 CHAPTER 89 BANNACKBURN The generality of his prisoners, Bruce directed, should be kept safe in the citadel. But to Mowbray he gave his liberty, and ordered every means to facilitate the commodious journey of that brave knight whom he had requested to convey the insane Lady Strathen, the protection of her husband. Mowbray accepted his freedom with gratitude, and gladly set forth with his unhappy charge to meet his sovereign. Expectation of Edward's approach had been the reason of his withdrawing his herald from the camp of Bruce, and though the king did not arrive time enough to save Sterling, Mowbray yet hoped that he might still be continuing his promised march. This anticipation the Sutherland's loyalty would not allow him to impart to Bruce, and he bade that generous prince adieu, with a full belief a soon returning to find him the vanquished of Edward. At the decline of day Bruce returned to his camp, to pass the night in the field with his soldiers, intending next morning to give his last orders to the detachments which he meant to send out under the command of Lennox and Douglas, to disperse themselves over the border counties, and there keep station till that peace should be signed by England, which he was determined by unabated hostilities to compel. Having taken these measures for the security of his kingdom and the establishment of his own happiness, he had just returned to his tent on the banks of the Banachburn, when Grimsby, his now faithful attendant, conducted an armed night into his presence. The light of the lamp which stood on the table, streaming full on the face of the stranger, discovered to the king, his English friend, the intrepid Montgomery. With an exclamation of glad surprise, Bruce would have clasped him in his arms, but Montgomery, dropping on his knee, exclaimed, receive a subject as well as a friend, victorious and virtuous prince. I have foresworn the vassalage of the Plantagenets, and thus without title or land, with only a faithful heart, Gilbert Hamilton comes to vow himself yours and Scotland's forever. Bruce raised him from the ground, and welcoming him with a warm embrace of friendship, inquired the cause of so extraordinary anabduration of his legal sovereign. No light matter, observed the king, could have so wrought upon my noble Montgomery. Montgomery no more, replied the earl, with indignant eagerness. When I threw the insignia of my earldom at the feet of the unjust Edward, I told him that I would lay the sore to the root of the nobility I had derived from his house and cut it through, that I would sooner leave my posterity without titles, without wealth, and deprive him of real honour. Footnote, this event is perpetuated in the crest of the noble family of Hamilton in Scotland, in footnote. I have done, as I said, and yet I come not without a treasure, for the sacred corpse of William Wallace is now in my bark, floating on the waves of the forth. The subjugation of England would hardly have been so welcome to Bruce as this intelligence. He received it with an eloquent though unalterable look of gratitude. Hamilton continued, on the tyrant summoning the peers of England to follow him to the destruction of Scotland, Gloucester got excused under a plea of illness, and I could not but show a disinclination to obey. This occasioned some remarks from Edward, respecting my known attachment to the Scottish cause, and they were so couched as to draw from me this honest answer. My heart would not, for the wealth of the world, permit me to join in the projected invasion, since I had seen the spot in my own country, where a most inordinate ambition had cut down the flower of all knighthood, because he was a scot who would not sell his birthright. The king left me in wrath, and threatened to make me recant my words. I, as proudly declared, I would maintain them. Next morning, being in waiting on the prince, I entered his chamber, and found John de La Spencer, the coward who so basely insulted Wallace on the Davies' condemnation. He was sitting with his highness. On my offering the services due from my office, this worthless minion turned on me, and accused me of having declined joining the army, for the sole purpose of executing from plot in London devised between me and my Scottish partisans for the subversion of the English monarchy. I denied the charge. He enforced it with oaths, and I spurned his allegations. The prince who believed him furiously gave me the lie, and commanded me as a traitor to leave his presence. I refused to stir an inch, till I made the base heart of Leda Spencer retract his falsehood. The coward took courage on his master's support, and drawing his sword on me, in language of the rude blister my tongue to repeat, threatened to compel my departure. He struck me on the face with his weapon. The arms of his prince could not then save him. I thrust him through the body, and he fell. The coward ran on me with his dagger, but I rested it from him. Then it was that I replied to his menaces. I revoked my fealty to a sovereign. I abhorred a prince I despised. Leaving his presence before the fluctuations of so versatile a mind that fix upon seizing me, I hastened to Highgate to convey away the body of our friend from its brief sanctuary. The same night I embarked it and myself on board a ship of my own, and am now at your feet brave and just king. No