The Earl of Morton had no sooner assumed the reins of government, than his vigorous talents began to be felt. The chief strength of Mary’s friends was in Edinburgh Castle, held for her by Kirkaldy of Grange. All the means at the Regent’s command proving insufficient to reduce this fortress, he obtained from England an army of 1500 men, commanded by Sir William Drury, and provided with artillery. The castle stood a siege of three weeks, and was then obliged to yield (May 29, 1573). With mean vindictiveness, Morton sent the gallant Kirkaldy to the gallows. Maitland of Lethington might have shared the same fate, if it had not been anticipated either by a natural death or suicide. The other chiefs of the queen’s party were spared. After this event, the friends of Mary could no longer make an appearance anywhere in her favour. The new government remained triumphant, and peace was restored to a bleeding and exhausted country.

Morton was, on the whole, a serviceable, though not a just or clement ruler. It was his policy, arising from his love of money, to punish his adversaries rather by fines than bloodshed. All the persons of note who had befriended the queen, he caused to give security for their future behaviour. The smallest offence forfeited the pledge, and the cautioners were then mulcted without mercy. Under this ruling passion, he tampered with the coin, sold justice, and cheated the church of its revenues. It was supposed that he had concealed large treasures in his castle of Dalkeith; but we have no certain account of their ever being found, and probably the popular notions on the subject were exaggerated.

Under Morton, a slight move was made towards the establishment of a kind of episcopacy in the church, though the persons he appointed to the sees were mere creatures who consented to be receivers of the revenues on his account. The general feeling of the people continued to be decidedly in favour of the simple presbyterian polity, and the Regent’s interference with the purity of that system was one cause of his loss of popularity, and of his subsequent ruin. While the recognised champion of the Protestant interest in Scotland, and, as such, the protégé of Elizabeth, he disliked the presbyterian clergy. He not only refused to countenance by his presence any of their assemblies, but ‘threatened some of the most zealous with hanging, alleging that otherwise there could be no peace or order in the country.’83 The noted efforts of King James to bring the church into a prelatic conformity with England, had in reality an exemplar in the doings of the Regent Morton.

Meanwhile the young king was reared in great seclusion in Stirling Castle, under the care of the celebrated scholar George Buchanan. His acquirements, at a very early age, were such as to raise great hopes of his future rule. Killegrew, the English ambassador, reports having heard him, at eight years of age, translate the Bible, ad aperturam libri, from Latin into French, and from French into English, ‘so well as few men could have added anything to his translation.’ But, in reality, his character was a strange mixture of cleverness and weakness, of wit and folly. His greatest deficiency was in a courageous will to pursue the ends of justice. He could clearly enough apprehend the disease, and speak and write about it plausibly; but he could do little towards its cure, because he shrank from all strong measures except against poor and inferior people, and those who had wounded his own pettier feelings.

The regency of Morton came to a premature conclusion in consequence of a combination raised against him by the Earls of Athole and Argyle; and James became nominally the acting ruler (March 1578), ere he had completed his twelfth year.

‘... in the morning, was seen a star northward, very bright and clear, in the constellation of Cassiopeia, at the back of her chair; which, with three chief fixed stars of the said constellation, made a geometrical figure lozenge-wise, of the learned men called rhombus. This star, at the first appearing, seemed bigger than Jupiter, and not much less than Venus when she seemeth greatest ... the said star never changed his84 place ... and so continued (by little and little appearing less) the space of sixteen months; at what time it was so small, that rather thought, by exercise of oft viewing, might imagine the place, than any eye could judge the presence of the same.’—Holinshed.

This was the celebrated Star of Tycho, so called because Tycho Brahé made it the subject of observation. The Danish astronomer is known to have first observed it a few days before the date assigned by Holinshed—namely, on the 11th of November, while taking an evening walk in the fields. From the suddenness of its appearance, and its very great brightness, he suspected that his sense was deceived, and was only convinced he saw truly when he found some peasants gazing at the imposing stranger with as much astonishment as himself. It has been regarded as an example of a class of stars which move in periods between remote and comparatively near points in space; and as there was a similar object seen in 945 and 1264, it was supposed that the period of this star was somewhat over 300 years. But ‘the period of 300 years, which Goodriche conjectured, has been reduced by Kiell and Pigot to 150 years.’85

The Star of Tycho, during the time it was visible, ‘suffered several very remarkable changes. On a sudden it became so brilliant, that it surpassed in brightness even Venus and Mercury, and was visible on the meridian in the daytime. Its light then began to diminish, till it disappeared sixteen months after it had been first seen.’86

‘This year, a great and sharp frost almost continually lasted from before the feast of All Saints, till after the feast of Epiphany of our Lord, with sometimes great and deep snows, and sometimes rains, which freezed as fast as the same fell to the ground, wherethrough at Wrotham, in Kent, and many other places, the arms and boughs of trees, being overcharged with ice, broke off and fell from the stocks ... also the wind continued north and east till after the Ascension Day, with sharp frosts and snows, whereby followed a late spring.’—Stowe.

