Omaha Daily Bee Newspaper, May 26, 1895, Page 11

THE _OMAHA DAILY BE NDAY MAY 26, 1895 CHAPTER XV GREAT CONVEN On our way to the conventicle we the place that is called the Moat Duchrae Bank, found much riady gathered there. It very 1 place, on the edge of a beautiful and water, called the Lane of G In midst of the water and immediately opposite to the moat there fs an island, called the Hollan Isle, full of coverts and hiding places among which grow in thick, ma Beyond that again the ¢ the moors and the mountains for thirty The country all about lairy and boggy, impossible for horses to ride, while over to the eastward a littls the road passes to Kells and Carsphairn, but out of sight, behind the shoulder of the hill, There was a preaching tent little eminence in the middle of the round bare top of the moat. The people sat all about, and those who came late clustered on the further bank, across the ditch. I obs d that every man cam fully armed, for the oppression of Lauderdale in Scotland, and especially the severities of Johm Graham and Robert Grier ire Galloway were bearing their own propr fruit. The three malids sat down together, and Wat Gordon and I sat down near them—I as near to Maisic Lennox as I dared, because, for old acquaintance sake, my (Iking was toward her. Also, 1 perceived that Kate McGhie was more interested to talk to me of my cousin than to hear concerning myself, a thing that I never could abide in talking to A+ woman, But Maisie kept her head bent fac2 hidden by the fold of her shawl had, even at that time, what I so lacked, a liv:ly interest in religion Trom where I sat I could sce the watchers on the craigs above the Hollan Isle, and ihose also over on the hills by, the Folde. So many were they that I knew that not a uir fowl would cry nor a crow carry a stick to its nest without a true man taking note of it I heard afterward that over by the fords of Crae they had come on a certain Informer lying crouched in ths heather watch what should happen. Him they chased for three miles over the heather by Slogarie clodding him with divots of peat and sod, yet not so as to do the ill-set rascal ov much harm. But a clouring does such like good. Then there arose the sweet sound of sing- Ing; for Mr. Cameron preaching tent and given out the psalm. We Al stood up to sing, and as I noted my sousin ctanding apart, looking uncertainly about, T went over to him and brought him to my side, where one gave us a book tu look upon together. As they sang I watched to sco the sentinel on the craigs turn him about to listen to us, and noted the rket on which he leaned. 'For these little ks of observation were ever much to me, though the true whig folk minded them not a balr, but stuck to their singing, as indeed it was thelr duty to do. But, even to me, the sound of the psalm was unspeakebly solemn anl touching out there in the open fleld. It seemed as we sang of the God that was our refuge and our strength that as we locked on Grenoch we were indeed in a defenced city, in a place of broad rivers and streams, wherein should go no galley with oars, neither should gallant ship pass thereby. I had never felt so near God or had so sweet an income of gladness upon my spirit, though 1 often wondered what it all meant when I heard my father and mother speak together. There seemed a gale of the spirit upon t meeting, and I think that from that moment I understood more of the mind of them that feed, I think a man cannot do till he himself is ready to undergo his share of the suffering But when Richard Cameron began to speak | easily forgat everything else. He had a lominating volce, the volce of a strong man erying in the wildernes: We are here in a kenned place,” he said, “and there are many witnesses about us. Tolay the bitter is taken out of our cup, if.it be only for a moment Yea, and a sweet cup we have of it now. We who have been much on the wild mountains know what it is to ba made glad by Thy works—the works of the Lord's nands. When we look up to the meon or the stars, lo! the hand of the Lord is in them ,ani we are glad. See ye the cornrigs up ayont us there, came to the al- and people s a hazel there ted only bushes, m 15 erected on a and her for she sadly m the Duchrae Hill, the hand of God is in the | Iweet springing of them when the sun shines apon them after rain, and it is He who send- ith forth every pile of the grass that springs THERE 1o sweetly side.” 1 own it was very pleasant for me to listen to him, for I had not thought there was such tenderness in the man. He went on: We are hirsled over moss and moor, over -ags and rocks, and after us the devil drives. Be not crabbit with us, O Lord! It is true we have gotten many calls, and have not answered. We in the west and south have been like Davld, cockered and pampered svermuch. Not even the wild highlands have sitten through so many calls as we have here In Galloway and the south “For I bear testimony that it is not easy to bring folk to Christ. I, that am a man, weak as other men, bear testimony that it Is not easy—not easy even to come to Him for oneself!"” And here T saw the people begin to yearn toward him, and in the gray light I saw the tears running silently down his cheeks. And It seemed as if the minister and also the most part of the people fell into a rapture of calm weeping, which, strange enough, forced Mr. Cameron often to break off short. “Are there none such here?” he asked. And 1 confess my heart went out to him, and all my sins stood black and threatening before me as I listened. 