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The lol of the heathen Danes (a word still applied to Christmas in Scotland) was solemnized with great festivity. The humour of the Danes at table displayed itself in pelting each other with bones; and Torfæus tells a long and curious story, in the history of Hrolfe Kraka, of one Bottus, an inmate of the court of Denmark, who was so generally assailed with these missiles, that he constructed, out of the bones with which he was overwhelmed, a very respectable entrenchment, against those who continued the raillery. The dances of the northern warriors round the great fires of pine-trees are commemorated by Olaus Magnus, who says, they danced with such fury, holding each other by the hands, that, if the Grasp of any failed, he was pitched into the fire with the velocity of a sling. The sufferer, on such ccasions, was instantly plucked out, and obliged to quaff off a certain measure of ale, as a penalty for spoiling the king's fire.»>

Note 2. Introduction.

On Christmas eve the mass was sung.

In Roman Catholic countries, mass is never said at night, excepting on Christmas eve. Each of the frolics, with which that holiday used to be celebrated, might admit of a long and curious note; but I shall content myself with the following description of Christmas, and his attributes, as personified in one of Ben Jonson's Masques for the Court.

Enter CHRISTMAS, with two or three of the Guard. He is attired in round hose, long stockings, a close doublet, a high-crowned hat, with a broach, a long thin beard, a truncheon, little ruffs, white shoes, his scarf, garters tied across, and his drum beaten before

and

head, his hat full of broaches, with a collar of ginger bread; his torch-bearer carrying a march-pain, with a bottle of wine on either arm.

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Mumming, in a masquing pied suit, with a visor; his torch-bearer carrying the box, and ringing it.

« Wassal, like a neat sempster and songster; her page bearing a brown bowl, drest with ribbands, and rosemary, before her.

« Offering, in a short gown, with a porter's staff in his hand; a wyth borne before him, and a bason, by his torch-bearer.

«< Baby Cocke, drest like a boy, in a fine long coat, biggin, bib, muckender, and a little dagger; his usher bearing a great cake, with a bean and a pease.»

Note 3. Introduction.

Who lists may in their mumming see
Traces of ancient mystery.

It seems certain, that the Mummers of England, who (in Northumberland at least) used to go about in disguise to the neighbouring houses, bearing the then useless ploughshare; and the Guisards of Scotland, not yet in total disuse, present, in some indistinct degree, a shadow of the old mysteries, which were the origin of the English drama. In Scotland (me ipso teste), we were wont, during my boyhood, to take the characters of the apostles, at least of Peter, Paul, and Judas Iscariot; the first had the keys, the second carried a sword, and the last the bag, in which the dole of our neighbours' plum-cake was deposited. One played a Champion, and recited some traditional rhymes; another

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Alexander, king of Macedon,

Who conquer'd all the world but Scotland alone;
When he came to Scotland his courage grew cold,
To see a little nation so courageous and bold.

These, and many such verses, were repeated, but by
believe, a Saint George. In all, there was a confused
rote, and unconnectedly. There was also occasionally,
resemblance of the ancient mysteries, in which the
characters of Scripture, the Nine Worthies, and other
popular personages, were usually exhibited. It were
much to be wished, that the Chester Mysteries were pub-

lished from the MS. in the Museum, with the annota-
tions which a diligent investigator of popular antiqui-
ties might still supply. The late acute and valuable
antiquary, Mr Ritson, showed me several memoranda
towards such a task, which are probably now dispersed
or lost.
See, however, his Remarks on Shakspeare,

The names of his children, with their attires.
Miss-Rule, in a velvet cap, with a sprig, a short cloak, 1783, p. 38.-Since the quarto edition of MARMION ap-

great yellow ruff, like a reveller;
his torch-bearer bear-
ing a rope, a cheese, and a basket.
Caroll, a long tawny coat, with a red cap, and a
flute at his girdle;
his torch-bearer carrying a song-book

epen.

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peared, this subject has received much elucidation from the learned and extensive labours of Mr Douce.

Note 4. Introduction.

Where my great grandsire came of old,
With amber beard, and flaxen hair.

Mr Scott of Harden, my kind and affectionate friend, and distant relation, has the original of a poetical invitation, addressed from his grandfather to my relative, from which a few lines in the text are imitated. They are dated, as the epistle in the text, from Mertoun-house, the seat of the Harden family.

