These years were chiefly marked by the struggles of the more zealous clergy to replace the church upon a purely Presbyterian basis, and to maintain their assumed independence of the civil power. The king found his power encroached on, upon the one hand, by nobles richer, and having a greater command of followers, than himself; on the other, by divines who repudiated all subjection to civil authority in matters ecclesiastical, and yet arrogated powers which greatly concerned the secular rights and liberties of the people. While the reaction in his youthful mind against these besetting troubles inspired him with visionary ideas of the true rights of a monarch, the dissimulation practised at his court by the astute emissaries of Elizabeth, the restraints imposed on his liberty and natural sentiments by the more zealous Protestant party while he was under their rule, and the tricks he was tempted to have recourse to in order to recover his freedom, and obtain some share of real power, gave him, before he was twenty, such a tutoring in craft, as marked his character during the remainder of life. A more manly and resolute person would have either broken bravely through such a complication of troubles or perished in the attempt. With the help of a good-natured pliancy, James floated on. He was of a timid disposition, greatly disrelishing the sight of weapons, and along with this temper he exhibited much good-nature. Trembling at the outrageous dispositions of his nobles, and constitutionally a lover of peace, he exerted himself to conciliate offenders, and by persuasion to make them cease to break the laws, when a vigorous procedure against them in courts of justice would have been required. For the sake of his hopes of the English succession, if not from his own convictions—which, however, are not to be doubted—he maintained the Protestant cause. At the same time, seeing that the Catholics were friends of monarchy, and might have something to say in the English succession, he desired, if possible, to avoid offending them past forgiveness. Even the ultra-zealous Presbyterian clergy, who came to remonstrate with him, in his own palace, on his public acts or his private foibles, he could treat with such pleasantry as often disarmed them, when a more strenuous policy might have failed.

In February 1586-7, the unfortunate Mary was beheaded in Fotheringay Castle, a victim to the necessities of the Protestant cause.

In 1588, when this cause was threatened with destruction by the Spanish Armada, King James and his people manifested the greatest zeal in preparing for the defence of their part of the island. They entered into a Covenant or bond, in which they made solemn profession of the Protestant faith, and avowed their resolution to oppose Popery by every means in their power. After this danger had blown over, a new alarm was excited by the discovery of a conspiracy amongst the three leading Catholic nobles of Scotland, Huntly, Errol, and Crawford, to aid in introducing a Spanish army, through Scotland, for the conquest of the British island. These nobles having broken out in rebellion, in concert with a Protestant noble of irregular character, Stuart, Earl of Bothwell, the king led an army against them, and succeeded in reducing them to obedience (April 1589). Huntly, Crawford, Errol, and Bothwell were all convicted of treason; but the king shrank from inflicting a punishment which was certain to damage his prospects with a large party in England. They were liberated after only a few months’ imprisonment.

In the latter part of 1589, James effected his marriage with the Princess Anne of Denmark. His young bride being detained in Norway for the winter, in consequence of a storm, he sailed for that country (October 22), and solemnised his nuptials at Upslo (now Christiania). In May 1590, the royal pair arrived amidst great rejoicings at Leith. The first year of the king’s married life was strangely disturbed by a series of trials for the imaginary crime of witchcraft, in which the character of the age is strongly marked.

The Earl of Eglintoun, ‘a young nobleman of a fair and large stature’ (Moy.), was murdered by Cunningham of Robertland.

Montgomery and Cunningham were the Montague and Capulet of Ayrshire in the sixteenth century. The feud had sprung up nearly a hundred years before the above date, in consequence of the Earl of Glencairn disputing the title of the Earl of Eglintoun to the bailiery of the district of Cunningham. There had been attempts at a stanching of the feud, and even a marriage had been proposed by way of fixing the parties in amity; but at a time when peace had nearly been effected, enmity was renewed in consequence of a Montgomery killing a Cunningham in self-defence.

‘The Cunninghams, being grieved hereat, made presently a vow that they should be avenged upon the fattest of the Montgomeries (for these were their words) for that fact. This vow was sae acceptable to them all, that a band was concludit, subscrivit with the chiefest of their hands, to slay the young Earl [of Eglintoun] by whatsoever mean could be devisit, and that whasoever wald take the turn in hand, and perform it, he sould not only be sustenit upon the common expenses of the rest, but sould also be maintenit and defendit by them all from danger and skaith. At last ane Cunningham of Robertland took the enterprise in hand, whilk he accomplished in this manner:

‘Twa year before his treasonable attempt, he insinuate himself in familiarity and all dutiful service to the said young earl, whereby he movit him to take pleasure without ony suspicion, till he conqueist [acquired] sic favour at his hand, that neither the gold, money, horses, armour, clothes, counsel, or voyage was hid from him, that this same Robertland was made sae participant of them all, even as though they had been his awn; and besides all this, the confidence and favour that the earl shew unto him was sae great, that he preferrit him to be his awn bedfellow. Hereat Lord Hugo, auld Earl of Eglintoun, took great suspicion, and therefore admonist his son in a fatherly manner to beware of sic society, whilk, without all doubt, wald turn to his skaith; for he knew weel the nature of these Cunninghams to be subtle and false, and therefore willit him to give them nae traist, but to avoid their company altogether, even as he lovit his awn life or wald deserve his fatherly blessing. To this counsel the son gave little regard; but that was to his pains; and the domestic enemy was sae crafty indeed, that he wald attempt naething during the life of the father for many respects. But within short time thereafter [the father died June 1585], as the noble earl was passing a short way in pastime, accompanied with a very few of his household servants, and evil horsit himself, Robertland, accompanied with sixty armed men, came running furiously against him on horseback; and the earl, fearing the thing that followit, spurrit his horse to have fled away. His servants all fled another way, and he was left alone. The horsemen ran all upon him, and unmercifully killed him with shots of guns and strokes of swords.

‘The complaint of this odious murder being made to the king, he causit the malefactors to be chargit to a trial. But they all fled beyond sea. Robertland, wha was the first to make the invasion, passed to Denmark, where he remainit at court till the king came to Queen Anne. And because nane of the rest could be apprehendit, the king ordainit their houses to be renderit to the earl’s brother, to be usit at his arbitrament, either to be demolishit or otherwise; and he swore the great aith, that he sould never pardon any of them that had committit that odious murder. Yet, how soon his majesty was arrivit in Denmark, his pardon was demandit of the queen for the first petition, and the same was obtenit, and he was receivit in grace there in presence of them all. Thereafter he came hame in the queen’s company, and remains as ane of her majesty’s master stablers.’—H. K. J.

The persecution of the Protestants in France at this time drove a vast number to England, where great sacrifices were made for their due entertainment. Scotland, with comparatively limited means, but perhaps warmer feeling, also made collections of money for the distressed people. According to James Melville, ‘all the Protestants in France were chargit off France within sic a day, under pain of life, lands, gudes, and gear; sae that the number of banished in England were sae great, and the poor of them sae many, that they were compelled to seek relief of us for the same ... in the poor bounds I had under charge at the first beginning of my ministry, we gathered about five hunder merks for that effect.... The sum of the haill collection whilk the French kirks gat, extended but till about ten thousand merks.’ A considerable number of the exiles, including Pierre du Moulin, the minister of Paris, came to Edinburgh, where the magistrates gave them the common hall of the university for their worship, along with a stated allowance of money for support of their clergy. It cannot be doubted that the sight of these poor French exiles would deepen the feeling of dread and antipathy towards popery and papists, which was already strongly rooted in Scotland.

A singular collusive trial took place this day, for the purpose of clearing Mr Archibald Douglas, parson of Glasgow, of his concern in the murder of Darnley. He had been in exile or in hiding ever since, except during the regency of Morton, whose cousin he was. But now it was thought he might prove useful in advancing the king’s prospects in England; so, with the most barefaced contempt for the very forms of justice, he was tried by a packed jury, and acquitted.

It is difficult to say to what extent the king was personally concerned in absolving one of his father’s murderers. Perhaps he was not over-squeamish about murders of old date. On this point an anecdote may be quoted, though it stands somewhat under question on the score of authority. ‘When Bothwell-haugh returned from France, whither he had fled upon the murder of the Regent, it is reported that he fell down at the king’s feet, told who he was, and implored pardon. On which the king said, raising him up: “Pardon you, man; pardon you, man! Blest be he that got you! for had you not shot that fellow, I had never been king.”’135

Sundry persons of the name of Burne, dwelling in the middle march of Scotland, had appointed a day of combat with several persons residing in the opposite country within England, ‘upon some light purpose unknown to his majesty, and without licence cravit of his majesty or of his dearest sister [Elizabeth] or of her officers, as aucht to be in sic case.’ It was much to be feared that amongst the many persons assembled, a very small accident might be sufficient to rekindle old feuds, and that thus serious evils would arise. The Council, therefore, forbade all assembling at the place and day appointed, under pain of treason.—P. C. R.

While the southern and more populous parts of Scotland were, as we see, sufficiently barbarous, the Highland districts were as the comparative, and the Hebrides as the superlative degree in the same quality. The king, in the first edition of his Basilicon Doron, tells his son to think no more of the Islanders than as ‘wolves and wild boars.’ Probably, when the reader has perused the following narrative, he will think the epithet not unjustly applied, although his majesty afterwards dropped it in reprinting his book. The tale is of a commotion betwixt Angus M‘Connel, Lord of Kintyre, and Maclean, Lord of Islay. ‘This Angus had to his wife the sister of Maclean, and although they were brether-in-law, yet the ane was always in sic suspicion with the other, that of either side there was sae little traist, that almaist sendle [seldom] or never did they meet in amity, like unto the common sort of people, but rather as barbares upon their awn guard, or by their messengers. True it is that thir Islandish men are of nature very proud, suspicious, avaritious, full of deceit and evil intention [each] against his neighbour, by what way so ever he may circumvent him. Besides all this, they are sae cruel in taking of revenge, that neither have they regard to person, age, time, or cause; sae are they generally all sae far addicted to their awn tyrannical opinions, that in all respects they exceed in cruelty the maist barbarous people that ever has been sin’ the beginning of the warld; ane example whereof ye sall hear in this history following:

‘Angus M‘Connel, understanding, by divers reports, the gude behaviour of Maclean to be sae famous, that almaist he was recommended and praised by the haill neutral people of these parts above himself; whilk engendered sic rancour in his heart that he pretermitted nae invention how he might destroy the said Maclean. At last he devised to draw on a familiarity amang them, and inveited himself to be banqueted by Maclean; and that the rather, that Maclean should be the readier to come over to his isle with him the mair gladly, either being required, or upon set purpose, as best should please him. And when Angus had sent advertisement to Maclean, that he was to come and make gude cheer, and to be merry with him certain days, Maclean was very glad thereof, and answered to the messenger: “My brother shall be welcome,” said he, “come when he list.” The messenger answered, it wald be to-morrow. So when Angus arrived in effect, he was richt cheerfully welcomed by his brother-in-law, wha remained there by the space of five or sax days. And when it was perceived that Maclean’s provision was almaist spent, Angus thought it then time to remove. Indeed, the custom of that people is sae given to gluttony and drinking without all measure, that as ane is inveited to another, they never sinder sae lang as the vivers do last. In end, Angus says: “Because I have made the first obedience unto you, it will please you come over to my isle, that ye may receive as gude treatment with me as I have done with you.” Maclean answered that he durst not adventure to come to him for mistrust; and Angus said: “God forbid that ever I should intend or pretend any evil against you; but yet, to remove all doubt and suspicion frae your mind, I will give you twa pledges, whilk shall be sent unto you with diligence; to wit, my eldest son and my awn only brother-german: these twa may be keepit here by your friends till ye come safely back again.” Maclean, hearing this offer, whilk appeared unto him void of all suspicion, and so decreeted to pass with him to Kintyre; and further to testify that baith he simply believed all to be true, and that upon hope of gude friendship to continue, he thought expedient to retein ae only pledge, and that was Angus’s brother, and wald carry with him his awn nevoy, the son of Angus. Whether he did this to save himself frae suspicion of danger, as apparently of the event he did it, or gif he brought him back again upon liberal favour, I will not dispute; because I have tauld you afore the perfect nature and qualities of these islands people; yet, because Maclean’s education was civil, and brought up in the gude lawis and manners of Scotland from his youth, it may be that he has had double consideration, ane by kind, and another by art of honest dissimulation.

‘To conclude, to Kintyre he came, accompanied with forty-five men of his kinsfolk and stout servants, in the month of July 1586; where, at the first arrival, they were made welcome with all humanity, and were sumptuously banqueted all that day. But Angus in that meantime had premonished all his friends and weel-willers within his isle of Kintyre to be at his house that same night at nine of the clock, and neither to come sooner nor later; for he had concluded with himself to kill them all the very first night of their arrival, fearing that gif he should delay any langer time, it might be that either he sould alter his malicious intention, or else that Maclean wald send for some greater forces of men for his awn defence. Thus he concealed his intent still, till baith he fand the time commodious and the very place proper; and Maclean being lodged with all his men within a lang house, that was something distant frae other housing, took to bed with him that night his nevoy, the pledge afore-spoken. But within ane hour thereafter, when Angus had assembled his men to the number of twa hundred, he placed them all in order about the house where Maclean then lay. Thereafter he came himself and called at the door upon Maclean, offering to him his reposing drink, whilk was forgotten to be given to him before he went to bed. Maclean answered, that he desired nae drink for that time. “Although so be,” said the other, “it is my will that thou arise and come forth to receive it.” Then began Maclean to suspect the falset, and so arase with his nevoy betwixt his shoulders, thinking that gif present killing was intended against him, he should save himself sae lang as he could by the boy; and the boy, perceiving his father with a naked sword, and a number of his men in like manner about, cried with a loud voice, mercy to his uncle for God’s sake; whilk was granted, and immediately Maclean was removed to a secret chalmer till the morrow. Then cried Angus to the remanent that were within; sae mony as wald have their lives to be safe, they should come forth, twa only excepted, whilk he nominate; sae that obedience was made by all the rest, and these twa only, fearing the danger, refused to come forth. Angus, seeing that, commanded incontinent to put fire to the house, whilk was immediately performed; and thus were the twa men cruelly and unmercifully burnt to the death. These twa were very near kinsmen to Maclean, and of the eldest of his clan, renowned baith for counsel and manheid. The rest that were prisoners of the haill number afore-tauld, were ilk ane beheaded the days following, ane for ilk day, till the haill number was ended; yea, and that in Maclean’s awn sight, being constrained thereunto, with a dolorous advertisement to prepare himself for the like tragical end howsoon they should all be killed. And when the day came that Maclean should have been brought forth, miserably to have made his tragical end, like unto the rest, it pleased Angus to lowp upon his horse, and to come forth for joy and contentment of mind, even to see and behald the tyrannical fact with his awn eyes. But it pleased God, wha mercifully deals with all men, and disappoints the decrees of the wicked, to disappoint his intent for that day also, for he was not sae soon on horseback, but the horse stumbled, and Angus fell off him, and brake his leg, and so was carried hame.’—H. K. J.