1 vow that at the time I feared his words far more than ever SAT OLD ANTON. meadows by in the the water 1 did Lag and his riders—this belng my first ' chiefly | to | had gone up into the | uffered for their faith, which, in- | | tiving experience of religion and the day from which I and many another ground our | hope. Then, ere he commanded himself to speak again, 1 took a glance at the mald Maisic Lennox beside me, and the look on her face was that on the face of a martyr that had | come through the torture and won the vic- tory. But the little lass that was called Margaret of Glen Vernock clung to her hand | and wept as she listened. But Kate McGhie only looked away over the water off the Hol lan Isle to the blue barn rigging of the Or- char Hill, and seemed neither to see nor to hear anyth Or at least 1 was not the | man to whom was given the art to see what | were her inner thoughts Richard Cameron went on “Are there any here that find a difficulty to close with Christ? But before we speak | to thateT think we shall pray a short word." | S0 all the people stood up on the hillside and the sough of their uprising was like the | wind among thecedars. And even as he prayed for the Spirit to come on these poor folk, that were soon to be scattered again over the moors and hags as sheep that wanted a shepherd, the wind of the Lord (for so I think it was) came b pon us. The of the clouds br up and the sun thone through so kindly ar let their plaids fall to the ground. But t mists still clung about the mountain tops of the Bennan and Cairn Edward. Then, after he had prayed not long, he | went on again to speak to us of the love and sufferings of Christ, for the sake of whose cause and kingdom we were that day in that wild place. Much he pleaded with us to make sure of our interest, and not think that because we were there at a field preach- ing, therefore all was well. Oh, but he was faithful to us that day, and there were many who felt that the gate of heaven was very near to them at the great conventicle by the Water of Dee. And even after many years, I that have been weak and niddering, and that have taken so many sins on my soul since I sat there on the bank by Maisie L.nnox and trembled under Mr. Cameron's words, gy | God thank and service that I was there to hear the Lion of the Covenant roar that day upon the mountains of Scotland Yet, when he spoke thus to us at this part of his pleading, it was most like the voice of a tender, nursing mother, that would wile her wayward bairns home. But when he had done with offering to us the cross, and commending Him that erewhile hung thereon, 1 saw him pause and look about him. He was silent for a space, his eye gleamed with an inner fire, and the wind that had arisen drave among his black locks. | T could see the storm gather to break “Therc are the Bennan and Cairn Edward and the Muckle Craig o' Dee—look over at them—I take them to witness this day that I have preached to you the whole counsel of 1. There be some great prof:ssors among you this day who have no living grace—of | whom I only name Black MacMichael and Muckle John, for their sins are open and patent, going before them into judgment. There are also som: here that will betray our plans to the enemy and carry their re- port of this meeting to the Malignants, To them I say: Carry this word to your maste: —'Ye may blaw your bagpipes till you burst, we will mot bow down and worship your glaiks—no, not though ye gar every heid her weigh its tall and the wind whistle through our bones as we hang on the gallows tree, " Here he held up his hand and there was a great silenc:, “Hush! T hear the sound of a great host | —I hear the gate of heaven beset. The throng of them that are to be saved through suffer- ing are about It. And One like unto th= Son of Man stands there to welcome them, What though they set your heads, as they shall mine, high on the Netherbow Port, or cast your body on the Gallows' dunghill, as they will Sandy's here? Know that there waiteth for you One at the door with face more marred than that of any man—One with His garments red coming up from Bozrah. One that hath trodden the winepress alone. And He shall say as He sees you come through the swellings of Jordan: ‘These are they that have come out of great tribulations and have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.' ‘Lift up your heads, O ye gates, and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors, for the redeemed of the Lord shall also enter in!" " he made an end, and all the people were astonished at him, and they looked even then for the chariot which it had been foretold s)m.um come and snatch him out of mortal sight, CHAPTER XVI. PEDEN THE PROPHET. Yet the chariot