ticiary, and the importance of the indictment fixed the most eager attention on his trial. Considering the celebrity, the length, and the publicity of the gypsy chief's career, it was thought his person would have been instantly identified; but the craft he had used in tinging his hair, complexion, and eyebrows, and altering his whole appearance to resemble's Cameron's son, baffled the many who appeared as his accusers. So much had Gordon attached his colleagues, or so strong was the Spartan spirit of fidelity and obedience amongst them, that not one appeared to testify against him. Gavin Cameron and his niece were cited to give their evidence on oath; and the miserable father, whatever doubts might secretly arise in his mind, dared not hazard a denial which might sacrifice his own son's life. He answered in an agony which his gray hairs made venerable, that he believed the accused to be his son, but left it to himself to prove what he had no means of manifesting. Annet was called next to confirm her uncle's account of her cousin's mysterious arrival; but when the accused turned his eyes upon her, she fainted, and could not be recalled to speech. This swoon was deemed the most affecting evidence of his identity. And, finally, the dog was brought into court. Several witnesses recognized him as the prime forager of the Gordon gypsies; but Cameron's steward, who swore that he saved him by chance from drowning in the loch, also proved, that the animal never showed the smallest sagacity in herding sheep, and had been kept by his master's fireside as a mere household guard, distinguished by his ludicrous attention to music. When shown at the bar, the crafty and conscious brute seemed wholly unacquainted with the prisoner, and his surly silence was received as evidence by the crowd. The lord high commissioner summed up the whole, and the chancellor of the jury declared that a majority, almost amounting to unanimity, acquitted the accused. Gordon, under the name of Cam

eron, was led from the bar with acclamations; but, at the threshold of the session's court, another pursuivant awaited him with an arrest for high treason, as an adherent to the Pretender in arms. The enraged crowd would have rescued him by force, and made outcries, which he silenced with a haughty air of command, desiring to be led back to his judges. He insisted in such cool and firm language, and his countenance had in it such a rare authority, that, after some dispute about the breach of official order, he was admitted into a room where two or three of the chief lords of session, and the chancellor of the jury, were assembled. Though still fettered, both on hands and feet, he stood before them in an attitude of singular grace, and made this speech, as it appears in the language of the record.

"The people abroad would befriend me, because they love the cause they think I have served; and my judges, I take leave to think, would pity me, if they saw an old man and a tender woman pleading again for my life. But I will profit in nothing by my judge's pity, nor the people's love for a Cameron. I have triumphed enough to. day, since I have baffled both my accusers and my jury. I am Gordon, chief of the wandering tribes; but, since you have acquitted me on 'soul and conscience,' you cannot try me again; and, since I am not Cameron, you cannot try me for Cameron's treasons. I have had my revenge of my father's enemy, and I might have had more. once felt the dead grip* of a Gordon; and he should have felt it again if he had not called me his son, and blessed me as my father once did. If you had sent me to the Grass-market, I would have been hanged as a Cameron ; for it is better for one of that name than mine to die the death of a dog; but, since you have set me free, I will live free as a Gordon."

He

This extraordinary appeal astonished and confounded

*The grasp of a drowning man.

his hearers. They were ashamed of their mistaken judgment, and dismayed at the dilemma. They could neither prove him to be a Cameron nor a Gordon, except by his own avowal, which might be false either in the first or second cause; and, after some consultation with the secretary of state, it was agreed to transport him privately to France. But on his road to a seaport, his escort was attacked by a troop of wild men and women, who fought with the fury of Arabs, till they had rescued their leader, whose name remained celebrated till within the last sixty years as the most formidable of the gypsy tribe.

JAMES HOGG.

DEATH AND THE DRUNKARDS.

THERE was in Flanders, once, a company of foolish gallants, who spent their time in taverns, and indulged themselves in gambling and debauchery of all kinds Night and day they did little else but dance to the sound of lutes and harps, and play at dice, and eat and drink beyond their might; so that, by such abominable superfluity, they, in a cursed manner, made sacrifice to the devil within his own temple.

Three of these rioters were, one morning, drinking, as usual, in a tavern, and as they sate, they heard a bell clink before a corpse which was being carried to its grave. Then one of them called to his boy, and said, “Go, and ask readily what corpse this is now passing forth by the gate, and look thou report his name well."

66

Sir," quoth the boy, "I knew it two hours before you came here. He was an old companion of yours, and was slain suddenly; for, as he sate drunken on his bench, there came a secret thief, men call Death (that kills all

the people in this country); and with his spear he smote his heart in two, and then went his way without speaking. He hath slain a thousand, this pestilence; and, master, ere you come into his presence, methinks it were full necessary to beware of him, and to be evermore ready to meet him. Thus taught me my dame."

"By Saint Mary," said the host of the tavern, "the child says truly; for this fearful thing hath slain, this year, within a village about a mile hence, both men, women, and children, so that I trow he has his habitation there. It were great wisdom to be well advised about him."

Then up spake one of the rioters, and said, "Is it such peril to meet with him? I vow that I'll seek him by stile and street. Hearken, my boys: we three are one: let each hold up his hand, and we will become brothers, and will kill this false traitor, Death. Before night he shall be slain, he that so many slayeth." And, so saying, he shouted a terrible oath.

Then these three, having plighted their troths to live and die by each other, started up all drunken in their rage, and went towards the hamlet of which the taverner had spoken ; and, as they went reeling along the way, they roared out with their thick voices, "Death shall be dead if we can catch him."

They had not gone half a mile, when, lo! just as they were crossing a gate, they saw a poor old man, who greeted them full meekly, and said, Now, God save you, lords!"

The proudest of these three rioters answered, "What, thou sorry churl! why art thou wrapped so closely over, save thy face? Why dost thou continue to live in such great age?"

At this, the old man looked him in the visage, and said, "Because I cannot meet a man, either in city or in village, even though I walked into the Indies, who would change his youth for my age; and, therefore, I must still

keep my age, as long as God pleases. Death will not have my life, alas! And thus walk I, like a restless caitiff; and, on the ground, which is my mother's gate, I knock night and morning, with my staff, crying, Dear mother, let me in. Lo! how I vanish, flesh and blood. When shall my weary bones be still?' But she will not do me such kindness, for which full pale and welked* is my face. Yet, sirs, it is not courteous in you to speak roughly to an old man, except he trespass in word or deed; for it is said in holy writ, as you may yourselves see, that ye should not rise against a hoary head; therefore do no more harm now to an old man, than ye would a man should do to you in age, if that ye abide so long; and so God be with you ever! I must go my ways."

of

'Nay, old churl, by St. John, thou partest not so lightly," swore one of these rioters. "Thou spakest, just now, that traitor, Death, that slayeth all our friends in this country. Thou art his spy; and, believe me, thou shalt either tell where he is, or thou shalt rue it; for, truly, thou art one of his accomplices to kill us young folk, thou false thief.”

"Now, sirs," then quoth this old man, "if you truly wish to find Death, turn up this crooked way, for, by my faith, I left him in that grove, under a tree; and there he will stay, nothing hiding himself for all your boasting. See ye that oak? Right there shall ye meet him; and Christ, that bought again mankind, save and amend you!"

Thus spake the old man ; and away ran these three rioters till they came to the tree, under which, behold! they found well nigh eight bushels of fine gold florins. They were so glad of this sight, that they sought no longer after Death; but, looking round them, they sat down on the hard roots of the tree, nothing heeding the uneasiness of the seat, so eager were they to be near the precious hoard. "Brethren," said the worst of the three, "take heed what

* Furrowed, wrinkled.