them! It is a sinful compliance, a base confederacy with the Enemy. It is the evil that Menahem did in the sight of the Lord, when he gave a thousand talents to Pul, King of Assyria, that his hand might be with him; Second Kings, feifteen chapter, nineteen verse. It is the evil deed of Ahab, when he sent money to Tiglath-Peleser; see the saame Second Kings, saxteen and aught. And if it was accounted a backsliding even in godly Hezekiah, that he complied with Sennacherib, giving him money, and offering to bear that which was put upon him, (see the saame Second Kings, aughteen chapter, fourteen and feifteen verses,) even so it is with them that in this contumacious and backsliding generation pays localities and fees, and cess and fines, to greedy and unrighteous publicans, and extortions and stipends to hireling curates, (dumb dogs which bark not, sleeping, lying down, loving to slumber,) and gives gifts to be helps and hires to our oppressors and destroyers. They are all like the casters of a lot with them — like the preparing of a table for the troop, and the furnishing a drink-offering to the number.”
“There’s a fine sound of doctrine for you, Mr Morton! How like you that?” said Bothwell; “or how do you think the Council will like it? I think we can carry the greatest part of it in our heads without a kylevine pen and a pair of tablets, such as you bring to conventicles. She denies paying cess, I think, Andrews?”
“Yes, by G—,” said Andrews; “and she swore it was a sin to give a trooper a pot of ale, or ask him to sit down to a table.”
“You hear,” said Bothwell, addressing Milnwood; “but it’s your own affair;” and he proffered back the purse with its diminished contents, with an air of indifference.
Milnwood, whose head seemed stunned by the accumulation of his misfortunes, extended his hand mechanically to take the purse.
“Are ye mad?” said his housekeeper, in a whisper; “tell them to keep it;— they will keep it either by fair means or foul, and it’s our only chance to make them quiet.”
“I canna do it, Ailie — I canna do it,” said Milnwood, in the bitterness of his heart. “I canna part wi’ the siller I hae counted sae often ower, to thae blackguards.”
“Then I maun do it mysell, Milnwood,” said the housekeeper, “or see a’ gang wrang thegither.— My master, sir,” she said, addressing Bothwell, “canna think o’ taking back ony thing at the hand of an honourable gentleman like you; he implores ye to pit up the siller, and be as kind to his nephew as ye can, and be favourable in reporting our dispositions to government, and let us tak nae wrang for the daft speeches of an auld jaud,” (here she turned fiercely upon Mause, to indulge herself for the effort which it cost her to assume a mild demeanour to the soldiers,) “a daft auld whig randy, that ne’er was in the house (foul fa’ her) till yesterday afternoon, and that sall ne’er cross the door-stane again an anes I had her out o’t.”
“Ay, ay,” whispered Cuddie to his parent, “e’en sae! I kend we wad be put to our travels again whene’er ye suld get three words spoken to an end. I was sure that wad be the upshot o’t, mither.”
“Whisht, my bairn,” said she, “and dinna murmur at the cross — cross their door-stane! weel I wot I’ll ne’er cross their door-stane. There’s nae mark on their threshold for a signal that the destroying angel should pass by. They’ll get a back-cast o’ his hand yet, that think sae muckle o’ the creature and sae little o’ the Creator — sae muckle o’ warld’s gear and sae little o’ a broken covenant — sae muckle about thae wheen pieces o’ yellow muck, and sae little about the pure gold o’ the Scripture — sae muckle about their ain friend and kinsman, and sae little about the elect, that are tried wi’ hornings, harassings, huntings, searchings, chasings, catchings, imprisonments, torturings, banishments, headings, hangings, dismemberings, and quarterings quick, forby the hundreds forced from their ain habitations to the deserts, mountains, muirs, mosses, moss-flows, and peat-hags, there to hear the word like bread eaten in secret.”
“She’s at the Covenant now, sergeant, shall we not have her away?” said one of the soldiers.
“You be d — d!” said Bothwell, aside to him; “cannot you see she’s better where she is, so long as there is a respectable, sponsible, money-broking heritor, like Mr Morton of Milnwood, who has the means of atoning her trespasses? Let the old mother fly to raise another brood, she’s too tough to be made any thing of herself — Here,” he cried, “one other round to Milnwood and his roof-tree, and to our next merry meeting with him!— which I think will not be far distant, if he keeps such a fanatical family.”
He then ordered the party to take their horses, and pressed the best in Milnwood’s stable into the king’s service to carry the prisoner. Mrs Wilson, with weeping eyes, made up a small parcel of necessaries for Henry’s compelled journey, and as she bustled about, took an opportunity, unseen by the party, to slip into his hand a small sum of money. Bothwell and his troopers, in other respects, kept their promise, and were civil. They did not bind their prisoner, but contented themselves with leading his horse between a file of men. They then mounted, and marched off with much mirth and laughter among themselves, leaving the Milnwood family in great confusion. The old Laird himself, overpowered by the loss of his nephew, and the unavailing outlay of twenty pounds sterling, did nothing the whole evening but rock himself backwards and forwards in his great leathern easy-chair, repeating the same lamentation, of “Ruined on a’ sides, ruined on a’ sides — harried and undone — harried and undone — body and gudes, body and gudes!”
Mrs Alison Wilson’s grief was partly indulged and partly relieved by the torrent of invectives with which she accompanied Mause and Cuddie’s expulsion from Milnwood.
“Ill luck be in the graning corse o’ thee! the prettiest lad in Clydesdale this day maun be a sufferer, and a’ for you and your daft whiggery!”
“Gae wa’,” replied Mause; “I trow ye are yet in the bonds of sin, and in the gall of iniquity, to grudge your bonniest and best in the cause of Him that gave ye a’ ye hae — I promise I hae dune as muckle for Mr Harry as I wad do for my ain; for if Cuddie was found worthy to bear testimony in the Grassmarket”—“And there’s gude hope o’t,” said Alison, “unless you and he change your courses.”
“— And if,” continued Mause, disregarding the interruption, “the bloody Doegs and the flattering Ziphites were to seek to ensnare me with a proffer of his remission upon sinful compliances, I wad persevere, natheless, in lifting my testimony against popery, prelacy, antinomianism, erastianism, lapsarianism, sublapsarianism, and the sins and snares of the times — I wad cry as a woman in labour against the black Indulgence, that has been a stumbling-block to professors — I wad uplift my voice as a powerful preacher.”
“Hout tout, mither,” cried Cuddie, interfering and dragging her off forcibly, “dinna deave the gentlewoman wi’ your testimony! ye hae preached eneugh for sax days. Ye preached us out o’ our canny free-house and gude kale-yard, and out o’ this new city o’ refuge afore our hinder end was weel hafted in it; and ye hae preached Mr Harry awa to the prison; and ye hae preached twenty punds out o’ the Laird’s pocket that he likes as ill to quit wi’; and sae ye may haud sae for ae wee while, without preaching me up a ladder and down a tow. Sae, come awa, come awa; the family hae had eneugh o’ your testimony to mind it for ae while.”
So saying he dragged off Mause, the words, “Testimony — Covenant — malignants — indulgence,” still thrilling upon her tongue, to make preparations for instantly renewing their travels in quest of an asylum.
“Ill-fard, crazy, crack-brained gowk, that she is!” exclaimed the housekeeper, as she saw them depart, “to set up to be sae muckle better than ither folk, the auld besom, and to bring sae muckle distress on a douce quiet family! If it hadna been that I am mair than half a gentlewoman by my station, I wad