of fire came not, for the time was not yet, though the grinding of ite whee! was even then to be heard at the door. But the Lord had yet a great day's | darg to do in Scotland with Richard Cameron. Then, after silence had endured for a time, another minister roce up to speak to us. A murmur went about, and wonder and joy sat on every face. He was an old man, tall and gaunt. “His hair, lyart and long, fell upon his shoulders. His beard descendéd upon his breast “‘Pelen the prophet!”” was the whisper that went about. And all bent eagerly forward to look at the famous wanderer, whom all held at that time to have gifts of utterance and prophecy beyond those of mortal. He it was that had been a thousand times hunted like a partridge upon the mountains, a hundred times taken in the net, yet had ever escaped | He it was for the love'of whom men had latd ‘duv\n thelr lives like water, that Alexanler Peden might go seatheless and speak his Mas- ter's will, Bowed he was and broken; yet when he spoke his natural strngth was in no wise | abated, and at his first word the fear of the Lord came upon us. I looked at Lochinvar, who in his time had ridden so hard on his track. He sat open-mouthed, and there was & daze of awe in his look. Alexander Peden had hardly spoken a sen- tence to us when the spirit of prophecy broke upon him, and he cried out for Scotland, as was his wont in those days. His volce rose and rang—not like a war trumpet, as did Cameron's, but rather like the wild wind that goes about the house and cries fearful words | in at the chinks and crevices “A bloody sword, a bloody sword for thee, | O puir Scotland! Many a mile shall the: travel In thee and see nought but wa places, nor s0 much as a house reeking ple antly on the brae. Many a conventicle has been wared on thee, my Scotland, and Welsh and Semple, Cameron and Cargill have cried | to thee, but ere long they shall all be put to silence, and God shall preach to thee only with the bloody sword. Have ye ever wit- | neesed for the causc and covenants? Or have | ye been dumb dogs that will not bark? It | that bes o, God will make the tongues that owned Him not to fry and flutter upon the hot coals of hell. He will gar them blutter and bleeze upon the burning coals of hell! “'Speak, sirs, or He will gar these tongues that He hath put into your mouths to popple and play in the powpot of hell!” As he said these words his eyes shone upon us like to burn us through, and his ac- tion was most terrifylng as he took his great oaken staff and shook it over us. And we trembled beneath him like silly bairns taken in & wrong. But he went on his way as one that cries for vengeance over an open grave in which & slain man lies, Ye think that there bath been bloodshed in Scotland, and so there hath—dear and precious—but I tell you that that which hath | manded the men to stand to their arms, clcud ere the sun rises in his strength, to mid-noon the thunder plump that is yet to come."” Not since the black day of Bothwell have 1 slept In a bed! I have been Nazarite for the vow that was upon me. Have any of you seen me In New Luce? Not even Ritchie here could have overcrowded me then strength and stature. 1 stood as a young tree by the rivers of waters. Look upon me now—#o crooked by the caves and the m: hags that 1 could not go upright to the scaf- fold. The sword handle i fit for your hand and the Lord of Battles give ycu long arms when you measure swords with Charles Stuart. But old Sandy is good for nothing now but the praying. He can only bide in his hole Iike a toothless tyke, lame and blind and girn his gums at the robbers that spoil his Master's hcuse, Crook-back, crab-heart,’ sayeth the prov erb," he cried, “but I think not %o, for my heart Is warm this day toward you that sit here, for but few of you shall w day of wrath that is to come in Scotland He turned toward the place where we sat together, the maids, my cousin, and I. A great fear in my heart chilled me like fce Was he to denounce us as traitors? But he only said slowly these words in a soft and moving volce, as one that hath the tears close behind: And there are some of you, and weak, here present, that shall make a namo in Scotland that shall never die!” With that he made an end and sat down. Then came one, white-faced and panting, trom the hill on the east he riders are upon us cried Then, indeed, young maids flee quickl. there was great confusion and deray. Some rose up in the act to flee But Anton Lennox, who had the heart of a soldier in him and the wit of a general, com- put- ting the women behind them And through the confusion I could stern-faced men moving to the front with guns and swords n their hands. These were the disciplined members of the praying socleties, as 1 learned, whom Cameron, and afterward Ren- wick, drew together into one military bond of defence and fellowship. For me, I stood where I was, the malds only being with me; and I felt that, come what might, it was my duty to protect them Kate McGhee clasped her hands and stood as one that is gripped with fear yet can master it But Maisie Lennox, who was nearest to me, looked over to where