ceeded to give me a few glimpses of the eventful times, so ruinous to his house, which preceded the expulsion of the last of the Stuarts. "I was never a bold and froward person, and the sword which I was compelled to unsheathe was drawn for the protection of rights civil and divine. The blood that was unrighteously shed be upon the heads of those who gave the unmerciful counsel, to tread under war-horses' hoofs the afflicted kirk of poor Scotland— let it not be visited upon those unhappy instruments of oppression even the armed men who listened to no counsel, save the sound of the trumpet, and who thought obedience to the voice of command was the chief virtue of their station. With them I sought not to war-and my sword spared them, wherever to spare them was safe. I sought alone to cut off the captains of the host of persecutors-some of them were names of long standing and ancient renown-but the names of Dalzell, of Maxwell, of Johnson, and of Grahame, much as I loved them all for their valour of yore, could not be a spell against the sword, which was drawn only when the voice of our religion was made mute, and our hills, and highways, and hearths, smoked with innocent blood. chased blessing. From nine in the morning till noon-day did the sacred professor pour his balm into the bleeding bosoms of his flock-the hours seemed minutes, and hunger and thirst, which listen not to the words of the wicked or the wise, were subdued for a time on that blessed morn. His concluding words will be ever remembered by those, and they were not many, who escaped from that place of peril and blood. • And where is the kirk of God now, you ask me the voice of the preacher is heard no more within its walls; its cope and corner stones are cast into the dust, and its multitudes are persecuted-pierced with the spear and cloven with the sword-where then is the kirk of Scotland? Is it squared stones, and shapen timber, and a piece of ground chosen by lot, and measured out by man's hands, which form the holy and modest kirk? It is not in the city, for there the destroyer's trumpet is blowing;-it is not in the valley, for there I hear the sound of the war-horse, and the shouting of its rider,-nor is it established on the hill, for there it would be seen from afar, and the wicked would come and cast it down. I will tell you where God's Scottish kirk stands to-day: wherever a matron prays-a devout man wishes holy things-a youth hopes for heaven be it in the wood-in the valley-on the moor-on the mountain-at their own humble home or surrounded by armed men-be it in the tower-be it in the dungeon-or on the deep and unstable waters--there has God placed his kirk, and displayed his banner. Despond not, therefore, that you see your homes desolate, and the houses of the Most High destroyed-stand boldly by your religion, strike those that seek to smite, for heaven will most surely help us. I mean not that the dead will rise armed from the dust and trample your persecutors down "It happened on a summer morn, that the banner of the broken rem--and a maiden thinks of salvationnant was spread upon the green hill of Wardlaw, and a sermon was poured forth over the assembled people. Before us we beheld the vale of Nith all in its flush and beauty, and behind we saw the high hill of Queensberry, covered with flocks from base to summit. John Renwick preached:-to you who never heard the eloquence of that gifted person who never knew what it was to be hunted from hill to glen for worshipping God in your own way, who never listened to the voice of divine wisdom amid an ocean of trouble and sore tempest-to you it may be as seed sown on frozen waters, to tell how resistlessly edifying that glorious sermon on the hill was -how we stood like stocks and stones-with eyes upturned, and hands clasped, while the enthusiastic address of the mighty preacher made us look upon kings and councillors as dust, and martyrdom as a pur I mean not that angels will descend, as they did of yore, visible, in all ages, and smite the warriors of Grahame and Dalzell-nor do I mean that fire will fall from heaven, or gush from earth, and devour your enemies-we live under a more mysterious, but no less effectual dispensation. The day is at hand-the golden day of redemption-I hear the voice of a holy one crying, "A bright day for poor Scotland." I may not-shall not, surely live to see it, though its morning is at hand-nor will many of you, my friends, behold it, for before it comes shall we be scattered as chaff-the spear and the sword will be at our bosoms, and the war-horse will dye his fetlocks in the warm blood of saints.' "Even as he poured out this rapt and enthusiastic discourse we heard the sound of a lonely trumpet in a wood below--many clapt their hands and shouted, imagining that heaven had sent us aid, but presently the banner of John Grahame, and the waving of a long stream of warriors' plumes, emerged on the plain, and began to ascend at a rapid pace the green hill whereon we were assembled. Some of the congregation drew their swords -some prayed-some stood motionless with fear and awe, and some fled over the heath, to seek shelter among the woods and glens of Closeburn and Glenae. My three sons, and the two youngest sons of the house of Herries were by my side: we drew our swords, and prepared to resist with musket and spear-I looked on the preacher-he stood gathered in spirit and strength, in his pulpit of green turf, gazing unmoved on the long line of horsemen winding up the side of the hill. He beckoned me to him. Son of Ephraim Lorance,' he said, 'wherefore dost thou tarry here?