The personages of this well-told tale were properly designated Angus Macdonald of Islay, and Lachlan Maclean of Dowart; the latter is described by Mr Tytler as ‘an island Amadis of colossal strength and stature,’ ‘by no means illiterate,’ ‘and possessing, by the vigour of his natural talents, a commanding influence over the rude and fierce islesmen.’ Angus of Islay was step-son to the Irish Earl of Tyrone, and much mixed up with the troubled politics of the north of Ireland in that age. There was an old feud regarding land between Angus and his brother-in-law Maclean. In 1585, it received fresh excitement from an outrage on the laws of hospitality committed by Maclean’s people upon the retinue of Donald Mor of Sleat, when that chief chanced to take shelter from a storm in the isle of Jura. Angus of Islay, having gone to visit Maclean soon after, was seized and imprisoned along with his followers; and he was not liberated till he had agreed to renounce the disputed lands. Such, in reality, was the nature of the visit which the annalist has described as prompted by deceit on the part of Angus. With one of the two hostages exacted from Angus on this occasion, Maclean soon after went to Islay to see after the recovered lands; with strange simplicity, he complied with an invitation of Angus to visit him at his house of Mullintrea, though not till he had received repeated protestations that no harm was intended to him. Here it was that the barbarous circumstances related by our annalist took place.136

By the intervention of a royal message, and the interference of the acting head of the clan Campbell, Angus rendered up Maclean, ‘on receiving a promise of pardon for his crimes, and on eight hostages of rank being placed in his hands by Maclean, for the performance of certain conditions which the latter was forced to subscribe. To complete this singular picture of barbarism, Lachlan was no sooner free, than he ravaged Islay with fire and sword; in requital of which, Angus ravaged the isles of Mull and Tiree, killing every human inhabitant and every beast that fell into his hands.

The various clans siding with their respective friends in this contest, it became the cause of a general war throughout the islands and West Highlands, which lasted some time, notwithstanding every effort of the government to put it down.

The Master of Yester, whom we have just seen as a peace-breaker, comes once more before the Council as a turbulent and wicked person. Sir John Stewart of Traquair, and his brother James Stewart of Shillinglaw, lieutenant of his majesty’s guard, appear as complainers, setting forth, in the first place, how it is well known of Sir John Stewart, that ‘having his dwelling-place on the south side of Tweed, in a room137 subject to the invasions and thieves of the broken men of the Borders, and lying betwixt them and sundry his majesty’s true lieges, whom commonly they herry and oppress, how at all times himself, his brother, his friends and neighbours assisting him, dwelling betwixt the burgh of Peebles and Gaithopeburn, resistit the stouthreif and oppressions of the said thieves and broken men, to the comfort and relief of mony true men, in whilk course they intend, God willing, to continue to their lives end.’ Of late, however, so proceeds the complaint, ‘they have been, and is greatumly hindered therein, by reason that William, Master of Yester, by the causing, direction, at least owersicht and tolerance, of William Lord Hay of Yester, his father, sheriff of Peebles and provost of the burgh of Peebles (wha, by the laws of this realm ... aucht to mak his said son answerable,’ but had ‘placit him in the principal house and strength of Neidpath,’ though he has been a denounced rebel for nearly the space of a year ‘for his inobedience to underlie the laws,’ till within the last few days that he obtained relaxation) ... had in the meantime ‘not only usurpit and taken upon him the charge of the sheriffship of Peebles, and provostry of the burgh thereof, but ane absolute command to proclaim and hald wappinshawings at times nawise appointit by his hieness’ direction, to banish and give up kindness to all persons in burgh or land where he pleases, to tak up men’s gear under pretence of unlaws fra wappinshawings or other unnecessar causes, never being lawfully callit nor convenit; ... and forder, it is weel knawn to sundry of the lords of Secret Council, that the said Master socht the life of the said James Stewart, and dayly shores and boasts138 to slay him, and all others of his kin, friends, allies, assisters, and partakers.’ On the petition of the complainers, the Council heard parties, the peccant Master appearing for himself, and in excuse for his father, who was sick and unable to travel. And the end of the matter was, that the case was remitted to the judgment of the Court of Session, to be decided by them as they might think proper. Meanwhile, the Master was enjoined to cease molesting the Stewarts and their friends and dependents between this and the 8th of January next.—P. C. R.

On the 29th April 1587, it is stated that the king had dealt between these hostile parties, and arranged letters of affirmance between them, in order to secure peace for the future; but the Master of Yester had refused to subscribe. For this he is threatened with being denounced rebel, or, as the ordinary phrase was, being put to the horn.139 On the 12th May, the king ordered him to enter in ward north of the Tay, and there remain till liberated; and a few weeks later, on this order not being complied with, the Master was denounced rebel, and all forbidden to assist or receive him.—P. C. R.