he PADEN THE tor | through the | !long time still, no man daring to move. It atrick me as strange (ML In that great con: course of shepherds not=%0 much as a dog barkel. In a moment ] saw the reason. Each herd was sitting ofl the grass, with his dog's head in his 14 wrapped in his plaid. Then came the dbatfering of the great meeting. And es we weht our ways home 1 cannof tell whither LotHiti¥ar fared or who accompanied him. Nor foF many a day did 1 #ce him, though I both Sought and mourned for him. Such were thé ‘chances of our life at that dark time, when' Hrother might part | from brother and ‘meet no’ more, and when a father might go out %o Ipok the lambs and be found by his daughiter fallen on his face on the heather by the €héep ree, with that on his breast that was fiot Honny to see when :llltn\' turned him over. A$ for me, 1 went | home with Maisie Lennox #ha her friend | young lass of Glen Veérnock, as was Indeed ‘llly plain duty. We walked side by si in | stience, for we had great thoughts within us of Cameron and Peden and of the blue bann of the covenant that was not yet wholly put ‘-Iu\\n BIRSAY THE COBBLER S0 many of the wanderers abod Duchras that Maisle Lennox was much cum bered with serving, yet in her quiet, sedat way she would often take a word with me in the bygoing, as if to let me feel that I was not lonely. And it cheered me much to find that 1 was not despised because I was as yet no great fighting man of many inches and noble make like my brother Sandy. Also 1 loved women's converse, having been much with my mother—indeed never long away from her side till my vain adventuring forth to Edinburgh in the matter of the estate As for Earlstoun we heard it was to be fc faulteed very soon, and given to Robert Grier of Lag, who was a very graball among them. Indeel, no one was better than an other, for even Claverhouse got Freuch consideration,” it was said, “of his good sery ice suffering.” His brother David got another estate in the Shire, and Rothes and Lauderdale were as “free coups” for the wealth of the fined and persecuted gentry Whenever there was a man well-to-do and of good repute, these men thought it no shame | to strive to take him in a snare, or to get | him caught harboring on his estate some in tercommuned persons. Then they rubbel handg, nuiged one another in council when they heard of a rising in arms. They even cried out and shook hands for joy, because ; CHAPTER XVII at the father stood at the corner of his company. Then, because she was distressed for him | and knew not what she did, she drew a half- knitted stocking out of the pocket that swung beneath her kirtle, calmly set the stitches in order and went on knitting, as s the Galloway custom among the hill folk when they wait for anything. There was a great sllence—a stillness in one Heard his nelghbor breathing. it the volce of Peden rose. he prayed, “it is Thine enemies’ Hour and power are allowed to them. may not be jdle. But hast Thou no other work for them to do in their Master's service? Send them after thosz to whom Thou hast given strength to flee, for our strength is gone and there are many weak women among us this day. Twine them about the hill, O Lord, and cast th2 lap of thy cloak over pulr Sandy and thir pulr things, and save us this one time.” So saying, he went to the top of a little Wl near by, from which there Is a wide prospect. It is called Mount Pleasant. From thence he looked all around and waved his hands three times. And in a minute there befel a wonderful thing. For even as his hands beckoned, from behind the ridges of th> Duchrae and Drumglass arose the level tops of a great sea of mist. It came upon the land suddenly as the “haar” that In the autumn drives up the eastern valleys from the sea. Like a river thau rises behind a m, it rose, till of a sudden it overflowed and came toward us over the moorland, moy- ing with a sound like runnig water very far away. Then Peden the K to us. Move not one of you out of your places!" Prophet come hastening ba us His pillar of cloud and made little by little a very thick dark- ness, and Peden said: “‘Lads, the bitterest of the blast is over. We shall no more be troubled with them this day.” And through the darkness I felt a hand placed in mine—whose I could not tell, but I hoped plainly that it might be Maisie Lennox's hand, for, as I have sald, he was my gossip. At least I heard no more the click of the knitting needles. The mist came yet thicker, and through it there shone now and then the fiickering leme of pale lightning, that flashed about us all. Then we heard strangely near us the jangling of the accoutrements of the troopers and the sound of voices, ‘Curse the whig’s mist, it has come on again! We canna steer for {t!" cried a voice 8o near that the bill men stood closer in their ranks, and my own heart leaped till I heard it beat irregularly within me. We marked the sharp clip, clip, as the shod horses struck the stones with their feet. Now and then & man would clatter over his horse's head as the poor beast bogged or stumbled Looking over between the trees, I could faintly discern the steel caps of