longer Montgomery, but a true Scot in heart and loyalty. And as a kinsman, generous Hambleton, returned Fruce, I receive and will portion thee. My fraternal lands of Kadzo on the Clyde shall be thine for ever, and may thy posterity be as worthy of the inheritance as their ancestor is of all my love and confidence. Hambleton, having received his new sovereign's directions concerning the disembarkation of those sacred remains, which the young king declared he should welcome as the pledge of heaven to bless his victories with peace, return to the haven, where while is rested in that sleep which even the voice of friendship could not disturb. At the hour of the midnight watch the trumpets of approaching heralds resounded without the camp. Bruce hastened to the council tent to receive the now anticipated tidings. The communications of Hambleton had given him reason to expect another struggle for his kingdom, and the message of the trumpets declared it might be a mortal one. At the head of a hundred thousand men, Edward had forced a rapid passage through the lowlands and was now within a few hours' march of sterling, fully determined to bury Scotland under her own slain, or by one decisive blow restore her to his empire. When this was uttered by the English herald, Bruce turned to Ruthven with a heroic smile. Let him come, my brave barons, and he shall find the Banachburn, shall page with Cambus Kenneth. The strength of the Scottish army did not amount to more than thirty thousand men against this hoth of Southerns, but the relics of Wallace were there, his spirit glowed in the heart of Bruce. The young monarch lost not the advantage of choosing his ground first, and therefore as his power was deficient in cavalry, he so took his field as to compel the enemy to make it a battle of infantry alone. To protect his exposed flank from the innumerable squadrons of Edward he dug deep and white pits near to Banachburn, and having overlaid their mouths with turf and brushwood, proceeded to marshal his little phalanx on the shore of that brook till his front stretched to St. Ninen's monastery. The centre was led by Lord Ruthven and Walter Stewart, the right owned by the valiant leading of Douglas and Ramsey, supported by the brave young Gordon with all his clan, and the left was put in charge of Lennox, with Sir Thomas Randolph, a crusade chieftain who, like Lindsay and others, had lately returned from distant lands, and now zealously embraced the cause of his country. Bruce stationed himself at the head of the reserve, with him were the veterans Lochore and Kirkpatrick, and Lord Bothwell, with the true DeLungville, and the men of Lanark, all determined to make this division the stay of their little army, or the last sacrifice for Scottish liberty, and its martyrs' champions' corps. There stood the sable hearse of Wallace, Ruthven yield the ground which he had rendered doubly precious by having made it the sea and the garden of his invincible deeds. When Kirkpatrick approached the side of his dead chief, he burst into tears, and his sobs alone proclaimed his participation in the solemnity. The vow spread to the surrounding legions, and was echoed with mingled cries and acclamations from the furthest ranks. My leader, in death as in life, exclaimed Bruce, clasping his friend's sable shroud to his heart, thy pale corpse shall again redeem the country which cast thee, living amongst devouring lions. Its presence shall fight and conquer for thy friend and king. Before the chiefs turned to resume their marshal stations, the Abbott of Inchafre drew near with the mysterious iron box which Douglas had caused to be brought from St. Philan's priory. On presenting it to the young monarch he repeated the prohibition which had been given with it and added, since then these canonized relics, for none can doubt they are so, have found protection under the no less holy arm of St. Philan, who now delivers them to your useful majesty, to penetrate their secrets, and to nerve your mind with redoubled trust in the saintly host. The saints ought to be honoured, Reverend Father, and on that principle I shall not invade their mysteries, till the God in whom alone I trust marks weave me as more than the name of king, till by a decisive victory he established me as me the approved champion of my country. The worthy successor of him before whose mortal body and immortal spirit I now emulate his deeds, but as a memorial that the host of heaven do in deed learn from the brighter bodes to wish well to this day, let these holy relics repose with those of the brave till the issue of the battle. Bruce, having placed his array, disposed the supernumeraries of his army, the families of his soldiers, and other apparently useless followers of the camp, in the rear of an adjoining hill. By daybreak the whole of the southern army came into view, the van consisting of arches and men at arms, displayed the banner of Elder Warren. The main body was led by Edward himself, supported by a train of his most redoubted generals. As they approached, the bishop of Dunkeld stood on the face of the opposite hill, between the abbots of Campus Kenneth and Inchafrey, celebrating mass in the sight of the opposing armies. He passed along in front of the Scottish lions barefoot, with the crucifix in his hand, and in few but forcible words, exhorted them by every