In a memoir of the Hays of Tweeddale, composed by a member of the family a century later, the character and objects of the parties in this dispute are precisely reversed. The Master of Yester—whose nickname, it seems, was Wood-sword—is described as a great upholder of the laws against thieves, while the Stewarts of Traquair were the reverse. The passage is worth transcribing, as an example of the favourable views of which a man’s actions are always more or less susceptible in the eyes of friends, especially after the lapse of a few years.

‘In his time, the Borders being much infested with broken men and thieving, this lord, who always rode accompanied with twenty-four horsemen and as many footmen armed, did take and hanged a great [many] of them. He was at feud with the house of Traquair for seconding the thieves, in pursuit of whom he received a wound in the face. King James the Sixth being desirous to have this feud taken away, as all others of the country, and he refusing, was committed to the Castle of Edinburgh, out of which he made his escape, and immediately made ane new inroad against the thieves, of whom he killed a great many, in a place called from thence the Bloody Haugh, near Riskin-hope, in Rodonna; whereupon King James was pleased to make a hunting journey, and came to the house of Neidpath, whither the king called Traquair, with his two sons, who made to Lord Yester acknowledgment for the wrong they had done him, and then peace was made by the king.140 This was witnessed by one William Geddes, who was my lord’s butler, and lived till the year 1632.’—Genealogy of the Hays of Tweeddale, by Father R. A. Hay.

A few days before the death of Queen Mary in Fotheringay Castle, the king, her son, ‘to manifest his natural affection towards his dearest mother, whose preservation he always earnestly wished, required the ministers to pray for her, at all preachings and common prayers, after the following form: “The Lord illuminate and enlighten her spirit, that she may attain to the knowledge of his truth, for the safety of soul and body, and preserve her from the present peril.”

‘Some of the ministry agreed to that form of prayer, thinking it very lawful, since it was his majesty’s pleasure; but some of them, especially the ministers of Edinburgh, refused to pray but as they were moved by the spirit.’

‘On the 3d of February [five days before Mary’s execution], the king appointed Patrick, Archbishop of St Andrews, a man evil thought of by the ministry and others, to preach in the kirk of Edinburgh, and resolved to attend the preaching himself.141 When the day came, Mr John Coupar, one of the ministers of Edinburgh, accompanied with the rest of the brethren, came in and prevented the bishop, by taking place in the pulpit before his coming into the kirk; and as the said John was beginning the prayer, the king’s majesty commanded him to stop: whereupon he gave a knock on the pulpit, using an exclamation in these terms: “This day shall bear witness against you in the day of the Lord. Wo be to thee, O Edinburgh! for the last of thy plagues shall be worse than the first!” After having uttered these words, he passed down from the pulpit, and, together with the whole wives in the kirk, removed out of the same.’—Moy. R.

Another account says: ‘The Bishop of St Andrews went up, and, after the English form, began to beck in a low courtesy to the king; whereas the custom of this kirk was first to salute God, to do God’s work, and then, after sermon and divine worship, to give reverence and make courtesy particularly to the king. But soon after the bishop was entered into the pulpit, all the people in the kirk gave a shout and loud cry, so as nothing could be heard, and almost all ran out of the kirk, especially the women.... This carriage of the people made the king rise up and cry: “What devil ails the people, that they may not tarry to hear a man preach!”‘—Row.

The archbishop ‘preached a sermon concerning prayer for princes, whereby he convinced the whole people who remained in the kirk, that the desire of the king’s majesty to pray for his mother was most honourable and reasonable.’—Moy. R.

It gives a striking idea of the difficulty attending the transmission of intelligence in those days—in connection, it must be owned, in this instance, with the deceitful and stealthy conduct of Elizabeth—that Mary had been upwards of a fortnight dead before her son King James was fully apprised of the fact in Edinburgh. On the 15th, he received a message from Kerr of Cessford, the warden of the Borders, informing him that the English warden had just communicated to him this sad intelligence. Not believing it on this authority, the king went to hunt at Calder, but at the same time sent his secretary to Berwick to make inquiry. This gentleman returned on the 23d, with certain information of Mary’s death. ‘This put his majesty into a very great displeasure and grief, so that he went to bed that night without supper; and on the morrow, by seven o’clock, went to Dalkeith, there to remain solitary.’—Moy. R.

‘Certain it is that King James, her only son, was not a little moved to hear such unparalleled and uncouth news, who loved his dearest mother with the greatest piety that could be seen in a son.

[He] took exceeding grief to heart, not without deep displeasure for the same; and much lamented and mourned for her many days.’—Pa. And.