— thou art not marked out for the slaughter-thou shalt not surely die to-day-take, therefore, thy children, and the children of Emanuel Herries with thee-dive into that long cloud of mist which heaven now rolls towards us-there is a linn in Closeburn where thou wilt find shelter, and may the blessing of John Renwick and Him above be with youfly-leave me to perish, for it hath been revealed that my hour is come, and the sacrificer shall find me on the altar.-At this moment the plumes and bright swords of the horsemen appeared above the hill I stood, resolved to resist. Fly,' said the preacher, his voice rising far above the stir of the multitude and the neighing of the horses. Flycast away the sword, and trust not the spear-if thy hand sheds blood to-day, the blood of thy sons shall be the atonement-the Lord's preach er has spoken it; and he calmly awaited the approach of the slayer. The trumpets sounded, and the contest commenced-it was but of brief duration. The horsemen came in a cloud, and charged with the most desperate impetuosity-we resisted for a small space, but at length were broken like a cobweb, and the hilltop and the neighbouring heath were dyed with blood. I remembered not in my wrath the last words of the sacred preacher ;-my sword-the swords of my three fair sons, and those of thy younger brethren, bore token of our courage in God's cause. We were chased from the field-we gained the shelter of a thick mist, which had settled along the line of hills, and we continued our retreat to this wild and unfrequented glen. "Alas! we were not unobserved-a dozen of the fiercest of the horsemen had followed us on the spur, and from a distant hill saw where we sought refuge; for the mist had cleared away, and the descending sun shone out fair and bright. We sought shelter in this cold and desolate chamber, where an anchoret lived of yore, and where the outlaw of Durisdeer found refuge, and where many dissolute and dubious characters make resort. We thanked the Giver of all good for protecting us from the sword; took our helmets from our heads, and the corslets from our bosoms, and drank water from that little well, and bathed our brows, hot with battle and with flight, in the rivulet. We were joined by two more of the congregation. We had obtained some refreshment from a shepherd, and were preparing for worship when we heard the sound of voices approaching. I looked out and observed the helmets of six troopers moving slowly along the side of the stream, and heard them urging a diligent and scrupulous search for some of the most desperate of the Covenanters, who had sought concealment among the caverns. returned to my sons, and enjoined silence, with the hope that our pursuers would not find us; but in a moment we observed their plumes coming nodding up the little rough ascent to our chamber. We drew our swords, and with a shout flew upon them just as they gained the entrance. They discharged their carbines-the I balls missed, and dinted deep in the rock; behold the marks they made; and ere they could use their other weapons we were upon them with cut and stab, and prevailed against them, and slew them. Success now made us insolent and vain ; we offered up no thanks for our victory, but resolved with the twilight to leave the glen, and seek shelter in the wild hills of Galloway. In a fatal hour we left this little abode, and walked towards the entrance of the glen: the sun had been sometime down, the moon was yet unrisen-it was that pleasant time between light and dark which men call the gloaming. We had reached a little round knoll of greensward, partly encompassed by the stream in the gorge of the linn, and there we stood holding a low and cautious consultation. My youngest son, my dark haired Adam, touched my hand, and taking me a step aside, whispered, Father, let us either go bravely forward or swiftly back; there are armed men in that little thicket before us.' Even while he spoke, several carbines flashed from the bushes, and thy two brothers, and two of my sons fell; our enemies raised a loud shout, and four in number rushed out upon us, discharging their pistols as they advanced. It was not courage-it was not rage-it was not devotion-it was not love of my children-but all together that made me rush upon them; a strength more than my own was in me, and none could withstand me. But I fought for victory when victory was no longer desirable. My elder children were mortally wounded, and my youngest, who had fought by my side, and saved my life, had just strength to say, 'Oh! my mother,' and dropt dying at my feet. One, and one only of my enemies escaped, and lives to be pitied of God and man. On that little knoll were my three fair sons and thy two brothers buried; thy sister never smiled nor held up her head again; and three flat tomb-stones mark out