The gipsies, who are usually said to have wandered into Europe from the East in the beginning of the fifteenth century, are not heard of in Scotland before 1540, when a writ of the Privy Seal was passed in favour of ‘John Faw, Lord and Earl of Little Egypt,’ enabling him to rule his company in conformity with the laws of his pretended country. First accepted as noble refugees, possessing a semi-religious character, they were in time discovered to be mere rogues and vagabonds. It was now declared in the Privy Council, that ‘the commonweal of this realm was greatumly damnifiet and harmit through certain vagabond, idle, and counterfeit people of divers nations, falsely named Egyptians, living on stowth and other unlawful means.’ These people were commanded to settle to fixed habitations and honest industry; otherwise it should be competent to seize and throw them into the nearest prison, when, if they could not give caution for a due obedience to this edict, they were ‘to be scourgit throughout the town or parish, and sae to be imprisonit and scourgit fra parish to parish, while [till] they be utterly renderit furth of this realm.’—P. C. R.

Little more than three years onward (August 27, 1576), it was declared that this act had ‘wantit execution’—a very common misfortune to acts of council in those days; and it was found that ‘the said idle vagabonds has continuit in their wicked and mischievous manner of living, committing murders, theft, and abusing the simple and ignorant people with sorcery and divination.’ Men in authority were now enjoined to stricter courses with these wanderers, on pain of being held as their accomplices.

An English force having come to help the Regent in winning Edinburgh Castle, the operations of the siege commenced by the fixing up of twenty ‘great pieces’ at four several places around the ancient fortress. ‘They shot so hard continually, that the second day they had beat down wholly three towers. The Laird of Grange ... would not give over, but shot at them continually, both with great shot and small; so that there was a very great slaughter amongst the English cannoneers, sundry of them having their legs and arms torn from their bodies in the air by the violence of the great shot. At last, the Regent continuing his siege so close and hard—the captain being forced by the defendants for lack of victuals—rendered the same, after a great many of them were slain [May 29].’—Bir.

Mr Robert Hamilton, minister of St Andrews, was in Edinburgh at this time, along with the servant who had written down John Knox’s prediction regarding the fate of Kirkaldy (see under 1571). According to James Melville, ‘they gaed up to the Castle-hill, and saw the forewark of the castle all demolished, and running like a sandy brae; they saw the men of weir all set in order. The captain, with a little staff in his hand, taken down over the walls upon the ladders, and Mr Robert, troubled with the thrang of the people, says: “Go, what have I ado here?” In going away, the servant remembers his master of the sermon, and the words, wha was compelled to glorify God, and say he was a true prophet.’

‘William Kirkaldy of Grange, knight, sometime captain of the Castle of Edinburgh, and James Mosman, goldsmith, were harlit in twa carts backward, frae the Abbey to the Cross of Edinburgh, where they, with Mr James [Kirkaldy] and James Cockie, were hangit,’ ‘for keeping of the said castle against the king and his regent.’—D. O. Bir.

Such was the dismal end of one who had undoubtedly been a most valiant soldier, though, it must be added, an unsteady politician, and too much a follower of private ends in public affairs. His concern in the assassination of Cardinal Beaton also detracts somewhat from the sympathy which would naturally be felt for him on this occasion. James Melville relates some curious particulars regarding his latter days and his execution:

When John Knox was on his death-bed in Edinburgh, November 1572, the situation of Kirkaldy and his friends in the castle had become critical. Mr David Lindsay, minister of Leith, came to visit the reformer, and asked how he did. ‘He answerit: “Weel, brother, I thank God; I have desired all this day to have you, that I may send you yet to yon man in the castle, whom ye ken I have loved sae dearly. Go, I pray you, tell him that I have sent you to him yet ance to warn and bid him, in the name of God, leave that evil cause, and give ower that castle: gif not, he shall be brought down ower the walls with shame, and hing against the sun: sae God has assured me.” Mr David, howbeit he thought the message hard, and the threatening over particular, yet obeyed, and passed to the castle; and meeting with Sir Robert Melville walking on the wall, tauld him, wha was, as he thought, meikle movit with the matter. Thereafter [he] communed with the captain, whom he thought also somewhat moved; but he passed from him into the Secretar Lethington, with whom, when he had conferred a while, he came out to Mr David again, and said to him: “Go, tell Mr Knox he is but ane ... prophet.” Mr David, returning, tauld Mr Knox he had discharged the commission faithfully, but that it was not weel accepted of after the captain had conferrit with the secretar. “Weel (says Mr Knox) I have been earnest with my God anent the twa men; for the ane [Kirkaldy] I am sorry that so should befall him; yet God assures me there is mercy for his saul: for that other [the Secretary Lethington], I have nae warrant that ever he shall be weel.”’

The castle surrendered, and Kirkaldy fell into the power of the Regent Morton. He offered all he possessed for his life. But the reformer’s prophecy was to be fulfilled, and how far it served to fulfil itself, we may surmise from what Morton wrote to the English agent. ‘Considering,’ he says, ‘what has been, and daily is, spoken by the preachers, that God’s plague will not cease while the land be purged of blood, and having regard that such as are interested by the death of their friends, the destruction of their houses, and away taking of their goods, could not be satisfied by any offer made to me in particular.... I deliberated to let justice proceed.’87

Mr David Lindsay, who had gone with Kirkaldy’s fruitless offer, ‘the morn by nine hours comes again to the captain, the Laird of Grange [who was now confined under a guard in a house in the High Street], and taking him to a fore-stair of the lodging apart, resolves him it behoved him to suffer. “O, then, Mr David (says he), for our auld friendship, and for Christ’s sake, leave me not.” So he remains with him, wha, passing up and down a while, came to a shot [a hole fitted with a sliding panel in the wooden front of the house], and seeing the day fair, the sun clear, and a scaffold preparing at the Cross, he falls in a great study [reverie], and alters countenance and colour; whilk, when Mr David perceived, he came to him and asked what he was doing. “Faith, Mr David (says he), I perceive weel now that Mr Knox was the true servant of God, and his threatening is to be accomplished.”’ Lindsay mentioned the assurance which Knox had had regarding the ultimate salvation of the unfortunate man; which gave him much comfort and renewed courage; ‘sae that he dined moderately, and thereafter took Mr David apart for his strengthening to suffer that death, and in [the] end beseeks him not to leave him, but to convoy him to the place of execution. “And take heed (says he), I hope in God, after I shall be thought past, to give you a taiken of the assurance of that mercy to my saul, according to the speaking of that man of God.”

‘Sae, about three hours afternoon, he was brought out, and Mr David with him, and about four, the sun being wast about the northward nook of the steeple, he was put aff the ladder, and his face first fell to the east, but within a little while, turned about to the west, and there remained against the sun; at whilk time Mr David, ever present, says he marked him, when all thought he was away [dead], to lift up his hands that were bund before him, and lay them down again saftly; whilk moved him with exclamation to glorify God before all the people.’

On the destruction of the queen’s party, ‘the burgesses and craftsmen wha remainit the time of the cummers [troubles] in Edinburgh, behovit to compone for their life, and the least that any man payit was twenty merks, and they that had nocht to pay were continuit to the third day of the aire, with fifteen days’ warning, to be halden within the sheriffdom. This composition should have been equally distributed betwixt the Regent and the burgesses that had their houses destroyit; but the Regent causit bring the haill to the Castle of Edinburgh, and wald not part with ane penny; for the whilk causes the burgesses stayit and wald not pursue nane hereafter, by occasion they were nocht the better, and also therethrough obteinit the indignation of their neighbours. God of his grace grant the poor consolation, for they thole great trouble!’

Afterwards—‘the burgesses and craftsmen and others wha remainit in the town in the time of the cummers, were chargit that they, on their awn expenses, might mak black gray gowns, with the whilk they stood at the kirk door ane hour before the preaching ..., whilk gowns were decernit to be dealt to the poor.’—D. O.

