alight, he perceived the poet on his tall steed, brandishing his dazzling sword, and forthwith darted at them with the swiftness of an arrow, and a fury not to be checked. There were no more words nor threatenings pa.s.sed between the enraged combatants; for more s.p.a.ce of time there was none before the mule had his shoulder to that of the poet's steed, his teeth fixed in his flank, and was pushing with the fury of an enraged bull.

On the closing of the two steeds the riders likewise engaged, the poet coming on with a downward stroke, which the friar received with great indifference on his sword crossed above his cowl. But knowing well the nature of his beast, he kept up the poet's sword and arm both, until the sides of the two animals were jammed together, as the rider of the mule well knew they would be. By that time the poet's arm was pressed up straight by his ear, and his sword pointed to heaven; and in endeavouring to free his elbow from the hilt of the friar's sword, he lost his balance. At the same instant their feet encountering in the stirrups, and the friar's being below that of his opponent, he gave him such a ketch with his right foot and sword-arm together, that he made him fly from his horse to a great distance, in a sort of arching direction; and the unfortunate poet, falling on his shoulder and head, was wofully bruised, and utterly discomfited.

But the combat ended not here. The mule still struggled with his adversary, which not only kept his ground, but rather began to force the mule to give way. But the inveterate mongrel was not to be vanquished in that way. He pressed, struggled, and wrought himself round, till he got his tail to the horse's shoulder, and then he attacked him furiously with his iron-heels. The horse being a horse of spirit, and scorning to yield to his long-eared adversary, applied the same offensive weapons with very little ceremony, wincing and screaming all the while, and sometimes making his feet to fly as high as the friar's elbows. The mule fought with desperate energy, but in profound silence. Not so the rider; he spurred, struck with his sword, and cried with a loud voice, "Soh!

tproo! thou beast of the pit! sure the spirit of the evil one is in thee! Lo, I shall be beaten to pieces, for the heels of the horses are lifted up against me. By the life of Pharaoh, I will smite thee until thy blood shall be poured out like water,--thou perverse and abominable beast! I say unto thee go forward!"

The voice of the friar, during this pa.s.sionate declamation, had arisen gradually until the last sentence, which was p.r.o.nounced in his utmost stile of vehemence. The mule heard this, and saw the uplifted sword; and not awaiting its descent, he sprang forward with main force, but no man will guess the issue.

It may well be conceived, that during this desperate combat between the horse and mule, the onlookers were convulsed with laughter. Charlie Scott, in particular, laughed with a "Ha-ha-ha!" so loud that he made all the woods around to ring, and at every breath exclaimed, "Gude faith, I never saw ought half so grand! Na, never!" Gibbie was advanced a little before the rest, so as to be near the scene of action, which, without doubt, was bringing him in mind of some excellent story, for his mouth was formed like a seam from the one ear to the other. But it is dangerous putting one's self too forward in life, and that the poor laird of the Peatstacknowe soon found. It is well known that between parties so closely connected as the horse and his rider, pa.s.sion begets pa.s.sion. The mule, driven altogether furious by the broil, and the rage and spurs of his master, either wished to rub himself rid of him, or deemed that it was to be a battle general; for he no sooner rushed from one fray than he flew to another, quite open-mouthed on Gibbie, and, seizing him by the thigh, he separated one limb of his buffskin breeches and a mouthful of the laird's own skin from their places, in one moment, and the next had his teeth fixed in the flank of the laird's horse.

Gibbie cried out against the friar, irritated by pain, as well as the awkward and dangerous situation in which he was thus momently placed.

His horse flung--the mule returned the compliment with hearty good will, and glad was Gibbie to escape, which he did with great celerity as soon as he got leisure to use the spurs. The mule ran straight at the next horse, and then at the next again, but all of them scampered off at his approach, and left him master of the field; on which he turned two or three times sullenly round, throwing himself up behind and down before.

The friar's wrath was somewhat diverted by the shouts of laughter from his scattered compeers, and he only smiled grimly as he said to his contumacious beast,--"Thou art even a perverse and an evil one; nevertheless thou hast been to me a beast for these many years, and hast borne me in distant pilgrimages, through many perils and dangers; and I will not act the part of the son of Bosor: peradventure thou mayest amend thy ways and do some credit to old age."

The laird in his escape gallopped by the forlorn poet; who, raising up his head, and perceiving the plight of the dismayed and unoffensive wight, scouring off with the one thigh naked and bleeding, burst out into a hysteric giggle between laughing and crying, and repeated some sc.r.a.ps of old rhyme no way connected with the incident. The attention of the party was now turned to him, and the friar's as much as any, who enquired with great simplicity, "My brother, why was thine arm lifted up against me?"

The bard was dreadfully abashed, and out of countenance; and he only answered in rhymes, of which none of them could make any thing: