'Ay, but Catharine,' replied the Glover, hath a second thou knowest little of-Father Clement has taken the young reiver in hand, and he fears a hundred devils as little as I do a flock of geese.'

'Father Clement!' said the Smith; 'you are always making some new saint in this godly city of Saint Johnstoun. Pray, who, for a devil's drubber, may he be?-one of your hermits that is trained for the work like a wrestler for the ring, and brings himself to trim by fasting and penance-is he not?" Vol. i. pp. 54-56.

The Smith had more reason to be curious about this ghostly instructor of Catharine, than he was then aware. For the present, the Glover merely intimates that although Father Clement would be taken by all who saw or heard him for the best of. men, the Dominicans represented him as a heretic, and states in conclusion, that whatever might be his influence over Kate, he was not her confessor, but Father Francis, one of that order. They finish their flask, and old Simon's last words to Henry Gow are an exhortation to bear himself like a man in his suit, and be at the lattice window on the east gable at the peep of dawn.

The honest Smith makes his toilette, as may be supposed, with more than ordinary care, and having completed it, places in his bosom a little ruby heart transfixed with a golden arrow, which he intended as a present for his mistress; then wrapping himself up in his cloak, sallied forth to take his stand on Valentine morn, according to Simon Glover's direction. Perceiving, however, that he was at least an hour too soon, and dreading lest by going into Curfew-street, he might get into an affray (as he was so apt to do) with some of the roving gallants of the time, he determined to loiter about in another quarter of the town awhile, until he should see a streak of dawn in the eastern sky. In this mood, he passed slowly under the walls of St. Anne's Chapel, when a voice from behind him said, "He lingers that has need to run." Henry was not able to discover who it wus that uttered these ominous words, (it was Father Clement as we afterwards learn) but upon their being repeated, flies with all his speed to the Glover's house.

"He had not made three steps towards Simon Glover's, which stood in the midst of the narrow street, when two men started from under the houses on different sides, and advanced, as it were by concert, to intercept his passage. The imperfect light only permitted him to discern that they wore the Highland mantle.

'Clear the way, catheran,' said the armourer, in the deep stern voice which corresponded with the breadth of his chest.

They did not answer, at least intelligibly; but he could see that they drew their swords, with the purpose of withstanding him by violence.

Conjecturing some evil, but of what kind he could not anticipate, Henry instantly determined to make his way through, whatever odds, and defend his mistress, or at least die at her feet. He cast his cloak over his left arm as a buckler, and advanced rapidly and steadily to the two men. The nearest made a thrust at him, but Henry Smith, parrying the blow with his cloak, dashed his arm in the man's face, and tripping him at the same time, gave him a severe fall on the causeway; while almost at the same instant he struck a blow with his whinger at the fellow who was upon his right hand, so severely applied, that he also lay prostrate by his associate. Meanwhile, the armourer pushed forward in alarm, for which the circumstances of the street being guarded or defended by strangers who conducted themselves with such violence, afforded sufficient reason. He heard a suppressed whisper and a bustle under the Glover's windows-those very windows from which he had expected to be hailed by Catharine as her Valentine. He kept to the opposite side of the street, that he might reconnoitre their number and purpose. But one of the party, who were beneath the window, observing or hearing him, crossed the street also, and taking him, doubtless, for one of the sentinels, asked, in a whisper, what noise was yonder, Kenneth ?— why gave you not the signal?'

Villain!' said Henry, 'you are discovered, and you shall die the death!'

As he spoke thus, he dealt the stranger a blow with his weapon, which would probably have made his words good, had not the man, raising his arm, received on his hand the blow meant for his head. The wound must have been a severe one, for he staggered and fell with a deep groan. Without noticing him farther, Henry Smith sprung forward upon a party of men who seemed engaged in placing a ladder against the lattice window in the gable. Henry did not stop either to count their numbers, or to ascertain their purpose. But crying the alarmword of the town, and giving the signal at which the burghers were wont to collect, he rushed on the nightwalkers, one of whom was in the act of ascending the ladder. The Smith seized it by the rounds, threw it down on the pavement, and placing his foot on the body of the man who had been mounting, prevented him from regaining his feet. His accomplices struck fiercely at Henry, to extricate their companion.But his mail-coat stood him in good stead, and he repaired their blows with interest, shouting aloud, 'help, help, for bonnie St. Johnstoun !Bows and blades, brave citizens! bows and blades!-they break into our houses under the cloud of night.'