During the late troubles, the Border-men had been in a great measure left to pursue their own courses unmolested. Now that the civil war was ended, Morton was able to turn his attention in that direction. At this date, he proceeded from Dalkeith with a host of 4000 men to Peebles, where he was met by the Earl of Argyle with a hundred horse and an equal number of ‘carriage-men;’ and the party then went to Jedburgh against ‘the thieves.’ ‘Some thieves came in and gave baud for the rest, and some pledges were delivered to the Regent for good order; but or [ere] they wald obey, their corns and houses were destroyed, with great spulyie of their goods.’ The Regent returned in a few days to Dalkeith. ‘Notwithstanding of this raid, the haill thieves convenit, and harried the country, following ay on the host.’ A second and more vigorous expedition of the same kind having then been resolved on, ‘seven score or thereby of the thieves come to the Regent, and pledges for the rest, wha was put in prison, some in the Castle of Edinburgh, some in the Tolbooth thereof, and some in the north land.’—D. O.

The burgh records of Glasgow from 1573 to 1581, of which liberal excerpts have been published by the Maitland Club,88 throw much light on manners and the state of society, and also on the burgal or municipal customs. Glasgow was then a little town, undistinguished from any other of its size, excepting in its university and a small commerce, chiefly of a coasting description. We see in these records all the common affairs of a petty town, but with the rough character proper to an age of ignorance and ill-regulated feeling.

The quarrels, flytings (scoldings), and acts of personal violence form by far the most conspicuous entries in these records. Men strike women, women clapperclaw each other, and even the dignitaries of the town are assailed on the street and in their council-house. Whingers (that is, swords) and pistols are frequently used in these conflicts, and sometimes with dire effects. As examples—

April 9, 1574.—‘Alexander Curry and Marion Smith, spouses, are found in the wrang for troublance done by them to Margaret Hunter, in casting down of two pair of sheets, tramping them in the gutter, and striking of the said Margaret.’ Surety is given that Alexander and Marion shall in future abstain from striking each other; and ‘gif they flyte, to be brankit‘—that is, invested with the kind of iron bridle, with a tongue retroverted into the mouth, of which a description has already been given. (See under Oct. 30, 1567.)

April 23.—William Wilson is found in the wrong for blooding of Richard Wardrope on the head. Richard and Andrew Wardrope are at the same time found in the wrong as the occasion thereof; and John and Andrew Wardrope, for hurting and wounding of the said William Wilson, to the great effusion of his blood in the Gallowgate on the morning thereafter. So also, Richard and John Wardrope are declared guilty of ‘onsetting and invading of the said William with drawn swords and pistols in the mercat, on Shere Thursday last.’ Shere Thursday,89 otherwise called Maundy Thursday, is the day before Good Friday.

One common species of case is an attack of one female upon another, ‘striking of her, scarting of her, and dinging her to the erd’ [earth]; in one instance, ‘shooting of her down in her awn fire.’ Injurious words often accompany or provoke these violent acts. Bartilmo Lawteth strikes ‘ane poor wife’ to the effusion of her blood. Ninian Swan strikes Marion Simpson with ‘ane tangs’ [pair of tongs], and knocks her down—she, however, having previously spit in his face. ‘Andrew Heriot is [November 8, 1575] fund in the wrang and amerciament of court for troublance done to David Morison, in striking of him with his neive in Master Henry Gibson’s writing-chamber, on the haffet [side of the head], and also for the hitting of him on the face with his neive upon the Hie Gait, and making him baith blae and bloody therewith.’

George Elphinstone of Blythswood, one of the bailies, suffered a violent attack in the council-house (August 24, 1574) from Robert Pirry, a tailor, who wounded him with his whinger, striking one of the officers at the same time. For this, Pirry lost his freedom as a burgess. Six years afterwards, the same magistrate was assaulted on the street by George Herbertson, ‘saying how durst he be sae pert to deal ony wines without his advice;’ after which he threatened the bailie with his whinger. Immediately thereafter, Herbertson assailed the magistrate in the Tolbooth, ‘giving him many injurious words, sic as knave, skaybell, matteyne, and loon, and that he was gentiller nor he, having his hand on his whinger, rugging it halflings in and out, and that he cared him not, nor the land that he had nowther.’

In June 1589, Thomas Miln, chirurgeon, was brought before the magistrates for slanderous speeches against them, and for applying to the town itself an epithet which now, at least, appears strangely inapplicable—the Hungry Town of Glasgow. He was sentenced to appear at the Cross and openly confess his fault.