sacred hope to fight with an unreceding step for their rights, their king, and the corpse of William Wallace. At this abjuration, which seemed the call of heaven itself, the Scots fell on their knees to confirm their resolution with the vow. The sudden humiliation of their posture excited an instant triumph in the haughty mind of Edward, and spurting forward he cried aloud. They yield, they cry for mercy. They cry for mercy return, Percy, trying to withhold his majesty, but not from us. On that ground on which they kneel, they will be victorious or find their graves. The king condemned this opinion of the Earl, and in believing that, now Wallace was dead, he need fear no other opponent, for he knew not that even his cold remains were risen in array against him. He ordered his men to charge. The horsemen to the number of thirty thousand obeyed, and rushing forward with the hope of overwhelming the Scots ere they could rise from their knees met a different destiny. They found destruction amid the trenches and on the pikes and the way, and with broken ranks and fearful confusion fell or fled under the missive weapons which poured on them from a neighbouring hill. De Valance was overthrown and severely wounded, and being carried off the field filled to the rear ranks with dismay, while the king's divisions were struck with consternation at so disastrous a commencement of an action in which they had promised themselves so easy a victory. Bruce seized the moment of confusion, and seeing his little army distressed by the arrows of the English, he sent Bothwell round with a resolute body of men to drive those destroying archers from the heights which they occupied. This was effected, and Bruce coming up with his reserve the battle in the centre became close, obstinate and decisive. Many fell before the determined arm of the youthful king, but it was the fortune of Bothwell to encounter the false Montieth in the train of Edward. The Scottish earl was then at the head of his intrepid Lanarkman. Fiend of the most damned treason cried he, Vengeance is come! And with an iron grasp throwing the traitor into the midst of the faithful clan they dragged him to the hearse of his chief, and there on the skirts of its paw the wretched villains breathed out his treacherous breath under the strokes of a hundred swords. So cried the veteran Ireland, perish the murderers of William Wallace. So shouted the rest, perish the enemies of the bravest, the most loyal of Scots, the benefactor of his country. At this crisis the women and followers of the Scottish camp, hearing such triumphant exclamation from their friends, impatiently quitted their station behind the hill, and ran to the summit, waving their scarfs and plaids in exaltation of the supposed victory. The English, mistaking these people for new army, had not the power to recover from the increasing confusion which had seized them on King Edward himself receiving a wound. And panic struck with the sight of their generals falling around them. They flung down their arms and fled. The king narrowly escaped, but being mounted on a stout and fleet horse, he put him to the speed and reached unbar. Wenced the young Earl of March, being as much attached to the cause of the English as his father had been, instantly gave him a passage to England. The southern camp, with all its riches, fell into the hands of Bruce. But while his chieftains pursued their gallant chase, he turned his steps from warlike triumph, to pay his heart's honours to the remains of the hero whose blood had so often bathed Scotland's fields of victory. His vigils were again beneath their sacred paw, for so long had been the conflict that night closed in before the last squadrons left the banks of Bannockburn. At the dewy hour of morn, Bruce reappeared upon the field. His helmet was royally plumed, and the golden line of Scotland gleamed from under his sable circuit. Bothwell rode at his side. The troops he had retained from the pursuit were drawn out in a ray. In a brief address he unfolded to them the solemn duty to which he called them. To see the bosom of their native land received the remains of Sir William Wallace. He gave to you your homes and your liberty, grant then a grave, the peace of the tomb to him whom some amongst you repaid with treachery and death. At these words a cry as if they beheld their betrayed chief slain before them, issued from every heart. The news had spread to the town, and with tears and lamentations a vast crowd collected around the royal troop. Bruce ordered his bards to raise the sad coronach, and the march commenced toward the open tent that canopied the sacred remains. The whole train followed the speechless woe, as if each individual had lost his dearest relative. Having passed the wood they came in view of the black hearse which contained all that now remained of him who had so lately crossed these precincts, in all the panoply of triumphant war, in all the graciousness of peace and love to man. The soldiers the people rushed forward, and precipitating themselves before the beer, employed a pardon for their ungrateful country. They adjured him by every tender name of father, benefactor and friend, and in such a sacred presence forgetting that their king was by, gave way to a grief which most eloquently told the young monarch that he who would be respected after William