With amber beard, and flaxen hair,
And reverend apostolic air,
Free of anxiety and care,

Come hither, Christmas-day, and dine;

We'll mix sobriety with wine,

And easy mirth with thoughts divine.
We Christians think it holiday,

On it no sin to feast or play;
Others, in spite, may fast and pray.
No superstition in the use

Our ancestors made of a goose;
Why may not we, as well as they,
Be innocently blitbe that day,
On goose or pye, on wine or ale,

And scorn enthusiastic zeal?

Pray come, and welcome, or plague rott Your friend and landlord, William Scott. Mr Walter Scott, Lessudden.

The venerable old gentleman, to whom the lines are addressed, was the younger brother of William Scott of Raeburn. Being the cadet of a cadet of the Harden family, he had very little to lose; yet he contrived to lose the small property he had, by engaging in the civil wars and intrigues of the house of Stuart. His veneration for the exiled family was so great, that he swore he would not shave his beard till they were restored: a mark of attachment, which, I suppose, had been common during Cromwell's usurpation; for, in Cowley's « Cutter of Coleman Street,» one drunken cavalier upbraids another, that, when he was not able to afford to pay a barber, he affected to « wear a beard for the king. I sincerely hope this was not absolutely the original reason of my ancestor's beard; which, as appears from a portrait in the possession of Sir Henry Hay Macdougal, Bart., and another painted for the famous Dr Pitcairn,' was a beard of a most dignified and venerable appearance.

Note 5. Introduction.

-the Spirit's Blasted Tree.

I am permitted to illustrate this passage, by inserting « Ceubren yr Ellyll, or the Spirit's Blasted Tree,» a legendary tale, by the Reverend George Warrington:

« The event on which this tale is founded, is preserved by tradition in the family of the Vaughans of Henwyrt: nor is it entirely lost, even among the common people, who still point out this oak to the passenger. The enmity between the two Welch chieftains, Howel Sele, and Owen Glyndwr, was extreme, and marked by vile treachery in the one, and ferocious cruelty in the other. The story is somewhat changed and softened, as more favourable to the characters of the two chiefs, and as better answering the purpose of poetry, by admitting the passion of pity, and a greater degree of sentiment in the description. Some trace of Howel Sele's mansion was to be seen a few years ago, and may perhaps be still visible, in the park of Nannau, now belonging to Sir Robert Vaughan, Baronet, in the wild and romantic tracts of Merionethshire. The abbey mentioned passes under two names, Vener and CymThe former is retained, as more generally used.»

mer.

THE SPIRIT'S BLASTED TREE.

Ceubren yr Ellyll.

Through Nannau's Chase as Howel pass'd, A chief esteem'd both brave and kind, Far distant borne, the stag-bound's cry Came murmuring on the hollow wind.

The old gentleman was an intimate of this celebrated genios. By the favour of the late Earl of Kelly, descended on the maternal side from Dr Pitcairn, my father became possessed of the portrait in question.

The history of their feud may be found in Pennant's Tour in Wales.

Starting, he bent an eager ear.—

How should the sounds return again? His hounds lay wearied from the chase, And all at home his hunter train.

Then sudden anger flash'd his eye,

And deep revenge he vow'd to take, On that bold man who dared to force His red deer from the forest brake. Unhappy chief! would nought avail, No signs impress thy heart with fear, Thy lady's dark mysterious dream,

Thy warning from the hoary seer?

Three ravens gave the note of death,

As through mid air they wing'd their way; Then o'er his head, in rapid flight,

They croak,-they scent their destined prey. Ill-omen'd bird! as legends say,

Who hast the wond'rous power to know, While health fills high the throbbing veins, The fated hour when blood must flow.

Blinded by rage, alone he pass'd,

Nor sought his ready vassals' aid; But what his fate lay long unknown, For many an anxious year delay'd.

A peasant mark'd his angry eye,

He saw him reach the lake's dark bourne, He saw him near a blasted oak,

But never from that hour return.

Three days pass'd o'er, no tidings came;— Where should the chief his steps delay! With wild alarm the servants ran,

Yet knew not where to point their way.

His vassals ranged the mountain's beight, The covert close, the wide-spread plain; But all in vain their eager search,

They ne'er must see their lord again.

Yet Fancy, in a thousand shapes,

Bore to his home the chief once more: Some saw him on high Moel's top,

Some saw him on the winding shore. With wonder franght, the tale went round,

Amazement chain'd the hearer's tongue; Each peasant felt his own sad loss,

Yet fondly o'er the story hung.