Much light is thrown on the character of the age by the magistrates ordering ‘every booth-halder [shopkeeper] to have in readiness within the booth ane halbert, jack, and steel bonnet, for eschewing of sic inconveniences as may happen, conform to the auld statute made thereanent.’

The streets of the town appear to have been kept much in the same state in which we now find those of neglected country villages, yet not without efforts towards a better order of things. The ordinances for good order may be said to prove the disorder. It is statute (1574) ‘that there be nae middings laid upon the fore-gate [front street], nor yet in the Green, and that nae fleshers toom their uschawis upon the fore-gate, and that nae stanes or timber lie on the gate langer nor year and day.’ In 1577, this statute is renewed in nearly the same words, shewing that it was but imperfectly obeyed; and next year there is a simple order ‘that the haill middings be removed off the Hie Gait, and that nane scrape on the Hie Gait.’

The town, according to a common custom, had its ‘minstrels,’ by which is inferred simply musicians—probably a couple of bagpipers. In 1579, there is an entry of ten shillings ‘to the minstrels, for their expenses to Hamilton siege.’ This was a siege in which popular affections would probably be engaged at Glasgow, as its object was to destroy the last vestige of the queen’s interest in Scotland. At the Whitsunday court 1574, the minstrels are continued until ‘the Summerhill,’ by which was meant a court annually held at a place so called, when the marches of the town’s property were subjected to review. There, accordingly, on Sunday the 20th June, Archibald Bordland and Robert Duncan are ‘admittit to be menstrals to the town for this instant year, and to have frae ilk freeman allenarly, but meat, twa shillings money at the least, with mair at the giver’s pleasure.’

In the treasurer’s accounts, we are struck by the many considerable presents, chiefly of wine, given by the town to noblemen possessing influence over its fortunes. We find, amongst frequent propines of wine to the Earl of Argyle, as much as seventeen gallons given at once. Two hogsheads are given to Lord Boyd, six quarts to the lord provost, two quarts to the parson of Glasgow, and so forth. At the town’s banquets, aquavitæ figures on several occasions, a quart being charged twenty-four shillings.

Several allusions are made in these records to the ‘knocks’—that is, clocks—set up for the public conveniency. An old one is repaired, and James Scott gets a sum ‘for labour done by him in colouring of the knock, moon, and horologe, and other common work of the town.’ References are made to several trades not known in our age by the same names, as a lorimer, the maker of the ironwork in horse-furniture; a snap-maker, by which is to be understood a maker of firelocks, then called snap-hances; a ladleman; a tabroner, meaning a drummer; &c. In 1577, the magistrates grant a pension of ten marks to Alexander Hay, chirurgeon, to encourage him to remain in Glasgow, ‘in readiness for serving of the town by his craft and art.’ This gentleman would bleed the citizens in exigencies of their health, and shave them daily.

The editor of these records remarks on the treasurer’s accounts, that the revenue is fully stated, and the whole expenditure minutely detailed. ‘It is true,’ he says, ‘the magistrates and “divers honest men” occasionally treat themselves to a dejeune; but this is after the completion of some public business, tending to the honour and profit of the commonweal. Indeed, the class of disbursements which, strictly speaking, are the least legal, the most rigid corrector of abuses could not well object to. We allude to the numerous benevolences bestowed upon poor scholars to buy them a suit of clothes, or books, to enable them to prosecute their studies; the sums voted to shipwrecked mariners, to ruined merchants who had lost their horses by some untoward accident, or to the widows and children of those burgesses whom unforeseen difficulties had plunged into absolute want. Not a little of the public funds is sometimes devoted to ransom unfortunate burgesses from captivity among the Turks, while considerable sums are expended in providing medical aid for those afflicted with physical infirmities, or who have met with severe bodily injuries.... Much curious matter may be elicited regarding the sports and pastimes of the people. The diverse disbursements for foot-balls are not unworthy of notice. We also meet with payments made to a piper called Ryall Dayis, and to “a fule with a treen sword,” as well as to certain young men of the town, for their playing—probably bearing a part in some mask or public pageant. The care bestowed on the decorement of the town’s minstrels is evinced in the entry of the purchase of blue cloth to make two coats for them, with as much “cramosie” as would serve for containing the town’s arms thereon. Nevertheless, though this care was shewn for the recognised minstrels of the burgh, the profession had thus early fallen into disrepute; for in the ordinance anent the pest [in 1574], “pipers, fiddlers, and minstrels,” are unceremoniously classed together as vagabonds, and threatened with severe penalties, should they venture into the city in contravention of the act.’

