kirtle and a steed,-than if thou satest with a footstool of goldand hadst nobles' daughters bearing up thy train. This cross and rosary," and he held in his hand these devotional symbols, carved of dark wood, and slightly ornamented with gold,—'are of no common wood-a princess has sat under the shadow of its bough, and seen her kingdom won and lost--and may the fair one, who will now wear it, warm it in her bosom, till she sees a kingdom long lost-won as boldly, and as bravely, as ever the swords of the Selbys won their land.' And throwing the rosary around my neck as he concluded--away he went-opened his pack anew, resuming again his demure look and the arrangement of his trinkets. Walter Selby, who all this while-though then a hot and forward youth-had remained mute, addressed me in a whisper. Fair Eleanor-mine own giddy cousin-this pedlar-this dispenser of rosaries, made of queen Mary's yew tree-he, whom the churls call Simon Packpin, is no seeker of profit from vulgar merchandise-I'll wager a kiss of thine own ruddy lips against a kiss of mine, that he carries swords made of good Ripon steel, and pistols of good Swedish iron, in yon horsepack of his-wilt thou pledge a kiss on this wager, my gentle cousin. And instead of a brain, stored with plans for passing an English yard for a Scotish ell, and making pieces of homespun plaiding seem costly works from the looms of Arras or even of Leeds, it is furnished with more perilous stuff, pretty Eleanor-and no man can tell us better, how many of the Scottish cavaliers have their feet ready for the stirrup, and on what day they will call on the Selbys to mount and strike for their ancient lord and their lost inheritance.' Something of this colour had been passing in my own mind, but the temper of the Selbys ever required more to be repressed than encouraged-and so I endeavoured to manage thee, poor Walter Selby," -she went on in a slow solemn tone-" I saw thee, thou last and thou bravest of all the Selbys with thy banner spread, thy sword bright, and thy long golden locks waving on thy shoulders, when the barriers of Preston were lost and won, and the gallant lairds of Ashiesteel fought like brothers by thy side-O, that this last bright picture were all I remembered of thee. But can the heart of woman, though her head be gray, forget that she saw those long locks which made the dames sigh, waving, soiled and bloody, on the

gates of Carlisle. There is much done in this world must be answered for in the next, and this cruel and remorseless deed is one" old Eleanor, while she spoke, looked as though her agitated fancy had given semblance to the picture she had drawn-and her eyes became as fixed and as frozen, as stars in a winter night. This passed away with a smothered groan and a passing of her hand over her bosom, and she again resumed her narrative. "Truly," said I, "my froward cousin, thou art the best soldier our poor prince could peril his cause with-thou canst make a pedlar churl into a deep plodding politician, capable of overturning a throne. And his pack filled with shreds of lace and remnants of ribbon, into a magazine of weapons fit for furnishing an army. What will thy most wise head make of these dubious sybil verses, which this mysterious politician of thine has been doling out for thy especial instruction? By the rood, my witty Eleanor,' said Walter, I shall win a battle, and wed thee in revenge for this. But thinkest thou not, that the box which has endowed that round white neck of thine with a cross and rosary of gold and wood still more precious, may not contain things equally curious and strange? Some golden information, this pedlar-since pedlar thou wilt have him-carries in his looks-I wish I could find the way to extract it.' The stranger, as if guessing by our looks and our whispers what was passing between us, proceeded to instruct us in his own singular way he described the excellent temper of his Sheffield whittles-praised the curious qualities of his spectacles which might enable the wearer to see distant events, and after soothing over some lines of a psalm or hymn, common to the presbyterians, he proceeded to chant the following ballad, of which I regret the loss of several verses.

6

THE PEDLAR'S BALLAD.

1.

It is pleasant to sit on green Saddleback top,

And hearken the eagle's cry;

It is pleasant to roam in the bonnie green wood,

When the stags go bounding by.

And its merry to sit when the red wine goes round,

"Mid the poet's sweet song and the minstrel's sweet sound,

2.

It is merry in moonshine to lead down the dance,

To go starting away when the string

Shakes out its deep sound, and the fair maidens fly
Like the sunlight—or birds on the wing.

And its merry at gloaming aneath the boughs green,
To woo a young maiden and roam all unseen.

3.

But its blyther by far when the pennon is spread,

And the lordly loud trumpet is pealing,

When the bright swords are out, and the war courser neighs,

As high as the top of Hevellyn.

And away spurs the warrior, and makes the rocks ring,
With the blows that he strikes for his country and king.

4.

Our gallants have sprung to their saddles, and bright
Are the swords in a thousand hands;

I came through Carlisle, and I heard their steeds neigh
O'er the gentle Eden's sands.

