forsaken, that destiny itself could not doom me not to die. Having no hope, neither had I any definite fear, were it of man or devil; nay, I often felt as if it might be solacing could the arch-devil himself, though in Tartarean terrors, but rise to me, that I might tell him a little of my mind. And yet, strangely enough, I lived in a continual indefinite pining fear; tremulous, pusillanimous apprehension of I knew not what. It seemed as if all things in the heavens above and the earth beneath would hurt me; as if the heavens and the earth were but boundless jaws of a devouring monster, wherein I palpitating waited to be devoured.

Full of such humour was I one sultry dogday after much perambulation toiling along the dirty little Rue St. Thomas de l'Enfer in a close atmosphere and over pavements hot as Nebuchadnezzar's furnace; whereby doubtless my spirits were little cheered; when all at once there rose a thought in me, and I asked myself: What art thou afraid of? wherefore, like a coward, dost thou for ever pip and whimper, and go cowering and trembling? Despicable biped! what is the sum total of the worst that lies before thee? Death? Well, death; and say the pangs of Tophet too, and all that the devil and man may, will, or can do against thee! Hast thou not a heart? canst thou not suffer whatsoever it be; and as a child of freedom, though outcast, trample Tophet itself under thy feet, while it consumes thee? Let it come, then, and I will meet it and defy it.' And as I so thought, there rushed like a stream of fire over my whole soul, and I shook base fear away from me for ever. I was strong; of unknown strength; a spirit; almost a god. Ever from that time, the temper of my misery was changed; not fear or whining sorrow was it, but indignation and grim fire-eyed defiar.ce.

Thus had the everlasting No (das ewige Nein') pealed authoritatively through all the recesses of my being, of my ME; and then it was that my whole ME stood up in native God-created majesty, and with emphasis recorded its protest. Such a protest, the most important transaction in my life, may that same indignation and defiance, in a psychological

point of view, be fitly called. The everlasting No had said: Behold, thou art fatherless, outcast, and the universe is mine (the devil's); to which my whole ME now made answer; I am not thine but free, and for ever hate thee.

It is from this hour I incline to date my spiritual new birth; perhaps I directly thereupon began to be a man.1

1 Sartor, p. 156, et. seq.

CHAPTER VIII.

A.D. 1821. ET. 26.

CRAIGENPUTTOCK, craig, or whinstone hill of the puttocks, is a high moorland farm on the watershed between Dumfriesshire and Galloway, sixteen miles from the town of Dumfries. The manor house, solid and gaunt, and built to stand for centuries, lies on a slope protected by a plantation of pines, and surrounded by a few acres of reclaimed grass land—a green island in the midst of heathery hills, sheepwalks, and undrained peat-bogs. A sterner spot is hardly to be found in Scotland. Here for many generations had resided a family of Welshes, holding the rank of small gentry. The eldest son bore always the same name-John Welsh had succeeded John Welsh as far back as tradition could record; the earliest John of whom authentic memory remained being the famous Welsh, the minister of Ayr, who married the daughter of John Knox. This lady it was who, when her husband was banished, and when she was told by King James that he might return to

1 Small hawks, so named still in Galloway, and once throughout England.

'Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest,
But may imagine how the bird was dead.'

-Shakespeare.

Scotland if he would acknowledge the authority of bishops, raised her apron and said, 'Please your Majesty I'd rather kep his head there.' The king asked her who she was. Knox and Welsh,' he exclaimed, when she told him her parentage, 'Knox and Welsh! The devil never made such a match as that.' 'It's right like, sir,' said she, 'for we never speered his advice.'

A family with such an ancestry naturally showed remarkable qualities. Several blackguards among them, but not one blockhead that I ever heard of,' was the account of her kinsfolk given to Jane Welsh 1 by her grandfather.

In the rebellion of 1745 the laird of Craigenputtock had been among the sympathisers, though he escaped committing himself. Some of his friends who had been more deeply implicated, had taken shelter with him when they were inquired for after Culloden. Informers betrayed their hiding-place, and a party of dragoons were sent up from Dumfries to arrest them. The alarm was given; before the dragoons arrived the objects of their pursuit were away across the hills in Galloway. Such and such men with you, aren't they?' said the officer to the laird, as he rode to the door. Truly they were three hours ago,' the laird answered; and they were rebels, say you? Fie, the villains! had I but known! But come, let us chase immediately. Once across the Orr yonder, and the swamps' (which looked green enough from the house), you will find firm road, and will soon

6

1 Afterwards Mrs. Carlyle.

catch the dogs.' Welsh mounted, and volunteered to guide; guided the dragoons into a spot where he and his pony, who knew the road, could pass, and the heavy dragoon horses sank to their girths. Having provided them with work which would last till dark, he professed profound regrets, rode off, and left them.

The son of this laird died young, leaving a widow at Craigenputtock with a single child, another John, who was born in 1757. The mother, desiring to give the boy a better education than was to be had on the moors, sent him down to a tutor in Nithsdale. There he fell in love with a Miss Hunter, daughter of a neighbouring grazier, and married her, he being seventeen and the lady a year younger. They returned to the Craig together, and produced one after the other fourteen children. The large family brought expenses. The income was small. The laird drifted into difficulties, sold part of the Craigenputtock property, and being unable to make a living out of the rest, left it and took a farm by the riverside in Nith valley, above Dumfries. Here he was fairly successful, as indeed he deserved to be.

A valiant sensible man (says Carlyle), solidly devout, truth's own self in what he said and did; had dignity of manners too, in fact a really brave, sincere, and honourable soul; reverent of talent, honesty, and sound sense beyond all things; was silently respected and honestly esteemed in the district where he lived.

'Not however without a grin here and there,' for he had his peculiarities. He was a tall man himself; he