In those days, the citizens of Glasgow kept each his cow, which was fed, under the care of a town’s herdsman, in a common beyond the walls, as is the case with small burghs like Lauder and Peebles at the present day. In March 1589, John Templeton and John Hair were appointed herds for the year to come, John Templeton for ‘the nolt and guids aboon the Cross,’ and John Hair for ‘the nolt and guids beneath the Cross and the rest of the nether parts of the town.’

A strange tragedy took place at the Cross of Edinburgh. Robert Drummond, sometimes called Doctor Handie, who had been a great seeker and apprehender of papists, had been punished for adultery by exposure in the church and banishment from the city. Out of favour on account of his services against popery, he was pardoned and brought back; but being again found guilty of the same offence, he was condemned to exposure in the stocks at the Cross, along with the companion of his crime; after which he was to be burnt in the cheek. While undergoing this punishment, ‘there being great science (?) of people about them, and the Doctor Handie being in ane great furie, said: “What wonder ye? I sall give you more occasion to wonder.” So, suddenly, he took his awn knife, wha strake himself three or four times fornent the heart, with the whilk he departit. This done, the magistrates causit harl him in ane cart through the town, and the bloody knife borne behind in his hand; and on the morn harlit in the same manner to the gallows on the Burghmuir, where he was buried.’—D. O.

The Regent had passed an act, very agreeable to the people, to prevent the transporting of grain out of the country. There were, however, certain merchants who found it not difficult, by means of bribes, to obtain from him a licence enabling them to break the law. One of these was Robert Gourlay, originally a servant of the Duke of Chatelherault,90 but now a rich merchant in Edinburgh—at least so we may reasonably infer from the grandeur of his house, not long ago existing. Robert was driving a good trade in this way, when the kirk, of which he was an elder, interfered to put an end to what it regarded as an unrighteous traffic. He was pronounced by the General Assembly to be guilty of a high offence in transporting victual out of the realm, and was sentenced to appear in the marriage-place in the church, and publicly confess his offence, clad in a gown of his own, which should thereafter be given to the poor. He obstinately refused to submit. The Regent came forward as his friend, and told the minister, Mr James Lowson: ‘I gave him licence, and it pertaineth not to you to judge of that matter.’91 But it was all in vain. A week after, Robert was glad not only to go through the prescribed penance, but to crave forgiveness of the kirk for his temporary disobedience.92

The press was not likely to be a friend to the Regent, and the Regent, therefore, was not a friend to the press. At this date he induced the Privy Council to issue an edict that ‘nane tak upon hand to emprent or sell whatsoever book, ballet, or other werk,’ without its being examined and licensed, under pain of death, and confiscation of goods.—P. C. R.

The town-council of Edinburgh agreed with a Frenchman that he should set up a school in the city, to teach his own language, for which he should be entitled to charge each child twenty-five shillings yearly, besides enjoying a salary of twenty pounds during the council’s pleasure.—City Register, apud Maitland.

‘The summer right evil weather, and dear; the boll of malt five merk and half merk, and the boll of meal four merk and three merk. Evil August; wind and rain. The harvest evil weather that ever was seen; continual weet.’—C. F.

Consequently, in autumn and winter, ‘there was ane great dearth in Scotland of all kinds of victuals.’—D. O. ‘About Lammas, wheat was sold at London for three shillings the bushel; but shortly after it was raised to four shillings, five shillings, six shillings, and before Christmas to a noble and seven shillings, which so continued long after. Beef was sold for twenty pence and two-and-twenty pence the stone, and all other flesh and white meats at an excessive price; all kind of salt fish very dear, as five herrings twopence. Yet great plenty of fresh fish, and oft times the same very cheap.... All this dearth notwithstanding (thanks be given to God) there was no want of anything to him that wanted not money.’—Howes.

‘The pest came to Leith by ane passenger wha came out of England, and sundry died thereof before it was known.’ On the 24th, it entered Edinburgh, ‘brought in by ane dochter of Malvis Curll out of Kirkaldy.’ The Court of Session abstained from sitting in consequence. ‘My Lord Regent’s grace skalit his house and men of weir, and was but six in household; I know not whether for fear of the pest or for sparing of expenses.’—D. O.