the troopers through the gloom as they wound In single fle between us and the water side. It was but a scouting party, for in a moment we heard a trumpet blow from the main body, which had kept the road that winds down to the old ford over the Black Water on the way from Kirkcudbright to New Galloway ard Kenmulr, In a little the sounds came fainter on our ears, and the swing and trample of the hoofs BTeW 80 far away that we could not hear them Then the mist came he cried, “‘for the Lord is about to send upon | it gave them color for more exactions, and for keeping an army in the fleld, which, with pro- | viding ‘and accoutring, was also very profit- | able for them. But at the Duchrae we abode fairly s:cure, At night we withdrew to th> barn, where be. hind the corn mow a very secure and quaint hiding place had be'n devis:d. In the barn wall, as in most of the barns in that coun- try side, there were no windows of any size —in fact, nothing sav: a number of three- cornered ‘wickets. These were far too small to admit the body of a man, but by soxre ex- ercise of ingenious contrivance in keeping with the spirit of an evil time, the bottom stone of one of these wickets had been so constructed that it turned outward upon a hinge, which o enlarged the opening that onz man at a time had no difficulty in passing through. This cunning trapdeor was in the gable end of the barn, and conducted the fugitive behind the corn mow, in which the harvest sheaves were piled to the ceiling. Here we law many a time while the troopers raged about the hous: itself, stabbing e suspected corner of the corn and hay their blades, but leaving us quite safe hind the great mass of the mow. Yet for all it was a not unquiet time with us, and I do not deny that 1 had much pleas- ant fellowship with Maisie Lennox. But I have now to tell what befell at the Duchrae one Sabbath evening, when the pu; suit had waxed dull after Bothwell and be. fore the San. uhar affair had kindled a new flame. At that time in Galloway all the tailors, shoemakers and artificers did their work by going from house to house according as the scveral families had need of them. Now there was one man, who sat near us at the conventicle, whose actions it was impossible to mistake. When the troopers were jingling past beneath ue he flupg himself on the ground and thrust big plaid into his mouth to prevent his crying qut for fear. So pitiful did he look that when a# was past my cousin Wat went over and asked of him: “What manner of hill man art thou?" For indeed the men of the broad bonnet were aelther cowards«nor nidderlings. But this fellow was thaking with fear like the aspen in an unequal wind. “I am poor Birssy, the' cobbler,” the man answered. “'An’ it please your honor, I like not to come o near thae 1) loons of soldiers.” “What sent you to the conventicle, then, when you fear the redeoats so greatly?" asked my cousin, The little man glanced up at my cousin with a humorsome gleam in his eye. He was bent together with crouching over his lap- stone, and as he walked he threw himself into all kinds of ridiculous postures. “Weel," he sald, “ye see, it's no easy ken- nin' what may happen. I hae seen a con- venticle scale in & hurry and leave as mony as ten guid plalds on the grund—forbye Bibles and neckerchief; “But surely,” I sald to the cobbler, “you do not steal what the poor honest folk leave behind them in their haste? The word seemed to startle him greatly. “Na, na; Birsay stesls nane, stealin’s no with be- any more. been is but as the dropping ef the morning But the great crowds of people stood for canny,” he cried. ‘‘Them that steals hings in a tow, an' forbye, burng in muckle hell, the | “in | T | bleezin' up in fufin lows jul auld man Sandy Peden sald." And the cobbler lllustrated the nature of the conflagration with his hand, “Na, na," he cried, In the strange, mering speech of the creature, ‘‘there's nae stealin’ n getherin' thegither what ither | folks hae strawed, surely. That's I' the guid bulk itsel'. An' then after the bizz is bye, an’ the sough calmed doon, Birsay can gang frae auld wife to auld wifc and say to ilka yin, ‘Ye wadna loss ocht lately, did ve, guid wife? Ay’ says she. ‘I lost my Bible, my plaid or my Kkercher at the fleld preachin!’ ‘Ay, woman, did ye?' says I ‘They're ter rible loons thae “sodgers for grippin’ and haudin’ I make boots for a seargeant that has mony a dizzen o' thae things “WI' that the auld wife begins to cock her | lugs. ‘Maybes he has my bible!' ‘I wadna wunner,’ says 1. ‘O, man, Birsay,' she says 1 hae aye been a freen yurs, ye micht e'en see gin he has it, a K it aft him! There's the texts an’' heads o' mony sermons o' guid Ma Welsh and precious Maister Gothrie in the hinner end o' the buik!' ‘'So,' says I, aff-hand like, ‘supposin t supposin’ that Sergeant Mulfeather your bit buik, and that for to me he was wullin' to pairt wi't, what wad the bit buik be worth to ye? | ye it's treason to hae sic a thing, and rank conspiracy to thi and barter to get it | back—but what ~wull freends no do to obleege yin anither! “Ay, man, Bfrsay," I said, to encourage for 1 saw that the little man loved to “ an’ what wull the auld body do yam- iste noo, ju has gotten freendsh! [ him, talk then?" “Faith, she'll gie me the siller to tak’ to Sergeant’ Mulfeather and get back her bit bukie. An’ that's juist what Birsay wull do | wi* richt guid wull,” he concluded cantily. o ‘“And hae ye ony mair to tell me, Birsay 1 asked him, For his talk cheered the day and as for belief, there was no reason that one should believe more than seemed good of Birsay's conversation [ “Ay, the \ing more that | has to say to ye. You an’ that braw | wi' the e'en like lassie’'s are no | Whigs, I'm thinkin'. Ye'll aibling be o | same way of thinkin® as mysel | At this I pretended to bo much discon- certed, and 1d Wheesht, Birsay! Be canny wi' your tongue! Mind whaur ye aré What mean you?" “Trust Birsay, he cocking his frowsy head like a year-old sparrow 'Gin the king, honest man, never mes to mair harm than you an' me wusses him, he'll come gey weel oot o' some o' the ploys that they blame him for." “How kenned ye, Birsay,” 1 him, “that we werna Whigs? “0, 1 kenned brawley by your shoon. Thae shoon were never made for Whigs, but for honest king's folk. Na, na, they dinna gree weel wi' the moss-broo ava thae sort wi' the narrow nebs and single soles. Only decent, sweerin’, regardless folk, that wuss the king weel, tryst shoon like them!" It was clear that Birsay thought us as great traitors and spies in the camp as he was himself. So he opened his heart to us. It was not a flattering distinction, but as the confidence of the little man might be an element in our own safety and that of our friends on some future occasion, I felt that we would assuredly not undeceive him But we had to pay for the distinction, for from that moment he favored us with a prodigious deal of his conversation, which, to tell the truth, savored but seldom of wit and often of sculduddery Birsay had no sense of his personal dis- honor, and would tell the most alarming story to his own discredit, without wincin in the least. He held it proof of his superior caution that he had always managed to keep his skin safe, and so there was no more to be said. “Ay, a aid Dirsay Birsay lad richt the s wan a returned cunningly, aid, to humor the fashion o ¥, ay “these are no canny times to be amang the wild hill folk. Yin wad need to be weel payed for it a’. There's the two black McMichaels—they wad think nae mair o' splatterin’ your harns again the dyke than o' killin' a whutterick, Deil a hair. An’ then, on the fther hand, there's ill-contrived turncoats like Westerha' that wad aye be pluff-plufiin’ poother and shot at puir men if they were muirfowl. An' he's no parteecler eneich ava wha he catches, an’ never will listen to a word."” “Then there's the awesome nichts whan the ghaists and worlocks are about. I canna bide the nicht ava. God's daylicht is guid eneuch for Birsay, an' as lang as the sun shimes there nae fear o' deil or witchwifo gettin’ haud o' the puir cobbler chiel! But when the gloamin' cuddles doon intil the lap o' the aicht, and the corpcannlis lowe i' the bogs, an’ ye hear the deils lauchin' and chun- nerin’ to themselves In a' the busses at the rcadsides, 1 declare every stound o' manhosd fle:s awa' clean oot o' Birsay's heart, an’ he wad like to dee but for thought o' the After- come. An’ ‘dced, in the mirkeerie miinicht, whether he's fearder to dee or to leeve, puir Birsay disna ken!" Jut, Birsay,” I sald, “ill-doers are fll- dreaders. Gin ye were to drap a’ thia thiev- ery an’ clash-carryin' wark, ye wadna fear:d o' man or deil!"” “Weel do I ken,” Birsay satd, “that siccan ploys are no for the like o' me but man, ye see, llke ither folk, I'm terrible fond of the siller. An’ there's nocht so comfortin’, when a' thae things ard yammerin' to get haud o' ye, as the thocht that ye hao'a weelfilled stockin’-fit whaur nane but yersel' can get haud o't! And the creature writhed and_slapped his thigh. “‘Yae stockin' fu’, man,” he wi' a string, an’ the ither begu; up as the instep. O man, think on!" “But heard ye o' the whummel I gat aff this verra Duchrae kitchen laft? said Bir- say. He often came over in the gloaming on & newsgathering expedition. For it was a pleasure to give him news of a kind, and my ccusin, who had not a great many occupa- tions since Kate McGhie had gone back to the great House of Balmaghie, took a sprefal delight In making up stories of so ridiculous a nature that Birsay, retailing them at head- quarters, would without doubt soon find b credit gone, “The way o' that tinued. “As I telled ye, I gan frae hoose to hoose in the exercise o' my trade, for there's no slc a suiter i' the countryside as Birsay, though he says it himsel’, an' no siccan ‘watertight shoon as his ever gaed on the fit o' man. Weel, it was ae nicht last winter, i’ the short days, Birsay was to begin wark at the Duchrae at sax by the clock, an’ when it comes to coontin' hours wi’ Auld Anton Lennox o' the Duchrae, ye maun begin or the clock has dune the strik- in. Faith, an a' the Lennoxes are the same, they'll haud the nose o' ye to the grindstone—an’' the weemen o' them are every hair as bad as the men. There's auld Lucky Lennox o' Lennox Plunton—what said ye?