Oft by the moon's pale shadowy light,
His aged nurse, and steward gray,
Would lean to catch the storied sounds,
Or mark the flitting spirit stray.

Pale lights on Cader's rocks were seen,

And midnight voices heard to moan;
'T was even said the blasted oak,
Convulsive, heaved a hollow groan :
And, to this day, the peasant still,
With cautious fear avoids the ground;
In each wild branch a spectre sees,
And trembles at each rising sound.

Ten annual suns had held their course,
In summer's smile, or winter's storm;
The lady shed the widow'd tear,

As oft she traced his manly form.
Yet still to hope her heart would cling,
As o'er the mind illusions play,-
Of travel fond, perhaps her lord

To distant lands had steer'd his way.

'T was now November's cheerless bour, Which drenching rains and clouds deface; Dreary bleak Robell's tract appear'd,

And dull and dank each valley's space.
Loud o'er the wier the hoarse flood fell,
And dash'd the foamy spray on high;
The west wind bent the forest tops,
And angry frown'd the evening sky.

A stranger pass'd Llanelltid's bourne,

His dark-gray steed with sweat besprent, Which, wearied with the lengthen'd way, Could scarcely gain the hill's ascent.

The portal reach'd-the iron bell

Loud sounded round the outward wall; Quick sprung the warder to the gate,

To know what meant the clan rous call.

40 lead me to your lady soon;
Say, it is my sad lot to tell,

To clear the fate of that brave knight,
She long has proved she loved so well..

Then, as he cross'd the spacious hall,
The menials look surprise and fear;
Still o'er his harp old Modred hung,

And touch'd the notes for grief's worn ear.

The lady sat amidst her train;

A mellow'd sorrow mark'd her look: Then, asking what his mission meant,

The graceful stranger sigh'd and spoke:

⚫0 could I spread one ray of hope,

One moment raise thy soul from woe,
Gladly my tongue would tell its tale,
My words at ease unfetter'd flow!

Now, lady, give attention due,
The story claims thy full belief:

E'en in the worst events of life,

Suspense removed is some relief.

Though worn by care, see Madoc here,

Great Glyndwr's friend, thy kindred's foe; Ah, let his name no anger raise,

For now that mighty chief lies low!

E'en from the day, when, chain'd by fate,
By wizard's dream, or potent spell,
Lingering from sad Salopia's field,
'Reft of his aid the Percy fell;-

⚫E'en from that day misfortune still,
As if for violated faith,
Parsued him with unwearied step,

Vindictive still for Hotspur's death.

Vanquish'd at length, the Glyndwr fled, Where winds the Wye her devious flood; To find a casual shelter there,

In some lone cot, or desert wood.

Clothed in a shepherd's humble guise,
He gain'd by toil his scanty bread;
Hle who had Cambria's sceptre borne,
And her brave sons to glory led!

To penury extreme, and grief,
The chieftain fell a lingering prey;
I heard his last few faltering words,
Such as with pain I now convey.
'To Sele's sad widow bear the tale,
Nor let our horrid secret rest;
Give but bis corse to sacred earth,
Then may my parting soul be blest.'--

Dim wax'd the eye that fiercely shone,
And faint the tongue that proudly spoke,
And weak that arm, still raised to me,
Which oft bad dealt the mortal stroke.
flow could I then his mandate bear?
Or bow his last behest obey?

A rebel deem'd, with him I fled;
With him I shunn'd the light of day.
Proscribed by Henry's hostile rage,
My country lost, despoil'd my land,
Desperate, I fled my native soil,

And fought on Syria's distant strand.
O, bad thy long-lamented lord

The boly cross and banner view'd,
Died in the sacred canse! who fell
Sad victim of a private feud!

Led by the ardour of the chase,

Far distant from his own domain;

From where Garthmaelan spreads her shades, The Glyndwr sought the opening plain.

With head aloft, and antlers wide,

A red buck roused then cross'd in view; Stung with the sight, and wild with rage, Swift from the wood fierce Howel flew.

With bitter taunt, and keen reproach, He, all impetuous, pour'd his rage; Reviled the chief as weak in arms,

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And bade him loud the battle wage.

Glyndwr for once restrain'd his sword,
And still averse the fight delays;

But soften'd words, like oil to fire,
Made anger more int nsely blaze.