In December, the kirk-session of Edinburgh, ‘foreseeing the great apparent plague and scourge of pest, hinging universally upon the haill realm,’ and considering that ‘the only ordinary means appointed by God in his holy word, whereby the said apparent scourge may be removed, is ane public fast and humiliation,’ did accordingly appoint such a fast, to last for eight days, with sermon and prayers every day, and the people’s ‘food to be breid and drink with all kind of sobriety.’93

We do not hear of the pest proving very deadly in Scotland on this occasion.

This Christmas-day, the minister and reader of Dumfries having refused to teach or read, ‘the town ... brought a reader of their own, with tabret and whistle, and caused him read the prayers.’ This extraordinary exercise they maintained during all the days of Yule. It was complained of at the subsequent General Assembly, and referred to the Regent.—Cal.

In this year died David Home of Wedderburn, a gentleman of good account in Berwickshire, and father of the David Home of Godscroft, to whom Scottish literature owes the History of the House of Douglas. The son has left us a portraiture of the father, which, even when we make a good allowance for filial partiality, must be held as shewing that society was not then without estimable members. ‘He died in the fiftieth year of his age, of a consumption, being the first (as is said) of his family who had died a natural death—all the rest having lost their lives in defence of their country.

‘He was a man remarkable for piety and probity, ingenuity [candour], and integrity; neither was he altogether illiterate, being well versed in the Latin tongue.... He had the Psalms, and particularly some short sentences of them, always in his mouth; such as: “It is better to trust in the Lord than in the princes of the earth:” “Our hope ought to be placed in God alone.” He particularly delighted in the 146th psalm, and sung it whilst he played on the harp with the most sincere and unaffected devotion. He was strictly just, utterly detesting all manner of fraud. I remember, when a conversation happened among some friends about prudence and fraud, his son George happened to say, that it was not unlawful to do a good action, and for a good end, although it might be brought about by indirect methods, and that this was sometimes necessary. “What,” says he, “George, do you call ane indirect way? It is but fraud and deceit covered under a specious name, and never to be admitted or practised by a good man.” He himself always acted on this principle, and was so strictly just, and so little desirous of what was his neighbour’s, that, in the time of the civil wars, when Alexander, his chief, was forfeit for his defection from the queen’s party, he might have had his whole patrimony, and also the abbacy of Coldingham, but refused both the one and the other. When Patrick Lindsay desired that he would ask something from the governor [Morton], as he was sure whatever he asked would be granted, he refused to ask anything, saying that he was content with his own. When Lindsay insisted, says he: “Since you will have it so, I will ask something; but you must first assure me I will not be refused.” Then Lindsay swore to him that he should have whatever he desired. “Let me have, then,” says he, “the abbacy of Haddington.” “That you cannot get,” says Lindsay, “as I received it myself some time ago. But ask something seriously; for if you do not get a share of our enemies’ estates, our party will never put sufficient trust in you.” To this David answered: “If I never can give proofs of my fidelity otherwise than in that manner, I will never give any, let him doubt of it who may. I have hitherto lived content with my own, and will live so, nor do I want any more.”

‘David was a man of that temper, that he never was willing to offer any injury, nor to take notice of one when offered. His uncle George Douglas sometimes stayed at Wedderburn. He still kept up a secret grudge at Alexander of Home on account of that controversy they had had about Cockburnspath. Alexander happened to be at this time at Manderston, which is within half a mile of Wedderburn. Alexander of Manderston, with a great number of attendants, goes out with him to hunt; and as he was a turbulent man, and much given to ostentation, under the pretext of seeking game, he ranges through all Wedderburn’s fields. This was intended as an affront to George Douglas, and to shew him what trouble he occasioned to his nephew David.

‘George had resolved to bear the thing patiently, and to dissemble; but David, knowing their intention, and not bearing that any affront should be put upon his uncle, mounts his horse, and orders his servants to do the like, and, taking George along with him, he presses hard upon the heels of Alexander, who was then going home, and follows him to the very doors of his own house of Manderston, and hunted about the whins and broom at the back of the garden, till evening forced him to return home.’94

At this time was the conspiracy or Black Band formed against him, which he bore patiently, and at the same time wisely repulsed. I know not upon what account some gentlemen of the Merse entered into this conspiracy; it is certain it was for no misdemeanour of his, nor did they pretend any. Alexander of Manderston was the contriver of the whole. It was a thing openly known, for in the meetings of the judges on the Borders about mutual restitutions, the one [party] stood on this side, and the other on that, like opposite armies.... One day, when both parties were returning home, and among the rest Manderston, some of Wedderburn’s followers, flushed with indignation, advised him no longer to bear the arrogance of the confederates. He, on the other hand, refused to stain his hands in blood, saying that Manderston was furious and insolent in his youth, but would grow wiser when he was old, and acknowledge his fault.’

