farm-houses in the neighbourhood, and hearing from the lips of their simple inhabitants the story of the cruel wrongs inflicted on the Covenanters in the days of their persecution.

During these pleasant wanderings, I gathered information sufficient to furnish the Tales contained in the present volume, in which the reader will, I trust, find much that is calculated to awaken fresh interest in those benefactors of our country, whose magnanimity and patient endurance were worthy of all praise, and who, for the cause of Christ and his Crown, laid down their lives on the scaffold or amidst the burning faggots.

THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS.

A TALE OF BOTHWELL BRIDGE.

While staying at ——, in the parish of W——, I discovered that a standard, borne by the Covenanters at Bothwell Bridge, was still to be seen at the farm of Westcroft. Being very desirous of viewing this interesting relic, I set off one fine morning in the hope of obtaining a glimpse of the time-honoured banner. On reaching the village of H——, which lay on my way, I observed a very portly-looking woman standing by the side of the road, apparently enjoying the grateful breeze, as she looked east and then west, evidently in search of something amusing or exciting. Being now somewhat at a loss in what direction to turn my steps, I crossed over to where she was standing, in the expectation of obtaining from her the requisite information, when the following dialogue ensued:—

"Would you be so kind as to tell me the way to Westcroft?"

"That I will. I'll just go wi' you a step or two and show you the farm itsel'. But what are ye wanting at Westcroft, if I may ask the question?"

"I wish to see Mr. Anderson, as I understand he has got a standard that was borne at Bothwell Bridge."

"He has that—he has that; but it's often away frae hame, ta'en to Glasgow and the like, for ye see it's something to say, a body has seen the like o' that."

"From what I have heard, this seems to have been a great part of the country for the Covenanters to take refuge in."

"'Deed an' it was, but for my part I dinna ken much aboot them; my brother, again, was a great antiquarian, and rale ta'en up about these auld affairs."

"Does he live near here?"

"Oh! mam, he's dead;" and after a short pause added, "Now, you see that white house forenent the road?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's Westcroft; and if Willie Anderson be at hame, ye'll get plenty o' cracks about the Covenanters, for he has lots o' bees in his bonnet, him."

After thanking the good humoured dame for her information—upon which she replied I was welcome—I turned up the path leading to Westcroft. In answer to my request to see Mr. Anderson, I was informed he was in the fields; but that Mrs. A. was within, upon which a very intelligent-looking woman came forward, and, on my expressing a wish to see the standard, desired me to come ben, and I should have a sight o' the colours.

Following the mistress of the house, I was speedily ushered into a tidy little room, the walls of which were adorned with pictures, the most striking of which was one entitled "The Guardsman's Farewell," representing a gallant son of Mars in a most gorgeous uniform, on horseback, taking leave of a stout woman, attired in a yellow polka-jacket and a crimson petticoat, who was gazing upwards in the face of the departing soldier, with a look of agony impossible to describe.

"Here are the colours!" and, as she spoke, Mrs. A. produced from a drawer on old piece of linen covered with stains as dark as those exhibited in Holyrood—the surface of which displayed unmistakable bullet-holes, and bearing the following inscription in large red letters:—

"For the parish of Shotts,

For Reformation of Church and State;

According to the Word of God, and

Our Covenants."

Above was the thistle of Scotland, surmounted by a crown and an open Bible.

And this standard was borne at Bothwell Bridge! How my thoughts reverted to that fearful time, when the plains of Scotland resounded with the cries of the wounded and the oppressed; when men, embittered by party spirit and misguided zeal, wrought deeds of cruelty and shame, over which angels well might weep; when fathers were murdered in presence of their wives and children; and the widow slain while weeping over the dead body of her husband!

In thought I was traversing the bloody plains of Bothwell, when——but here I must present the reader with an account of that fearful fight, as related by the Laird of Orfort to his brother, while standing on the spot where was fought the last battle against the enemies of the good old cause:—

"On that moor," said the Laird, who, after a long silence, and without being conscious of it, by a kind of instinct, natural enough to a soldier, had drawn his sword, and was pointing with it. "On that moor the enemy first formed under Monmouth. There, on the right, Clavers led on the Life Guards, breaching fury, and resolute to wipe off the disgrace of the affair of Drumclog. Dalziel formed his men on that knoll. Lord Livingstone led the van of the foemen. We had taken care to have Bothwell Bridge strongly secured by a barricade, and our little battery of cannon was planted on that spot below us, in order to sweep the bridge. And we did rake it. The foemen's blood streamed there. Again and again the troops of the tyrant marched on, and our cannon annihilated their columns. Sir Robert Hamilton was our commander-in-chief. The gallant General Hackston stood on that spot with his brave men. Along the river, and above the bridge, Burley's foot and Captain Nisbet's dragoons were stationed. For one hour we kept the enemy in check; they were defeated in every attempt to cross the Clyde. Livingstone sent another strong column to storm the bridge. I shall never forget the effect of one fire from our battery, where my men stood. We saw the line of the foe advance in all the military glory of brave and beautiful men—the horses pranced—the armour gleamed. In one moment nothing was seen but a shocking mass of mortality. Human limbs and the bodies and limbs of horses were mingled in one huge heap, or blown to a great distance. Another column attempted to cross above the bridge. Some threw themselves into the current. One well-directed fire from Burley's troops threw them into disorder, and drove them back. Meantime, while we were thus warmly engaged, Hamilton was labouring to bring down the different divisions of our main body into action; but in vain he called on Colonel Clelland's troop—in vain he ordered Henderson's to fall in—in vain he called on Colonel Fleming's. Hackston flew from troop to troop—all was confusion; in vain he besought, he entreated, he threatened. Our disputes and fiery misguided zeal, my brother, contracted a deep and deadly guilt that day.

"The Whig turned his arm in fierce hate that day against his own vitals.