Wallace must not only possess his power and valor, but imitate his virtues. Scrimgur, who had well remembered his promise to Wallace on the battlements of Dumbarton, with a holy reference to that vow, now laid the standard of Scotland upon the pool. Hambledon placed on it the sword and helmet of the sacrificed hero. Bruce observed all in silence. The sacred burden was raised, uncovering his royal head with his kingly purple sweeping in the dust he walked before the beer, shedding tears more precious in the eyes of his subjects than the oil which was soon to pour upon his brow. As he thus moved on he heard acclamations mingle with the sound of sorrow. This is our king, worthy to have been the friend of Wallace, worthy to succeed him in the kingdom of our hearts. At the gates of Campus Kenneth the venerable Abbot appeared at the head of his religious brethren, but without uttering the grief that shook his aged frame he raised the golden crucifix over the head of the beer, and after leaning his face for a few minutes on it, preceded the procession into the church. None but the soldiers entered. The people remained without, and as the doors closed they fell on the pavement, weeping as if the living Wallace had again been torn from them. On the steps of the altar the beer rested. The bishop had done keld in his pontifical robes, received the sacred deposit with a cloud of incense, and the peeling organ answered by the voices of the choristers, breathed the solemn requiem of the dead. The wreathing frankincense parted its vapour, and a one but beautiful form, clasping and earned to her breasts, appeared stretched on a litter, and was borne toward the spot. It was Helen, brought from the adjoining nunnery, where since her return to these ones dear shores, now made a desert to her, she had languished in the gradual decay of the fragile bonds which alone feted her mourning spirit, eager for release. All night at Isabella watched by her couch, expecting that each succeeding breath would be the last her beloved sister would draw in this calamitous world. But as her tears fell in silence from her cheek upon the cold forehead of Helen, the gentle saint understood their expression and looking up. My Isabella said she, fear not. My Wallace returned. God will grant me life to clasp his blessed remains. Full of this hope she was born, almost a passing spirit, into the chancel of Canberse Kenneth. Her veil was open, and discovered her face, like one just awakened from the dead. It was ashy pale, but it bore a celestial brightness, which, like the silver luster of the moon, declared its approach to the fountain of its glory. Her eye fell on the beer, and with a momentary strength she sprung from the couch on which she had leaned in dying feebleness, and threw herself upon the coffin. There was an awful pause while Helen seemed to weep. But so was not her sorrow to be sheared. It was locked within the flood-gates of her heart. In that suspension of the soul, when Bothwell knelt on one side of the beer and Rutherford bent his knee on the other, Bruce stretched out his hand to the weeping Isabella. Come hither, my youthful bride, and let thy first duty be paid to the shrine of thy benefactor in mine. So may we live, sweet excellence, and so may we die, if the like may be our mead of heavenly glory. Isabella threw herself into his arms, and wept aloud. Helen, slowly raising her head at these words, regarded her sister with a look of awful tenderness, then turning her eyes back up on the coffin, gazed on it as if they would have pierced its confines, and clasping the urn earnestly to her heart she exclaimed, "'Tis come! The promise, thy bridal bed, shall be William Wallace's grave.'" Bruce in Isabella, not aware that she repeated words which Wallace had said to her, turned to her with potentious emotion. She understood the terrified glance of her sister, and with a smile which bespoke her kindred to the soul she was panting to rejoin, she answered, "'I speak of my own espousals. But ere that moment is, and I feel it near, let my Wallace's hallowed presence bless your nuptials. There will breathe thy benediction through my lips,' added she, laying her hand on the coffin, and looking down on it as if she were conversing with its inhabitant. "'Oh, no, no,' returned Isabella, throwing herself on her knees, before the almost unembodied aspect of her sister, "'Let me ever be the sharer of your cell, or take me with you to the kingdom of heaven.'" "'It is thy sister's spirit that speaks,' cried Dunkeld, observing the awe which not only shook the tender frame of Isabella, but had communicated itself to Bruce, who stood in a heart-struck veneration before the yet unascended angel. Holy inspiration continued the bishop, beams from her eyes, and as ye hope for further blessings obey its dictates." Isabella bowed her head in acquiescence. As Bruce approached to take his part in the sacred rite, he raised the hand which lay on the paw to his lips. The ceremony began, was finished. As the bridal notes resounded from the organ and the royal pair rose from their knees, Helen held her trembling hands over them. She gasped for breath, and would have sunk without a word, had not Bothwell supported her shadowy form upon his breast. She looked round on him with a grateful, though languid smile, and with a strong effort spoke. "'Be you