Many years after, when he had mounted the English throne, King James told Sir James Harrington, that his mother’s death had been foreseen in Scotland, ‘being, as he said, “spoken of in secret by those whose power of [second] sight presented to them a bloody head dancing in the air.” He did remark much on this gift, and said he had sought out of certain books a sure way to attain knowledge of future chances.’142

Attention was strongly fixed at this time on the confidence manifested by such as were of the Catholic religion, chiefly gentry, in entertaining Jesuits and seminary priests, who performed mass in their houses, and even took possession of some of the ruinous parish churches, doing what in them lay to seduce the people back to the old faith. We are told, for instance, that Lord Maxwell openly caused mass to be sung in the abbey-church of Lincluden, near Dumfries, on three successive days at Christmas 1586. Pasch and Yule began again to be kept by the common sort of people, and saints’ wells were much resorted to for the cure of diseases. The General Assembly declared it to be ‘ane exceeding great grief to all such as have any spunk of the love of God and his kirk,’ to see the land thus polluted with ‘idolatry’ and ‘pusionable doctrine.’ They considered the evil as chiefly owing to the laxity of the state in the repression of papistry, and the positive encouragement which it rendered in some instances to papists. At the same time, the reformed religion was in miserable condition, many of the parish kirks being ruinous and destitute of pastors, while the pastors that did anywhere exist were defrauded of their revenues, starved, and sometimes greatly abused in their very persons by the papist gentle-folks. A great defection was seriously apprehended as now imminent, unless some change should take place in the king’s counsels and conduct. He was pathetically exhorted to execute the laws against both the priests and their entertainers. It was demanded, in particular, that all papist noblemen should be ‘presently exiled the country,’ while certain of the priests should be sent away by the first ships, with certification that on their daring to return they should be hanged without further process.

According to the same General Assembly, the moral condition of the country was awful, ‘ugly heaps of all kinds of sin lying in every nook and part’ of it—no spot but what was overwhelmed as by ‘a spate’ [inundation], ‘with abusing of the blessed name of God, with swearing, perjury, and lies, with profaning of the Sabbath-day with mercats, gluttony, drunkenness, fighting, playing, dancing, &c., with rebelling against magistrates and the laws of the country, with blood touching blood, with incest, fornication, adulteries, and sacrilege, theft and oppression, with false witness[ing], and finally with all kinds of impiety and wrong.’ The poor at the same time ‘vaiging [wandering] in great troops and companies through the country, without either law or religion.’—B. U. K.

The French poet, Guillaume Sallust, Sieur du Bartas, paid a visit to Scotland. For any eminent literary man of either England or France to travel north of the Tweed, was as yet a rarity and a marvel. The king, however, had contracted an admiration of Du Bartas, and translated some of his poetry; and now a royal invitation had brought him to Holyrood. It would be curious to learn what were the sentiments of the polite Frenchman on coming in contact with James’s circle at the palace, or seeing the rude state of the people generally throughout the country.

We learn that ‘he was received according to his worthiness, entertained honourably, and liberally propined’—that is, favoured with presents. At the end of June, the king made an excursion to St Andrews, taking the French poet along with him, that he might see the principal seat of learning in Scotland. We have some curious particulars of the visit from the Dutch pencil of James Melville. St Mary’s College, the principal theological seminary of the country, was now presided over by the faithful Presbyterian Andrew Melville, the man of most marked talent and energy in the Scotch church after the days of Knox. In the Castle lived, in much reduced state, the nominal archbishop, Patrick Adamson, a man of fine literary talents, but weak in character, and, upon the whole, not a credit to Scottish Episcopacy. James admired and patronised Adamson; but he had a trembling faith in the powerful wit and inflexible courage and integrity of Melville. The king, ‘coming first without any warning to the new college [St Mary’s], he calls for Mr Andrew, saying he was come with that gentleman to have a lesson. Mr Andrew answers, “that he had teached his ordinar that day in the forenoon.” “That is all ane,” says the king; “I maun have a lesson, and be here within an hour for that effect.” And indeed, within less than an hour, his majesty was in the school, and the haill university convenit with him, before whom Mr Andrew extempore entreated maist clearly and mightily of the right government of Christ, and in effect refuted the haill acts of parliament made against the discipline thereof, to the great instruction and comfort of his auditory, except the king alane, wha was very angry all that night.’