—aweel, I'll gang on wi' my story, gin ye like, but what's &' the steer so sudden, the nicht's afore s? As I was sayin’, I had to start at Auld Anton's on the Monday morning’, gey an' early, so I thocht I wad do my travelin’ in time o' day, an’ get to the Duchrae afos the gloamin,; an’ in that way I wad get the belter o' the bogies, the dells o' the bog the black horse o' the Hollan Lane, an' a' slc uncanny cattle “But I minded that the auld Lennox, was a terrible man for in the Carritches, an' aye speer-speerin’ at ye what is the Reason Annexed to some | pertectly unreascnable command—an’ that kind o' talk disna suit Birsay ava. So what did I do but started ower in the afte noon, an' gat there juist aboot the time whan the kye are milkit, an' a' the folk eyther at the byre or in the stable. “So 1 watched my chance frae the end o' the hoose, an’ when no a leevin' soul was to be seen, I slippit up the stairs, speelin’ on the rurgs o' the ladder wi' my stockin' soles as qulet as pussy. “Then, when I got to the middle o' the laft, wharun the big hole o' the lum 1s, wi' the ‘reek hingin' thick afore it gangs oot at the riggin' o' the hcose, I keekit doon; and there at the table, wi’ his elbows on the wood, sat Auld Anton takin' his lesson oot o' the big Bible, like the bauld auld Whig that he is, his whinger in a leather tashe swingin' ahint him. It's & queer thing that for a' sae often as I hae telled the curate aboot him, he has never steered him. Thero maun be something no very thorogh aboot the curate, an’ he none so great a hero wi' the pint stoup either, man! “Awzel, as the forenicht slippit on, an’ the lassies cam' in frae the byre, an’ lads frae the stable, It was just as I expected. They drew up their stools aboot the bearth, got out their Bibles, an' warmed thelr taes Lord preserve me, to see them sittin' o croose an' canty ower Effectual Callin' an' Ress:n Annexed, as gln they had b en creckin’ an’ singin’ in & changehooss! They're a queer fowk thae Whigs. It wad hae scunnered a 500! An' twa-three necbors cam’ in by to get himself in glee n' tied as far it's blythe to as this,”” Birsay con- tod, Anton xaminin’ «-“-‘-“«--‘-“««“--‘-«“« LGB L DL AR B DDT DD DO VD f : in our Furniture Department, and nc Neither do we worth Seven. shelves. are on a par with STREE your home complete. One Price cash or on Easy Payments. chases of us you got yourmoney's woeth JEWELL STOVES, We through our immense establishment, SPECIAL INDUCEMENTS To NEW BEGINNERS in Housekeeping. as the beardle rr-‘.--‘.-.---.. L g & 1 2 2 = 2 2 THE FURNITURE AND CARPET Business is not a game of chanco at our store; whon you mako your pur There are no OLD CHESTNUTS » MOTH EATEN CARPETS on our advertise to sell an article for Two Dollars that is Dealers who resort to such methode will bear watehing and ' PAKIRS. You know them. ‘Siajeaq p[AOM & SHCLVH3BIUAIY WSV The suceess of the New Blg Store is attributed solely to Hon= orable Methods—well made goods at reasonable pricess We furnish to everybody, whether you buy for take pleasure in showing you whether you wish to purchase or not. i OHALA 1 6w HOTEL>® LAFAYETTE Lako Minnetonks, Minn,| 1301 of 1893 b Jun I LEADI SUMMER HOTEL THE WES faces the lak ful location. comforts, di fine scenes anent tr. June 20, Allmodern iy concerts v, best of fishing and salling. ns, Adc V. HOLCOMBE, Great N fier thatat Hotel. onic puridies appetite, aids pEg digestion, allayd pain i} i duces refresh- ing aleep, Itis positively (3 *4 guaranteed fo cure any iliness. A\ 1t you have not given it a 94 triul do g0 to-duy and watch its miraculous powers. SIS LI the benefit o' the exerceeses! Faith! if Clavers had come by the road he wad hac landed a bonny flaucht o them, for there washa yin o' the rive but had grippet sword at either o the twa risin’s. For a' the auld carles had been at Pentland an’ a’ the young plants o' grace had been at Bothwell—ay, an’ Auld Anton an’ twa-three mair had been at them baith; an' gin there had been a third he wad hae been there, too, for he's a grim auld carle, baith gash and steeve, wi' his bible an’ his brass-muntit pistols an’ his Effectual Callin'! “Then bywhiles, atween the spells o' the questions, some o' the young yins fell atalkin’, for even Auld Anton canna haud the tongues o' the young birkies, an’ amang ither things what did the loons do but start to lay their fll-scrapit tongues on me, an' begood to misca’ puir Birsay for a' that was {111 * ‘Listeners hear nae guld o' themselves' is an auld-ferrant say, Birsay,” I said. “Aweel,” the suitor went on, “that's as may be. At ony rate it was ‘Birsay this' an’ ‘Birsay that,” till ever porridge-fed spel- dron an’ ill-gabbit mimmoo'ed hizzie had a lick at puir Birsay. “But at the lang an’ last the auld man heard them at it, an’ he was julst the man to let them hear aboot it on the deafest sid¥ o' their helds. He was aye a don at re- provin’, was Auld Anton. No mony o' the preachers could haud a can’le to him at the job." “Is it no a gey queer thing breaking off his story, “that wh an’ curse a' an’ sundry, they ¢ sweerin’, an’ misca’ us