These words, which resounded far through the streets, were accompanied by as many fierce blows, dealt with good effect among those whom the armourer assailed. In the meantime, the inhabitants of the street began to awaken and appear on the street in their shirts, with swords and targets, and some of them with torches. The assailants now endeavoured to make their escape, which all of them effected excepting the man who had been thrown down along with the ladder. Him the intrepid armourer had caught by the throat in the scuffle, and held as fast as the greyhound holds the hare, The other wounded men were borne off by their comrades." Vol, i, pp. 61–62.

By this time, a crowd of burgers was gathered about the spot, and old Simon himself awaked by the uproar, makes his appearance among them. At his request, the prisoner is committed to his care, and presently released by him, for reasons that the sagacious reader may be able to conjecture. One of the burgers, Oliver Proudfute, a bonnet-maker, meanwhile picks up a man's hand, which from its fairness and delicacy, as well as from a ring that sparkled on one of its fingers, was justly supposed to have been the appendage of some person of consequence. This Oliver Proudfute plays quite a conspicuous part in the progress of the story. He is a conceited, pragmatical, mouthing, cowardly cit, whose humour it is to be thought a fire-eater and a gay Lothario, the rival and companion in arms of the fighting Smith of the Wynd: In short, our bonnet-maker is a worthy associate of Fastolfe and Parolles, and an intolerable bore, withal, to the readers of the Fair Maid of Perth. The conversation among the burgers winds up with a proposition from Baillie Craigdallie, to meet at the same spot on the morrow, and adopt measures for the punishment of the offenders.

On entering the Glover's house, the Smith finds the Fair Maid of Perth upon her knees, returning thanks to Heaven for her recent deliverance. She refuses to attend to him for the present, but condescends to hold out to him a hope for St. Valentine's dawn. The honest armourer is again thrown into a fit of despondency, and we have some more puling about his unworthiness to match with Catharine, "who, coy and reserved as she is," it seems, appreciated the Smith's honest affection, “and had as much secret pride in the attachment of the redoubted Henry Gow, as a lady of romance might be supposed to have in the company of a tame lion, who follows to provide for and defend her." Such a feeling, at any rate, would seem to be less tender than romantic, yet the girl was not inclined to be ungrateful, and availing herself of the license of the day, she determined to be beforehand with the Smith, and make him her Valentine, whether he would or no.

"Hastily slipping on her dress, which, nevertheless, was left a good deal more disordered than usual, she tripped down stairs and opened the door of the chamber, in which, as she had guessed, her lover had passed the hours after the fray. Catharine paused at the door, and became half afraid of executing her purpose, which not only permitted but enjoined the Valentines of the year to begin their connexion with a kiss of affection. It was looked upon as a peculiarly propitious omen, if the one party could find the other asleep, and awaken him or her by performance of this interesting ceremony. 29

VOL. II-NO. 3.

Never was a fairer opportunity offered for commencing this mystic tye, than that which now presented itself to Catharine. After many and various thoughts, sleep at length overcame the stout armourer in the chair in which he had deposited himself. His features in repose, had a more firm and manly cast than Catharine had thought, who, having generally seen them fluctuating between shamefacedness and apprehension of her displeasure, had been used to connect with them some idea of imbecility.

'He looks very stern,' she said; 'if he should be angry-and then when he awakes-we are alone-if I should call Dorothy-if I should wake my father-but no! it is a thing of custom, and done in all maidenly and sisterly love and honour. I will not suppose that Henry can misconstrue it, and I will not let a childish fear put my gratitude to sleep.'