On the morrow, ‘the bishop had baith a prepared lesson and feast made for the king. His lesson was a tighted-up abridgment of all he had teached the year bypast—namely, anent the corrupt grounds whilk he had put in the king’s head contrary to the true discipline. To the whilk lesson Mr Andrew went contrair to his custom, and with his awn pen marked all his false grounds and reasons; and without further [preparation] causit ring his bell at twa afternoon the same day, whereof the king hearing, he sent to Mr Andrew, desiring him to be moderate and have regard to his presence, otherwise he wald discharge him. He answerit courageously, that his majesty’s ear and tender breast was piteously and dangerously filled with errors and untruths by that wicked man, the whilk he could not suffer to pass, and brook a life [and yet remain alive]; otherwise, except the stopping of the breath of God’s mouth and prejudging of his truth, he should behave himself maist moderately and reverently to his majesty in all respects. The king sent again to him and me, desiring it should be sae, and shawing that he wald have his four hours [a light meal at four o’clock] in the college, and drink with Mr Andrew. Sae, coming to that lesson with the bishop, wha requested the king for leave to make answer instantly in case anything were spoken against his doctrine. But there Mr Andrew, making him [affecting] as though he had naething to do but with the papist, brings out their warks, and reads out of them all the bishop’s grounds and reasons. The whilk, when he had at length and maist clearly shawn to be plain papistry, then he sets against the same with all his mean [power], and with immutable force of reasoning, from clear grounds of Scripture, with a mighty parrhesie and flood of eloquence, he dings them sae down, that the bishop was dashed and strucken as dumb as the stock he sat upon. After the lesson, the king, in his mother-tongue, made some distingoes, and discoursit a while thereon, and gave certain injunctions to the university for reverencing and obeying of his bishop; wha fra that day furth began to tire of his teaching, and to fall mair and mair in disgrace and confusion. The king, with Monsieur du Bartas, came to the college-hall, where I causit prepare and have in readiness a banquet of wet and dry confections, with all sorts of wine, whereat his majesty campit very merrily a gude while, and thereafter went to his horse. But Monsieur du Bartas tarried behind, and conferrit with my uncle and me a whole hour, and syne followed after the king; wha inquiring of him that night, as ane tauld me, “What was his judgment of the twa he had heard in St Andrews?” he answerit the king, “that they were baith learned men, but the bishop’s were cunned [conned] and prepared matters, and Mr Andrew had a great ready store of all kind of learning within him; and, by [besides] that, Mr Andrew’s spreit and courage was far above the other.” The whilk judgment the king approved.’

The Sieur du Bartas was ‘dismissed in the harvest, to his majesty’s great praise, sae lang as the French tongue is used and understood in the world.’—Ja. Mel.

The small merchant-craft of Scotland was much troubled with pirates, chiefly of the English nation. James Melville gives a lively account of an affair with an English piratical vessel, which took place in connection with the Fife port where he served as pastor.

‘At my first coming to Anstruther there fell out a heavy accident, whilk vexit my mind mickle at first, but drew me mickle nearer my God, and teached me what it was to have a care of a flock. Ane of our crears,143 returning from England, was beset by an English pirate, pill[ag]ed, and a very guid honest man of Anstruther slain therein. The whilk loon144 coming pertly to the very road of Pittenweem, spulyied a ship lying therein, and misused the men thereof. This wrang could not be suffered by our men, lest they should be made a common prey to sic limmers.145 Therefore, purchasing a commission, they riggit out a proper fly-boat, and every man encouraging another, made almaist the haill honest and best men in all the town to go in her to the sea. This was a great vexation and grief to my heart, to see at my first entry the best part of my flock ventured upon a pack of pirates, whereof the smallest member of the meanest was mair in valour146 than a shipful of them. And yet I durst not stay some [un]less nor I stayed all, and all I durst not, baith for the dangerous preparative, and the friends of the honest man wha was slain, and of them that were abusit, wha were many, in sic sort as the matter concerned the haill. But my God knaws what a sair heart they left behind when they parted out of my sight, or rather what a heart they carried with them, leaving a bouk147 behind. I neither ate, drank, nor sleepit, but by constraint of nature, my thought and care always being upon them, and commending them to God, till aucht or ten days were endit, and they in sight returning, with all guid tokens of joy, flags, streamers, and ensignie displayed, whom with great joy we receivit, and went together to the kirk, and praised God.

‘The captain, for the time, a godly, wise, and stout man, recounted to me truly their haill proceeding. That they, meeting with their admiral, a great ship of St Andrews, weel riggit out by the burghs, being fine of sail, went before her all the way, and made every ship they forgathered with, of whatsomever nation, to strike and do homage to the king of Scotland, shawing them for what cause they were riggit forth, and inquiring of knaves and pirates. At last, they meet with a proud stiff Englishman, wha refuses to do reverence; therefore the captain, thinking it was a loon, commands to give them his nose-piece,148 the whilk delashit149 lights on the tie of the Englishman’s mainsail, and down it comes; then he yields, being but a merchant. But there was the merciful providence of God, in staying a great piece of the Englishman, lying out her stern in readiness to be shot, whilk, if it had lighted amang our folks, being many in little room, without fence, wald have cruelly demeaned them all. But God, directing that first shot, preserved them. From them they approached to the shore at Suffolk, and finds by Providence the loon [rogue], wha had newlins taken a crear of our awn town, and was spulying her. Howsoon they spy ane coming warlike, the loons leave their prize, and run their ship on land, our fly-boat after, and almaist was on land with them; yet, staying hard by, they delash their ordnance at the loons, and a number going a-land, pursues and takes a half-dozen of them, and puts them aboard in their boat. The gentlemen of the country and towns beside, hearing the noise of shooting, gathers with haste, supposing the Spanyard had landed, and apprehending a number of the loons in our men’s hands, desirit to knaw the matter. The whilk when the justices of peace understood, and saw the king of Scotland’s arms, with twa gallant ships in warlike manner, yielded and gave reverence thereto, suffering our folks to take with them their prisoners and pirate’s ship, whilk they brought with them, with half-a-dozen of the loons; whereof twa were hangit on our pier-end, the rest in St Andrews; with nae hurt at all to any of our folks, wha ever since syne have been free from English pirates. All praise to God for ever. Amen.’