They fought; and doubtful long the fray!
The Glyndwr gave the fatal wound!-
Still mournful must my tale proceed,
And its last act all dreadful sound.
How could we hope for wish'd retreat,
His eager vassals ranging wide?
His blood-hounds' keen sagacious scent,
O'er many a trackless mountain tried?
I mark'd a broad and blasted oak,
Scorch'd by the lightning's livid glare;
Hollow its stem from branch to root,

And all its shrivell'd arms were bare.

Be this, I cried, his proper grave!(The thought in me was deadly sin,) Aloft we raised the hapless chief,

And dropp'd his bleeding corpse within."

A shriek from all the damsels burst,
That pierced the vaulted roofs below;
While horror-struck the lady stood,
A living form of sculptured woe.

With stupid stare, and vacant gaze,
Full on his face her eyes were cast,
Absorb'd-she lost her present grief,
And faintly thought of things long past.

Like wild-fire o'er a mossy heath,

The rumour through the hamlet ran;
The peasants crowd at morning dawn,
To hear the tale,-behold the man.

He led them near the blasted oak,
Then, conscious, from the scene withdrew,
The peasants work with trembling haste,
And lay the whiten'd bones to view!-

Back they recoil'd-the right hand still,
Contracted, grasp'd the rusty sword;
Which erst in many a battle gleam'd,
And proudly deck'd their slaughter'd lord.

They bore the corse to Vener's shrine,
With holy rites and prayers address'd;
Nine white-robed monks the last dirge sang,
And gave the angry spirit rest.

Note 6. Introduction.

The Highlander

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133

The Daoine shi', or Men of Peace, of the Scottish Highlanders, rather resemble the Scandinavian Duergar than the English Fairies. Notwithstanding their name, they are, if not absolutely malevolent, at least, peevish, discontented, and apt to do mischief on slight provocation. The belief of their existence is deeply impressed on the Highlanders, who think they are particularly offended with mortals, who talk of them, who wear their favourite colour, green, or in any respect interfere with their affairs. This is especially to be avoided

on Friday, when, whether as dedicated to Venus, with whom, in Germany, this subterraneous people are held nearly connected, or for a more solemn reason, they are more active, and possessed of greater power. Some curious particulars concerning the popular superstitions of the Highlanders, may be found in Dr Graham's << Picturesque Sketches of Perthshire.>>

Note 7. Introduction.

the towers of Franchémont.

The journal of the friend to whom the Fourth Canto of the poem is inscribed, furnished me with the following account of a striking superstition.

«Passed the pretty little village of Franchémont (near Spaw), with the romantic ruins of the old castle of the counts of that name. The road leads through many delightful vales, on a rising ground; at the extremity of one of them stands the ancient castle, now the subject of many superstitious legends. It is firmly believed by the neighbouring peasantry, that the last Baron of Franchémont deposited, in one of the vaults of the castle, a ponderous chest, containing an immense treasure in gold and silver, which, by some magic spell, was intrusted to the care of the devil, who is constantly found sitting on the chest in the shape of a huntsman, Any one adventurous enough to touch the chest is instantly seized with the palsy. Upon one occasion, a priest of noted piety was brought to the vault: he used all the arts of exorcism to persuade his infernal majesty to vacate his seat, but in vain ; the huntsman remained immovable. At last, moved by the earnestness of the priest, he told him, that he would agree to resign the chest, if the exorciser would sign his name with blood. But the priest understood his meaning, and refused, as by that act he would have delivered over his soul to the devil. Yet if any body can discover the mystic words used by the person who deposited the treasure, and pronounce them, the fiend must instantly decamp. I had many stories of a similar nature from a peasant, who had himself seen the devil, in the shape of a great

cat.»

Note 8. Stanza iv.
The very form of Hilda fair,
Hovering upon the sunny air.

image of their most glorified saint.»-CHARLTON'S History of Whitby, p. 33.

Note 9. Stanza xi.

A bishop by the altar stood.
The well-known Gawain Douglas, Bishop of Dunkeld,
son of Archibald Bell-the-Cat, Earl of Angus. He was
author of a Scottish metrical version of the Eneid,
and of many other poetical pieces of great merit. Ble
had not at this period attained the mitre.