for awesome sinners, but when they lay their tongues to their enemies an' curse them, it's ca'ed a testi- mony an’ printed In a buik?" The thing did indeed strike me as strange. but I desired to keep Birsay to his story, so0 T only sald: “But, Birsay, what did the auld man say to them when he heard them misca'in’ you?" “Oh, he e'en telled them tha it wad fit them better to look to their ain life an' conversation, an’ that it wid be tellin’' them yae day, gin they had made as guid a job of their lite wark as Birsay made o' his bits o' shoon—a maist sensible an’ just ob- serve! Faith, the auld tod 1§ nane sae il an auld carle, though siccan a dour and maisterfu’ Whig. He kens guld wark when he sees it! “So when they wers a sittin' gey an' sham*- faced under this reproof, whang! doon on the hearthstane fell my suilor's elshin—the can- Kersome thing had slippit gt o' my pooch an' drappit ower the edge Of the hole in the laft aboon the fireplace. “ Preserve us,' 1 thought to myself, ‘it's ' by wi' Birsay noo. They'll be up the stair swarmin’ like & bee's byke’ But when I kesk it ower, they were a sittin’ gapin’' at the elshin that had stottit on to the floor. An' what wi' me steerin’ an' lookin' ower the odge, clash fell my braid knife, that I cut the leather wi' oot o' my pooch. “It fell on the clean stane, an' then lap to the side, nearly on the knees o' & great fat gussie o' a loon the ca' Jock Wabster. An' Jock was In siccan & hurry to get oot o' the road o' the thing—for he thocht it wasna canny—that he owerbalanced himsel’, and certes! owes he gaed among the lassics, siool sald Birsay, \ we set o it profane an awesome clatter. An' a' the TAewn amovar asotly, > SO TOOPOOOPT OO OOTO>P>ODO | but wood an' i i 0 s b I ] i L One Liour fr apolls. Fres o Bulliing, ST. PAUL, MINNESO LA, unti! For AL ILLS, ACIKHEES OR PAIINS, 4 This may seem incredible but it is neverthel 88 truo ° A we are prepared to provs our the bl d, regulates the nerves, YOUR DRUGGIST SELLS IT. BlackTonic Med.Co. Manufacturers, S, MO. HODIDDIDIDODDDDil lassies cried oot wi' fricht an' gruppit th lad they likit best, for there's a deal o human nature even amang the Whigs, thaf the Covenants canna fettle, nor yet Effectual Callin’ keep in bounds, and nae toot there's Reason Annexed for that to!" My sang, but when Auld Anton got him straucht on his chair again, whatna tongue threshin' did he no glo the lasses, an’ indeed a' the lave o' them. He caa'ed them for a'thing that was bad, and telled them what kin' o' black ill consclences they bood hae to be feared o' a wee bit thing that was airn. But when they showed him the whaur it lay glintin’ on the hearth (for nae man o' them daured to touch it), Anton was a wee thing staggered himsel’, an’ sald it was a sign sent to rcprove them for speakin' aboot puir Birsay on a Sabbath nicht. ‘It was a deil's portent,’ he said, ‘an’ nae mortal man ever fory that steel, an’ gin onybody touched it he wadna wunner but it wud burn him to the bane, comin’ direc’ frae sic a place as it had dootless loupit fra This tickled me sae terribly that I creepit a wee nearer to see the auld tod's face as ho laid it aff to them about the deil's elshin an’ his leather knife—that had baith been bocht frae Rab Tamson, the hardware man in the Vennel o' Dumfr| an' wasna payed for yet! When what d'ye think happened? “Na, ye couldna guess—weel, I creepit maybe a halr ower near the edge. The auld rotten board gled way wi' me, an' doon Birsay fell amang the peats on the hearth- stane, landin’ on my hinderlands wi' a brange that nearly brought the hoose doon, I gaed yea skeloch as I fell, but, gracious me,” said Birsay, waving his hands, “that was as naething to the scraich that the fowk aboot the fire gled. They scattered like a flock o wild deuks when a chairge o' shot splairges amang them. They thocht the il auld boy was comed into the midst o' them, an' we' yae consent they made for the door. Jock Wabster took the hill baa-haain' like a calf as he ran, an’ even bauld Auld Anton stood by the door cheek wi' his eword point atween him an' the dell whummelt on his hearthstane! But I didna bide lang amang the reed peais, as ye may guess. I was scramblin’ oot, whan the ould man grubbit me by the cuff ©' the neck, an’ maybes because he had been a kennin' frichtit himsel’, he gied puir Bir- say an awesome warm palr o' lugs. He near dang me stupit. Gin I had gane to the laft to escape Effectual Callin’, he didn scruple to gin me Effectusl Daudin’, an' that without any speerin’' or as muck single reason anne d what," I said, “same of Jock Wabe S knife ster ‘Deed as for Jock,” sald Birsay, “he got great experience o' religion and gaed to join John Gib and his company on the Flowe o' the Deerslunk, where Maister Lennon va quished them. But he dinna catch Jock, for Jock sald gin he had beat the deil flat-it in a race, he wasna feared for ony Lennox o the squad. But Jock was aye ower great wi' the weemen folk, an' sae John Gib's notions julst suited him.'" Here Birsay made an end of his story, for Anton Lennox himself came in, and of | Mm Birsay stood in great and wholesome fear, i (To be Continued.)