blessed in all things, as Wallace would have blessed you. From his side I pour out my soul upon you, my sister, my being. And with its inward-breathe prayers to the giver of all good for your eternal happiness, I turn in holy faith to my long-looked-for rest." Bruce and Isabella wept in each other's arms. Helen slid gently from the boom of Bothwell, prostrate on the coffin, and uttering in a low tone. "'I waited only for this. We have met. I unite thy noble heart to thee again. I claim my brother at our father's hands, in mercy in love, by his all-blessed son.' Her voice gradually faded away, as she murmured these broken sentences, which none but the close and attentive ear of Bothwell heard. But he caught not the triumphant exclamation of her soul, which spoke, though her lips ceased to move, and cried to the attending angels. "'Death, where is thy sting? Grave, where is thy victory?' In this awful moment the abbot of Inchafre, believing that the dying saint was prostrating prayer, laid his hand on the iron box, which stood at the foot of Wallace's beer. Before the sacred remains of the once champion of Scotland, and in the presence of his royal successor exclaimed the abbot, let this mysterious coffer of St. Philan's be opened, to reward the deliverer of Scotland according to its intent. If it were to contain the relics of St. Philan himself returned the king. They could not meet a holier bosom than this. And resting the box on the coffin, he unclasped the lock, and the regalia of Scotland was discovered. At this site Bruce exclaimed in an agony of grateful emotion. Thus did this truest of human beings protect my rights, even while the people I had deserted, and whom he had saved, knelt to him to wear them all. And thus Wallace crowns thee, said Dunkeld, taking the diadem from its coffer, and setting it on Bruce's head. My husband and my king gently exclaimed Isabella, sinking on her knee before him, and clasping his hand to her lips. Hearest thou that my beloved Helen cried both well, touching the clasped hands which rested on the coffin? He turned pale and looked on Bruce. Bruce in the glad moment of his joy, at this happy consummation of so many years of blood, observed not his glance, but in exulting accents exclaimed, Look up, my sister, and let thy soul discoursing with our Wallace. Tell him that Scotland is free, and Bruce is king indeed. She spoke not, she moved not. Bothwell raised her clay-cold face. That soul has fled, my lord, said he. But from yarn eternal sphere they now together look upon your joys. They let their bodies rest, for they loved in their lives, and in their deaths they shall not be divided. Before the renewing of the moon, whose waning light witnessed their solemn obsequies, the aim of Wallace's life, the object of Helen's prayers was accomplished. Peace reigned in Scotland. The discomfited King Edward died of chagrin in Carlisle, and his humble son and successor, sent to offer such honourable terms of pacification, that Bruce gave them acceptance, and a lasting tranquility, spread prosperity and happiness throughout the land. End of Chapter 89, Recording by David Cole, Medway, Massachusetts. Respecting the personal conformation of Sir William Wallace and King Robert Bruce. The extraordinary bodily as well as mental superiority which Wallace and Bruce possessed over their contemporaries is thus recorded by Hector Boetius. About the latter end of the year 1430, King James I of Scotland, on returning to Perth from St Andrews, found his curiosity excited to visit a very old lady of the house of Erskine, who resided in the castle of Canoone. In consequence of her extreme old age, she had lost her sight, but all her other senses were entire, and her body was yet firm and active. She had seen William Wallace and Robert Bruce in her earliest use, and frequently told particulars of them. The king, who entertained a love and veneration for great men, resolved to visit the old lady, that he might hear her describe the manners and strength of the two heroes. He therefore sent a message acquainting her that he would come to her the next day. When she was told that the king was approaching, she went down into the hall of her castle, attended by a train of matrons, many of whom were her own descendants. She advanced to meet his majesty so easily and gracefully that he doubted her being blind. At his desire she embraced and kissed him. He took her by the hand and made her sit down on the seat next to him, and then in a long conference he interrogated her on ancient matters. Among others he asked her to tell him what sort of a man William Wallace was, what was his personal figure, what his bearing, and with what degree of strength he was endowed. He put the same comparing question to her concerning Robert Bruce. Robert said she was a man beautiful and of fine appearance. His strengths were so great that he could easily have overcome any mortal man of his time, save one, Sir William Wallace. But insofar as he excelled other men, he was excelled by Wallace, both in stature and in bodily strength. For in wrestling Wallace could have overthrown two such men as Robert, and he was comely as well as strong and full of the beauty of wisdom. I might have thought had I known the above record in my young days, when I heard my old friend Lucky Forbes describe the Scottish heroes, that she must