Note 10. Stanza xi.
—the huge and sweeping brand
Which wont, of yore, in battle-fray,
His foeman's limbs to shred away,

As wood-knife lops the sapling spray.

Angus had strength and personal activity corresponding to his courage. Spens of Kilspindie, a favourite of James IV., having spoken of him lightly, the Earl met him while hawking, and, compelling him to single combat, at one blow cut asunder his thigh bone, and But ere he could obtai killed him on the spot. James's pardon for this slaughter, Angus was obliged to yield his castle of Hermitage, in exchange for that of Bothwell, which was some diminution to the family Greatness. The sword with which he struck so remarkable a blow was presented by his descendant, James, Earl of Morton, afterwards Regent of Scolland, to Lord Lindesay of the Byres, when he defied Bothwell to single combat on Carberry-hill.-See Introduction to the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, P. ix.

Note 11. Stanza xiv.

And hopest thon hence unscathed to go?-
No, by St Bride of Bothwell, no!

Up draw-bridge, grooms,-what, warder, ho!

Let the portcullis fall.

This ebullition of violence in the potent Earl of Angus is not without its example in the real history of the house of Douglas, whose chieftains possessed the ferocity, with the heroic virtues, of a savage state. The most curious instance occurred in the case of Maclellan, tutor of Bomby, who, having refused to acknowledge the pre-eminence claimed by Douglas over the gentlemen and barons of Galloway, was seized and imprisoned by the earl in his castle of the Thrieve, on << I shall only produce one instance more of the great the borders of Kirkcudbright-shire. Sir Patrick Gray, veneration paid to Lady Hilda, which still prevails even commander of King James the Second's guard, was in these our days; and that is, the constant opinion uucle to the tutor of Bomby, and obtained from the that she rendered, and still renders, herself visible, on king a « sweet letter of supplication,» praying the earl some occasions in the abbey of Streanshalh, or Whitby, to deliver his prisoner into Gray's hand. When Sir where she so long resided. At a particular time of the Patrick arrived at the castle, he was received with all year (viz. in the summer months), at ten or eleven in the honour due to a favourite servant of the king's the forenoon, the sun-beams fall in the inside of the household; but while he was at dinner, the earl, who northern part of the choir; and 'tis then that the spec-suspected his errand, caused his prisoner to be led forth tators, who stand on the west side of Whitby churchyard, so as just to see the most northerly part of the abbey past the north end of Whitby church, imagine they perceive, in one of the highest windows there, the resemblance of a woman arrayed in a shroud. Though we are certain this is only a reflection, caused by the splendour of the sun-beams, yet fame reports it, and is constantly believed among the vulgar, to be an appearance of Lady Hilda in her shroud, or rather in a glorified state; before which I make no doubt, the papists, even in these our days, offer up their prayers with as much zeal and devotion, as before any other

it

and beheaded. After dinner, Sir Patrick presented the king's letter to the earl, who received it with great affectation of reverence; and took him by the hand, and led him forth to the green, where the gentleman was lying dead, and showed him the manner, and sand, Sir Patrick, you are come a little too late; yonder is your sister's son lying, but he wants the head: take his body and do with it what you will. Sir Patrick answered again with a sore heart, and said, My lord, if ye have taken from him his head, dispone upon the body as ye please: and with that called for his horse, and leaped thereon; and when he was on horseback,

be said to the earl on this manner, My lord, if I live, "yes shall be rewarded for your labours, that you have used this time, according to your demerits.

At this saying the Earl was highly offended, and ed for horse. Sir Patrick, seeing the Earl's fury, red his horse, but he was chased near Edinburgh they left him; and had it not been his led horse so tried and good, he had been taken.»-Pirscor mas History, p. 39.

Note 12. Stanza xv.

A letter forged! St Jude to speed!

Did ever knight so foul a deed?

have so much improved the country around. The glen
is romantic and delightful, with steep banks on each
side, covered with copse, particularly with hawthorn.
Beneath a tall rock, near the bridge, is a plentiful foun-
tain, called St Helen's Well.

Note 15. Stanza xxiii.
Hence might they see the full array
Of either host, for deadly fray.