So saying, she tripped along the floor of the apartment with a light, though hesitating step, and a cheek crimsoned at her own purpose; and gliding to the chair of the sleeper, dropped a kiss on his lips as light as if a rose-leaf had fallen on them. The slumbers must have been slight which such a touch could dispel, and the dreams of the sleeper must needs have been connected with the cause of the interruption, since Henry, instantly starting up, caught the maiden in his arms, and attempted to return in ecstacy the salute which had broken his repose. But Catharine struggled in his embrace; and as her efforts implied alarmed modesty, rather than maidenly coyness, her bashful lover suffered her to escape a grasp, from which twenty times her strength could not have extricated her.

Nay, be not angry, good Henry,' said Catharine, in the kindest tone, to her surprised lover. I have paid my vows to Saint Valentine, to show how I value the mate which he has sent me for the year. Let but my father be present, and I will not dare to refuse thee the revenge you may claim for a broken sleep.'

'Let not that be a hindrance,' said the old Glover, rushing in ecstacy into the room-' to her, Smith-to her-strike while the iron is hot, and teach her what it is not to let sleeping dogs lie still.'" Vol. i. pp. 73-74.

New exhortations from the Glover to courage and confidence-new expressions on the part of the amorous Smith of diffidence and irresolution. Breakfast is served, and Conachar, who was not punctual in his attendance, is summoned to it. He makes his appearance, apparently very much discomposed, and after declining to eat, gives his master to be informed that he is for the Hills, and asks if he has any message for his father. It was in vain that the old Glover expostulated with him. Having addressed some words of hostility and defiance to the Smith, for what had passed between them, and a farewell, accompanied with a look of deep and mingled emotions to Catharine, he was, in five minutes afterwards, passing out at the north gate of the

town.

As soon as he was gone, Simon, under pretence of seeing that the Highland fugitive had made love to none of his master's goods, went into another part of the house so as to give the sheepish Smith an opportunity of addressing his daughter. This love scene is rather dull. Kate, as usual, falls into a declamation against the bloody doings of the age, for which they are all, and especially her most guilty paramour "to be called to judgment." The Gow's answer is characteristic, and presents quite a ludicrous contrast to the philosophic sentimentalism of the fair preacher. The rest of their conversation is as uninteresting as such things usually are to all the world but the parties principally concerned.

The meeting of the burgesses now takes place. We must confess that we were far from being entertained with the proceedings and language of this august assembly, which are at once coarse and dull. We here, for the first time, make the acquaintance of a personage of the greatest importance in the sequel of the story, although "but a poor pottingar," as he humbly styles himself. This is Henbane Dwining, a diminutive, attenuated figure of a man,-a mere anatomy-remarkable for an extreme degree of affected humility, and an apparent effort to add, as much as possible, to his natural insignificance, by a timid, mean, and crouching demeanor. He boasts, however, with very little reserve, of having studied "both in Spain and Arabia"-and is secretly puffed up with an immense conceit of his superiority, in this respect, to the ignorant barons and burgesses about him. His character is nothing short of infernalhe is the willing instrument of the most diabolical atrocities, and seems to love evil for its own sake, and to delight in nothing but murder and mischief. Almost every thing he utters is accompanied with a silly giggle, which would be merely disgusting if we did not conceive it to be rather demoniac-a sort of hyena laugh.

The result of these deliberations is a deputation to Sir Patrick Charteris, provost and patron of the "Fair city of Perth." This expedition is not more interesting than the previous scene. The most striking incident that occurs, is the dismounting of the absurd bonnet-maker from his mare Jezabel, by "the Devil's Dick of Hell Garth." But the reader becomes heartily sick of Proudfute, and the Smith and Baillie Craigdallie, long before they arrive at Sir Patrick's. The Provost resolves to see them righted, and returns with them to the city.

We are now introduced into better company, and the story becomes far more interesting than it has hitherto been. We are in the royal presence. The feeble Robert III. who was, at that