have been one of those matrons of honour to Lady Canull, and had seen both the Stollworth chiefs in her also venerable life. But the description of my humble historiographer was the work of her own heart, suggested there by tradition, and a holy reverence of even the name of William Wallace to help it out. And so my pen, moved by the same impulse, has attempted to copy the picture she presented. Note Concerning Joanna of Mar and Strathearn. This unhappy and wicked woman's descendants as daughter of a princess of the Orkneys, and her husband Mellis Earl of Strathearn, is given in all the old Scottish genealogical works, and her marriage with Earl de Waren, which is carried up by her most unnatural treasons against her native country, are not less faithfully recorded. But it is something curious that while revising this volume a few years ago, I met a paragraph in the Morning Post newspaper, relative to this very lady, now dead upward of five hundred years, and dated August the 26th, 1831, almost the very anniversary day of Sir William Wallace's death. It was an extract from the Perth Courier, and runs thus. In preparing the foundation of the classical monument, which Lady Baird is about to erect on Thomas Shastle, to the memory of Sir David, the workmen discovered the remains of an extensive edifice, intermixed with a blackish mould in which human bones frequently occur, with stirrups, buckles, and other decayed fragments of ancient armour. In an excavation were found a quantity of black earth, the debris of animal matter, some human bones, a bracelet, and a considerable portion of charcoal, from which it may be concluded that the individuals whose remains were discovered had perished during a conflagration of the castle. The tradition of the country is that three ladies had been there burned to death, and as it is known that the Lady of Strassone, a daughter of the Earl of Orkney, involved herself in the quarrels between Bruce and Bailiol, and was, after the ascendancy of the former, in a parliament held at school in 1329, doomed to perpetual imprisonment for the crime of Lesemaeus Datis. It is no violent stretch of conjecture to come to the conclusion that this very lady may have been one of the unhappy victims whose remains have been thus accidentally brought to light. The excavation, undoubtedly, being the most probable supposition, was that usually found in the base of the dungeon-keep of the castle. From a chastle, on the summit of which Sir David Baird's monument is to be placed, overlooks the whole strath, and is even visible from Dundee. So far the note from the Perth newspaper, which was first appended to this almost veritable romance biography of Sir William Wallace in the edition of 1831, and on comparing the circumstances and dates of the period referred to, it does not seem improbable that such might have been the fearful end of that ambitious and cruelly impassioned woman. Elder Warren was not a man to burden himself with cares for such a partner after her treasons had become abortive, in the secret continuance of which most likely she had been discovered in some of her territorial permitted visits to her inherited lands in Scotland. And the relics of the other two female forms found in the ashes may reasonably be supposed to have been those of her personal attendance, sharing her captivity. The above coincidence of recollections between the far past and the present nearly but passing events may be regarded as rather remarkable, for the hill of Thomas Shastle may now be looked upon as an object recalling to memory two heroes. One Scotland's noblest son of four, five hundred ages gone. The other her boast on the plains of India within our own remembrance. While the same summit brings two of her daughters likewise to eminent recollection, one that disgraced her sex in every relation of life, the other who honours it in all. The hand of the first would have destroyed her country's greatest hero. The hand of the second raises a tumulus to maintain the memory and the example of such true sons of her country in a perpetual existence. The scarf of James V of Scotland in the possession of Dr. Jefferson of West Lodge Clapham. This scarf belonged to and was worn by the truly royal but something romantically adventurous king of Scotland, James V. He was fond of roaming about in his dominions, like the celebrated Harun al-Rashid, in various disguises, to see and to observe, and to make acquaintance with his people of all degrees without being known by them. In one of these incognito wanderings about the year 1533, he was hospitably entertained for a night by an ancestor of Dr. Jefferson's lady, a man of liberal name in the country, and who unwittingly had given most courteous bed and board to his sovereign, then personally unknown to him, when he thought he was entertaining a person not much above the rank of the Communist degree, it being the monarch's humour generally to assume the most ordinary garb outwardly. And it therefore depended on the tact of the entertainer, from his own inherent nobleness, to discern the real quality of the mind and manners of his transitory guest. The host in question did not discern that it was his sovereign he was then treating like a prince, but he felt it was a visitant, be he whom he may, that was worthy his utmost respect. And the monarch, highly pleased