The reader cannot here expect a full account of the | battle of Flodden; but, so far as is necessary to understand the romance, I beg to remind him, that when the English army, by their skilful counter-march, were Lest the reader should partake of the earl's astonish-fairly placed between King James and his own country, rent, and consider the crime as inconsistent with the itarrs of the period, I have to remind him of the serous forgeries (partly executed by a female asstant devised by Robert of Artois, to forward his against the Countess Matilda; which, being detected, occasioned his flight into England, and proved the Late cause of Edward the Third's memorable wars a france. John Harding, also, was expressly hired by Edward IV., to forge such documents as might apyear to establish the claim of fealty asserted over Scotand by the English monarchs.

Note 13. Stanza xviii.

Where Lennel's convent closed their march.

the Scottish monarch resolved to fight; and, setting fire
to his tents, descended from the ridge of Flodden to
secure the neighbouring eminence of Branksome, on
which that village is built. Thus the two armies met,
almost without seeing each other, when, according to
the old poem of « Flodden Field,»

The English line stretch'd east and west,
And southward were their faces set;
The Scottish northward proudly prest,
And manfully their foes they met.

The English army advanced in four divisions. On the right, which first engaged, were the sons of Earl Surrey, namely, Thomas Howard, the admiral of England, and This was a Cistertian house of religion, now almost Sir Edmund, the knight marshal of the army. Their ardy demolished. Lennel House is now the residence divisions were separated from each other; but, at the of my venerable friend Patrick Brydone, Esquire, so request of Sir Edmund, his brother's battalion was drawn Ivel known in the literary world. It is situated near very near to his own. The centre was commanded by stream, almost opposite to Cornhill, and conse-Surrey in person; the left wing by Sir Edward Stanley, quraty very near to Flodden Field.

Note 14. Stanza xix.

The Till by Twisel Bridge.

army

On the evening previous to the memorable battle of Fesiden, Surrey's head-quarters were at Barmoor-wood, King James held an inaccessible position on the nude of Flodden-hill, one of the last and lowest eminences tached from the ridge of Cheviot. The Till, a deep and dow river, winded between the armies. On the Serning of the 9th September, 1513, Surrey marched a north-westerly direction, and crossed the Till, with his van and artillery, at Twisel bridge, nigh where that A joins the Tweed, his rear-guard column passing about a mile higher, by a ford. This movement had de double effect of placing his between King James and his supplies from Scotland, and of striking the Scottish monarch with surprise, as he seems to lave relied on the depth of the river in his front. But as the passage, both over the bridge and through the ford, was difficult and slow, it seems possible that the English might have been attacked to great advantage Waltruggling with these natural obstacles. I know set if we are to impute James's forbearance to want of tary skill, or to the romantic declaration which Piscottie puts in his mouth, « that he was determined have his enemies before him on a plain field,> and werefore would suffer no interruption to be given, en by artillery, to their passing the river.

The ancient bridge of Twisel, by which the English rossed the Till, is still standing beneath Twisel Castle, plendid pile of Gothic architecture, as now rebuilt by Sir Francis Blake, Bart. whose extensive plantations

ever,

with the men of Lancashire, and of the palatinate of
Chester. Lord Dacre, with a large body of horse,
formed a reserve. When the smoke, which the wind
had driven between the armies, was somewhat dis-
persed, they perceived the Scots, who had moved down
the hill, in a similar order of battle, and in deep
silence. The Earls of Huntley and of Home com-
manded their left wing, and charged Sir Edmund
Howard with such success, as entirely to defeat his part
Sir Edmund Howard's
of the English right wing.
banner was beaten down, and he himself escaped with
difficulty to his brother's division. The admiral, how-
with the reserve of cavalry, probably between the inter-
stood firm; and Dacre, advancing to his support
vals of the divisions commanded by the brothers How-
Home's men, chiefly Borderers, began to pillage the
ard, appears to have kept the victors in effectual check.
baggage of both armies; and their leader is branded,
by the Scottish historians, with negligence or treachery.
On the other hand, Huntley, on whom they bestow
have left the field after the first charge. Meanwhile
many encomiums, is said, by the English historians, to
the admiral, whose flank these chiefs ought to have
attacked, availed himself of their inactivity, and pushed
forward against another large division of the Scottish
army in his front, headed by the Earls of Crawford and

Montrose, both of whom were slain, and their forces
routed. On the left, the success of the English was yet
more decisive; for the Scottish right wing, consisting

manière que marchent les Allemans, sans parler, ni faire aucun bruit. Gazette of the Battle, PINKERTON's History, Appendix, vol. II, p. 456.

Lesquels Ecossois descendirent la montagne en bon ordre, en la

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