And seats shall be emptied, and brands shall be wet,
'Ere all these gay gallants in London are met.

5.

Lord Nithsdale is mounted by winding Nith,

Lord Kenmore by silver Dee;

The bly the lads spur on from the links of the Orr,

And Durisdeer's greenwood tree.

And the banners which waved when Judea was won,

Are all given again to the glance of the sun.

6.

The Johnstone is stirring in old Annandale,
The Jardien-the Halliday's coming
From merry Milkwater, and haunted Dryfe bank;
And Eske that shall list at the gloaming,

The war shout-the yell, and of squadrons the dash,
And gleam to the claymore, and carabine's flash.

7.

Then come with the war horse, the basnet and sword,

And bid the big trumpet awaken;

The bright locks that stooped at a fair lady's feet,

Mid the tempest of war must be shaken.

It is pleasant to spur to the battle the steed,

And cleave the proud helmet that holds a foe's head.

8.

Thy sword's rusty, Howard-hot Dacre art thou
So cool when the war-horse is bounding?
Come, Percy; come thou, like a Percy of yore,
When the trumpet of England is sounding:
And come, gallant Selby-thy name is a name,
While a soldier has soul, and a minstrel has flame.

9.

And come too, ye names that are nameless-come mount,
And win ye a name in proud story,

A thousand long years at the sock and the share

Are not worth one moment of glory.

Come arm ye, and mount ye, and make the helms ring,

Of the Whigs, as ye strike for your country and king.

"The whole household of Wiltonhall, including Walter Selby and myself, had gradually gathered around this merchant-minstrel, whose voice from an ordinary chant, had arisen, as we became interested, into a tone of deep and martial melody. Nor was it the voice alone of the stranger that became changed-his face, which at the commencement of the ballad had a dubious and sinister expression, brightened up with enthusiasm-his frame grew erect, and his eyes gleamed with that fierce light, which has been observed in the eyes of the English soldiers on the eve of battle. What thinkest thou pretty Eleanor, of our merchant now,' said Walter Selby -'I should like to have such a form on my right hand when I try to empty the saddles of the southern horse of some of the keenest whigs. And I'll pledge thee, young gentleman,' said the pedlar -raising his voice at once from the provincial drawl and obscurity of low land Scotch into the purest English,- any vow thou askest of me to ride on which hand thou wilt-and be to thee as a friend and a brother, when the battle is at the hottest-and so I give thee my hand on't-I touch no hand,' said Walter Selby, and I vow no vow either in truce or battle, till I know if thou art of the lineage of the gentle or the churl-I am a Selby, and the Selbys-' 'The Selbys,' said the stranger, in a tone, slow and deliberate.

'are an ancient and a noble race-but this is no time, young gentleman, to scruple precedence of blood. In the fields where I have ridden, noble deeds have been achieved by common handswhile the gentle and the far descended have sat apart nor soiled their swords-I neither say I am of a race churlish nor noble-but my sword is as sharp as other men's, and might do thee a friendly deed were it nigh thee in danger. Now God help us,' said the dame of Wilton-hall, what will old England become-here's young Wat Selby debating lineage and blood with a packman churl-in good truth, if I had but one drop of gentle blood in my veins, I would wrap him up in his own plaid and beat him to death with his ell wand-which I'll warrant is a full thumb breadth short of measure.' I stood looking on Walter Selby and on the stranger the former standing aloof with a look of haughty determination—and the latter, with an aspect of calm and intrepid resolution, enduring the scoff of the hot-headed youth, and the scorn of the vulgar matron. It might be now about nine o'clock—the air 、 was balmy and mute, the sky blue and unclouded, and the moon, yet unrisen, had sent as much of her light before her as served, with the innumerable stars, to lighten the earth from the summit of the mountains to the deepest vales. I never looked upon a more lovely night, and gladly turned my face from the idle disputants to the green mountain-side, upon which that forerunner gleam which precedes the moon had begun to scatter its light. While I continued gazing, there appeared a sight on Soutra-fell side— strange, ominous, and obscure, at that time, but which was soon after explained in desolation and in blood. I saw all at once, a body of horsemen coming swiftly down the steep and impassable side of the mountain-where no earthly horse ever rode. They amounted to many hundreds and trooped onwards in successiontheir helmets gleaming and their drawn swords shining amid the starlight. On beholding this vision, I uttered a faint scream, and Walter Selby, who was always less or more than other men, shouted till the mountain echoed. Saw ever man so gallant a sight? A thousand steeds and riders on the perpendicular side of old Soutra-see where they gallop along a linn, where I could hardly fly a hawk! O, for a horse with so sure and so swift a foot as these, that I might match me with this elfin chivalry. My wanton brown,