with his night's lodging and previous gracious welcome, on his departure next morning presented to the lady of the mansion a grateful tribute to her good care. In the form of a small parcel rolled up, which, when opened, they found to be a splendid scarf, endorsed to herself and Lord in the name of the good man of Balanquiche. All then knew it was the generous and pleasant King of Scotland who had been their guest. The Scottish chief on whom this beautiful memorial of received hospitality had been bestowed was John Burg of Burnt Island in Fifeshire, from whom the writer of this note literally traces the present inheritance of the scarf. John Burg had an only daughter, who married John Balfour, K.N., who also had an only daughter, and she married Gilbert Blair, brother to Blair of Ardblair. Their only son, James Blair, married Jane Morrison, daughter of Blank Morrison-Escuire, and an heiress of the brave house of Ramsey, by which marriage the ancient and honourable families of Burg, Blair, and Ramsey, were woven into one branch, and from this branch, indeed from the first set-off of its united stem, was born of this marriage Margaret Blair, who, dying in the year 1836, bequeathed the long cherished scarf to Dr. Jefferson, the worthy husband of her beloved Kinswoman, direct in the line of John Burg, to whom it had originally been given. The scarf was composed of a rich and brilliant tissue of gold and silver threads, into woven with silk-embroidered flowers in their natural colours. They are chiefly pansies, the emblems of remembrance, thistles the old insignia of Scotland, and the field daisy, the favourite symbol of King James' mother, the beautiful Queen Margaret. The flowers entwined together run in stripes down the splendid web of the scarf, which terminates at each end with what has been a magnificent fringe of similar hues and brightness. The scarf is seven feet in length by one foot nine inches in width. This interesting bequest was still further enriched to Dr. Jefferson by the addition of a cap and gloves, which tradition says the worthy chief of Burnt Island War on his nutchall day. There was also a smaller pair of gloves of a more delicate size and texture, appropriated by the same testimony to the Fair Bride. But these articles are supposed to have been of earlier fabric than that of the scarf, probably the year 1500, and they are of less exquisite manufacture, the former appearing to be from the fine looms of France, and the latter wrought in the less practised machinery of our then-ruder Northern Isle. The cap is of a pale red silk, with gold cord and embroidery down the seams, it being formed to fit the head, and therefore in compartments, broad where they are inserted into the rich fillet-band round the head, and narrowing to the closely fitting top. It looked something like an Albanian cap. The gloves, which are said to have been those of the chief, were of a brownish fine leather, with embroidered gauntlet tops. The ladies are of a lighter hue, still softer leather, with gay fringe of varied coloured silk and gold, and tassels at the wrists. Both these pairs of gloves were well shaped and most neatly sewed. On these relics of antiquity, and of ancestral memorials devolving on Dr. Jefferson, he sought for a place of deposit for them, suitable to their dignity, their character, and their times. He had in his possession a curious old table of the era of Henry VIII, which he soon adapted to the purpose. Its large, oaken slab was of sufficient dimensions to admit of the royal gift being spread in graceful folds over the dark surface of the wood, which the better displayed the tissue's interchanging tints, and also gave room for the disposal of the cap and gloves, which were placed in a kind of armorial crest between its gauntlets at the head of the scarf, and at its foot was added a beautifully written inscription in old emblazoned characters historic of the interesting relics above. The hole is secured from dust or other injury by a covering of plate glass, extending over the entire surface of the table, which, having a raised carved oak-parapet border of about four inches high along all its sides, forms a sort of castellated sanctuary that completely defends from accident the glass and the treasure beneath it, which is distinctly seen through the lucid medium. The shape of the table is like that what we call a sofa table, but very long, being five feet by two and a half. The depth of its frieze altogether is eight inches, for it extends four inches below the four-inch parapet above, and this lower portion is worked into a foliage in reasing the sides. The whole height of the table from the feet of its four-clawed pedestal is three feet two inches. This pedestal, or rather branching stem of polished oak, being of the sturdy contour of its original growth, with its superb ramifications supporting the precious slab above, shows an elaborate design in its carvings far beyond my power to describe. So luxuriant, so various, so intricate, one might almost suppose that the matchless tool of the famous Benavanta Cellini had traced its wild and graceful grotesque. The four claws, which are like roots from the stem of the pedestal, partake of the same rich arabesque in their design, and terminate in the form of lion's paws. End of The Appendix and End of The Scottish Chiefs by Miss Jane Porter