their lowly abode to the devout passenger who visits this melancholy glen." My own tears, and the tears of his only daughter fell fast during this moving and remarkable tale; he took my hand, and said, "let us go home, my brother, a tale such as mine is a miserable welcome to a stranger. I have scarce any better cheer to offer, but let us be meek and content." We descended from the cavern, and walked down the margin of the stream, till we approached the little burial knoll; the figure of a man lay stretched and motionless upon it. "Behold," said the Cameronian, "behold the slayer of my youngest son. I had vowed a vow to seek him over the earth, and slay him wherever I found him; but revenge is mine, saith the Lord.' Even as with pistols in my girdle, and a sword at my side, I had reached the threshold of my own door to seek his destroyer, behold there came a man running, almost naked, and with yellings on his tongue, as if something evil held him in chace. He saw me, and cried, Oh! save me, save me,' and I took him into my house and warmed him, and gave him food. And he cried and said, 'there is blood on my hands which no one can wash out. I hear always the sound as of one running after me, crying, " Ho! kill and slay him, for he slew the son of Luke Lorance; he spared not the darling of the old man's bosom, smite him and slay him." And I looked upon the man and knew him, and I rose from my seat, laid my hand on my sword, and I shook exceedingly; my wife flew to my bosom, clasped her arms around me, for she saw death and judgment in my looks, and said in a low voice: Luke, if ye reverence Him above, smite not this wretched man; the Lord hath stricken him with madness, and hath sent him to thy door to show thee how just his judgments are.' So I sat down again, and the man looked stedfastly at me for a moment, and uttering a groan, he threw himself at my feet, placed my right foot on his neck, and besought the saints to receive his spirit. And I was moved and forgave him; and ever since he has dwelt with me-he carries me wood, and he brings me water; he sleeps at my hearth, for a bed he will not touch; and should we call him at midnight or morn, he is ever ready to answer and obey. If he deprived me of a fair son, he preserved the life of my sweet daughter-how strange God's ways seem to man. She was on a visit to the lady of Ae, it was midnight, and she slept in an upper chamber; the house caught fire, and was wrapt in flame when the cry of my daughter was heard-and there was none dared to rescue her. This poor and miserable man was alarmed by the flash of the light on the window where he lay; he came as if wings had been given him, startled the crowd through which he broke with a yell, and ran up the turret stair; wrapped Martha in the bed clothes, descended the same way, though the stair stones were crackling under his feet, and placed her on his knees on the green, and wept and laughed with immeasurable joy. He knows that he has long had my forgiveness; nay, that he has won my love yet let the night be ever so rough and wild, you will find him at twilight, where you see him now, stretched upon the graves of my children, uttering moans, and making lamentations. I hope he has found mercy in God's eyes, and that his reason will be restored before he sleeps in the grave which I wish soon to be laid in."-As we passed the little knoll, he rose to his knees, took a small cross from his bosom, held it up between him and the sky, and the sound of his loud and bewildered prayer followed us to the threshold of Luke Lorance, the Cameronian. ON THE DIVERSITY OF OPINIONS WITH REGARD TO LIKENESSES IN PORTRAITS. WHEN a portrait-painter has once advanced to the merit or fortune of being fashionable, his labours are smooth and pleasant enough. He paints with a name, and is admired by law. The question with his patrons is not, a head of an acquaintance, or a whole-length of a friend; but a portrait by Mr. Varnish. He looks his sitters in the face with confidence, neither confounded by beauty, nor intimidated by ugliness. He commits to canvass the exact pig's-head of a certain nobleman without offence, and copies out the eyes of the lovely countess as much to her satisfaction as her glass. "Who is that?" you ask-pointing to the head of a man, or a woman, or a child. "That is Mr. Varnish,' you hear, and there can be no further question. It is a very different sort of business, however, with the less favoured professors of the art, with those who are required to make likenesses as well as portraits. To transcribe literally the most impracticable countenances, to fulfil the expectations of fastidious beauty, the alarms of captious ugliness, to to pacify satisfy the partialities of blind or microscopic affection, and finally, to conciliate unanimity among the most obstinate elements of disagreement, are tasks requiring no common degree of skill, fortitude, and patience. There is no subject, perhaps, reasonable variations and caprices, on which opinion runs into more unthan on this of likenesses in portraits; a fact which is the more extraordinary, seeing that the matter is referable to definite rules and certain grounds of comparison. We may allow people to differ as they please, whether Miss Juliet is as handsome as her cousin, or whether blue eyes are more beautiful than black. These are points, interesting fancy, not to be controlled by any as they may be, of mere taste and law, test, or measure. finity of the Alderman's mouth, and But the inthe bulk and bearings of his nose, are with as much precision as the width questions of geometry, determinable Beachy Head. Nevertheless, comof the Thames, or the prominence of mit these objects to paper in their just proportions-aye, even to an inch, and you shall find not two of his acquaintance agree to recognise in them their friend the Alderman. The fact is, that eyes, nose, and ant marks from which many persons mouth, are among the least importfaces. Strangers, indeed, naturally derive their impressions of certain judge from these great cardinal signs, and they judge alike. Those who know nothing of a man but his face will very readily concur in one verdict on his likeness, if an artist do but tolerable justice to the broad forms and arrangement of his features. Of the fifty thousand people who look upon Mr. Stock, as he walks from his house to the Exchange, there will not probably be three who see any thing in his face but a pair of red eyes, and a strange, lawless mouth, kept open by a sort of tusks instead of teeth. With the multitude, Miss A- is invariably an elderly gentlewoman, sallow, and squinting a little; while Mr. Cis, without exception, a plain, blacklooking man, with a hook nose. These individuals, however, bear a very different aspect in the estimation of their friends. In several parts of Northamptonshire, Miss A- - is said to be still pretty; and that lady herself, with all her experience, wonders at nothing so much as to hear people call Mr. C plain. In countenances with which we are very familiar, we often perceive a variety of minute and indefinable casts of expression, many hints and shadows of meaning, spirit, or affection, that are hidden from a hasty or indifferent observer. "That is the best part of beauty," says Lord Bacon, "which a picture cannot express,-no, nor a first sight of the life." These deep secrets, these intimacies of the countenance, if I may call them so, have nothing to do with its grosser attributes, as a thing of eyes, nose, and other features-yet, being connected frequently with certain characteristic peculiarities of understanding, tem per, and feeling, they are inseparably blended with all our thoughts and knowledge of an individual, and we consider them indispensable in any portrait that assumes to be a just representation of him. Hence spring all the anxieties and perplexities of the unfortunate artist. It is his fate to please nobody, because he fails to seize upon with precision, not the plain elements of which every head is composed, but those mysterious lineaments, and fragile looks, which no one pretends to define or explain, but which all concur in understanding as indescribable "somethings," "nameless what shall we call 'em," "je ne scais quoi's," with other loose definitions which, whatever they may be, are certainly not amenable to brush and canvas. He may make a perfect copy of all that he sees, and all that the whole world sees, in a face; and yet meet with nothing but dissatisfaction and abuse on the part of his employer, because he has omitted to notice some unutterable piece of fancy-work, the sign perhaps of a moment, perceptible only by two people on earth, and by them only at chosen periods, probably, when it pleases the gentleman to put on some unimaginable description of smile. He may effect all that in the nature of things he can reasonably contend or hope for, and yet reap nothing but disappointment. "Yes," a lady will say, "I freely admit all that you contend for-the eyes are like, and the nose, and the mouth, and the chin—I cannot deny it-the hair too, and the shape of the head, are to the life-and yet, altogether, I can-not look at that face, and fancy it my husband." The artist may derive some comfort in his disgraces, when he remembers, that there is no more unanimity on the subject of living likenesses, than on the essays of his art. The grounds of difference are the same in either case. Every observer is either blind to what others see, or sees something that escapes their notice. You think that the Admiral is the very picture, in vulgar phrase, of his brother; but, rely upon it, you will find no one else that sees the slightest resemblance between them. You know, and will readily admit, that the faces of the two have in every feature a distinct form and character; but are ignorant, it may be, that their perfect resemblance is made out in your eyes merely by a slight movement of the head in talking, which they have in common, and which nobody but yourself has taken the trouble to make himself familiar with. The human face has often been compared to a book, and, among other resemblances, it is in the same manner liable to be so encumbered with the “notæ variorum,” so disguised by new readings, and curious analysis, that Nature herself might fail to know her own work, in the representations of her commentators. What an infinite variety of opinions and feelings there is about |