John Stuart, the titular abbot of Coldingham, a natural son of James V., was importuned to join the Black Band, but had too much regard for Wedderburn to do so. While he was absent in the north with his brother the Regent Moray, his wife, who had a spite at Wedderburn, made a strange kind of demonstration against him. She ‘ordered the men of her faction to be present on a certain day, and to bring along with them wains, carts, and other things fit for carrying off the corns, all of which was carefully done. But Wedderburn with his friends having gathered together about 500 horse, hastens to the fields, and dissipates the scattered troops before they could unite themselves into one, breaks the wagons, looses the horses, and drives them away. On this they all betake themselves to flight, together with Stuart’s wife (she was called Hepburn, and a sister of old Bothwell). A few received some strokes; none were wounded; but so great was the terror struck into them all, that they all sought hiding-places in their flight. Some hid themselves among the furze or broom; others under the banks of the river; some in the fields of corn, and all either in one place or other. One John Edington (commonly called the Liar, as he was always the messenger of strange news, which was commonly false) hid himself in the ambry of a poor old woman, from which he was dislodged, to the great diversion of his enemies and his own great terror. When their fear a little subsided, and it appeared that none were hurt, the affair appeared so ridiculous both to themselves and others, that Hepburn (as she was a woman of a pretty good genius and poetically inclined) described the whole in some verses. Nor was there ever anything afterwards attempted by the confederates.’

David is described as being swift of foot, and fond of foot-races. Horse-racing was also one of his amusements. ‘He collected a number of the swiftest horses both from the north of Scotland and from England, by the assistance of one Graeme, recommended to him by his brother-in-law, Lochinvar. He generally had eight or more of that kind, so that the prize was seldom won by any but those of his family.... He was so great a master of the art of riding, that he would often be beat to-day, and within eight days lay a double wager on the same horses, and come off conqueror.... He went frequently from home to his diversion, sometimes to Haddington, and sometimes to Peebles, the one of which is eighteen, and the other twenty-four miles distant, and sometimes stayed there for several days with numerous attendants, regardless of expense, as being too mean and sordid a care, and below the dignity of one of his rank.

‘Being educated in affluence, he delighted in fencing, hunting, riding, throwing the javelin, managing horses, and likewise in cards and dice. Yet he was sufficiently careful of his affairs without doors. Those of a more domestic nature he committed to the care of his wife, and when he had none, to his servants; so that he neither increased nor diminished his patrimony.’

The writer, in the true spirit of his age, cites Wedderburn’s love of the house of Home as ‘not the least of his virtues.’ The chief was prejudiced against him, but ‘he bore it patiently, and never failed giving him all due honour.’ At length, Lord Home being taken prisoner by Morton at the close of the queen’s wars, and put into Leith Fort, Wedderburn went to see him, and acted so much as his friend as to obtain his release and secure his love.

David’s first wife, of the Johnstons of Elphinston, in Haddingtonshire, was a paragon of benevolence. She not only supplied the poor bountifully, but often gave large help to superior people who had fallen back in the world. She would give the clothes of her own children to clothe the naked and friendless. Yet, such was her good management, that she left at her death 3000 merks in gold—‘a great sum in those days.’ ‘Everything in the family had a splendid appearance; and this she affected in compliance to her husband’s temper. As she was herself, so she instructed her children in the fear of God, and in everything that was good and commendable. To sum up her whole character, she obtained from all the appellation of the Good Lady Wedderburn.’

David ‘was of a beautiful and manly make. His complexion (for a man) was rather too fair. He had yellow hair, and an aquiline nose; his stature rather inclining to tall, his countenance comely and majestic, claiming at the same time both love and reverence. He much affected elegance in his dress, but not extravagance. He was very fond of his children, and seldom ceased to dance them in his arms.... These are the parents who make me rejoice in my birth. These are the parents who are an honour to their posterity. To live and die like them, loving and beloved by all, is my great and only ambition.’95