King James at this time attempted what Dr Robertson, with somewhat too much complaisance, calls a work worthy of a king. Many of his nobility were at feud with each other on account of past grievances. For example, Glammis bore deadly hatred against the Earl of Crawford, in consequence of the killing of his father by some of Crawford’s people at Stirling in 1578. With the Earl of Angus, whose piety and love of the clergy induced James to call him the Ministers’ King, it was sufficient ground of hostility against the Earl of Montrose that he had sat as chancellor on the jury which adjudged Morton to the Maiden. The Earls of Huntly and Marischal had some mutual grudge of their own, perhaps little intelligible to southern men. So it was with others. The nobility being now assembled at a convention, James, who never could check outrages amongst them by the sword of justice, did what a good-natured weak man could to induce them to be reconciled to each other, and call it peace when there was no peace. Assembling them all at a banquet in Holyrood on a Sunday, he drank to them thrice, and solemnly called on them to maintain concord, threatening to be an enemy to him who should first disobey the injunction. Next day, after supper, then an early meal, and after ‘many scolls’ had been drunk to each other, he made them all march in procession ‘in their doublets’ up the Canongate, two and two, holding by each other’s hands, and each pair being a couple of reconciled enemies. He himself went in front, with Lord Hamilton on his right hand, and the Lord Chancellor Maitland on the left; next after, the Duke of Lennox and Lord Claud Hamilton; then Angus and Montrose, Huntly and Marischal, Crawford and the Master of Glammis. Coming to the Tolbooth, his majesty ordered all the prisoners for debt to be released. Thence he advanced to the picturesque old market-cross, covered with tapestry for the occasion, and where the magistrates had set out a long table well furnished with bread, wine, and sweetmeats. Amidst the blare of trumpets and the boom of cannon, the young monarch publicly drank to his nobles, wishing them peace and happiness, and made them all drink to each other. The people, long accustomed to sights of bloody contention, looked on with unspeakable joy, danced, broke into songs of mirth, and brought out all imaginable musical instruments to give additional, albeit discordant expression, to their happiness. All acknowledged that no such sight had ever been seen in Edinburgh. In the general transport, the gloomy gibbet, usually kept standing there in readiness, was cast down, as if it could never again be needed. Sweetmeats, and glasses from which toasts had been drunk, flew about both from the table of the feast and from the responsive parties on the fore-stairs. When all was done, the king and nobles returned in the same form as they had come.—Moy. Bir. Cal. H. K. J.

Healing measures like these were not nearly so good as they seemed. In less than two months, we find six or seven of the nobles quarrelling about priority of voting, and Lord Home passing a challenge to Lord Fleming—‘wha were not sufferit to fecht, albeit they were baith weel willing.’

King James had a sincere antipathy to deadly feuds and quarrels, because he loved peace and good-humour; but timidity, want of strong will, and partly, perhaps, his very bonhomie, prevented him from taking those severe measures with offenders which alone could effectually repress such practices. He desired to correct men by proclamations, or at the most ‘hornings;’ and when one gentleman had literally killed his neighbour in a casual rencontre, the king was satisfied if he could induce the son or other relations of the deceased to meet the guilty person, make up matters for a sum of money, shake hands, and agree there should be no more of it. He liked to be personally busy in effecting reconciliations, and at length came to use what he considered as compulsory measures for bringing the parties to his presence, that he might see to their renewing friendship. Thus, on the 22d November 1599, an edict of council was sent to James Hoppringle of Galashiels, and George Hoppringle of Blindlee, commanding them to come and submit the quarrel standing between them to the arbitrament of friends, on pain of being charged with rebellion. On the 12th of January ensuing, James Tweedie of Drumelzier and William Veitch of Dawick were charged, under like pains, to come and subscribe letters of assurance, for ‘the feid and inimitie standing betwixt them.’—P. C. R.

In consequence of a bad crop in 1586, there was ‘great scant and dearth’ this year, ‘and great death of people for hunger.’—H. K. J.

Elizabeth issued a proclamation regarding scarcity, 2d January 1586-7. She speaks of ‘foreseeing the general dearth of corn and other victuals, partly through the unseasonableness of the year past, whereby want hath grown more in some countries than in others, but most of all, generally, through the uncharitable greediness of great corn-masters, &c.’ This was the invariable cry on all occasions of dearth. All would be well if only those possessing grain would not reserve it in hope of higher prices. No one ever dreamed of that benefit which the modern political economist sees in the reservings of the corn-merchant—namely, an equalising of consumption over the whole period of the scarcity, as contrasted with the over-free use of the victual at first, and increased scarcity afterwards. Perhaps there was, after all, some grounds for the wrath at forestallers, for in former days, as we well know, there was less means of obtaining information regarding the extent of the failure of a crop than there is now, and those gentlemen, accordingly, were rather speculators on a possible, than on an ascertained case. They would hence appear as men aiming at the making of a scarcity where there was perhaps no great occasion for it. What offence greater, the poor public would naturally say, than that of deliberately trying to starve us!