44 10 639 https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/97df358782283c4479fb5d7fdc54c696.jpg 1281c8e27e7dadca7b1b097d648ae2bc Omeka Image File The metadata element set that was included in the `files_images` table in previous versions of Omeka. These elements are common to all image files. Bit Depth 8 Channels 3 Height 191 Width 850 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The History of Cinderella, or the Little Glass Slipper, to which is added, the Babes in the Wood Subject The topic of the resource Fairy Tales Chapbook, Scottish Chapbooks-Scotland-Glasgow Description An account of the resource Scottish chapbook containing two fairy tales: 1.The History of Cinderella, or the Glass Slipper 2. Babes in the Wood Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1840-1850 per National Library of Scotland Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collection, libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9923331943505154">s0384b13</a> Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Scotland Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. The Little Glass Slipper The Babes in the Woods Extent The size or duration of the resource. 24 pages 16 cm Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/6c6ef94c7bc0992f4771b3b5457c6770.jpg 3e2231392e1c2cba353ac23fd994f569 Omeka Image File The metadata element set that was included in the `files_images` table in previous versions of Omeka. These elements are common to all image files. Bit Depth 8 Channels 3 Height 786 Width 903 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The History of Cinderella, or the Little Glass Slipper, to which is added, the Babes in the Wood Subject The topic of the resource Fairy Tales Chapbook, Scottish Chapbooks-Scotland-Glasgow Description An account of the resource Scottish chapbook containing two fairy tales: 1. The History of Cinderella, or the Glass Slipper 2. Babes in the Wood Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1840-1850 per National Library of Scotland Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collection, libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9923331943505154">s0384b13</a> Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Scotland Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. The Little Glass Slipper The Babes in the Wood Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/02c3a89dcd622600a417ed774b5a099c.jpg 2be809299eafc12a38961600ad59a615 Omeka Image File The metadata element set that was included in the `files_images` table in previous versions of Omeka. These elements are common to all image files. Bit Depth 8 Channels 3 Height 1911 Width 1259 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The History of Cinderella, or the Little Glass Slipper, to which is added, the Babes in the Wood Subject The topic of the resource Fairy Tales Chapbook, Scottish Chapbooks-Scotland-Glasgow Description An account of the resource Scottish chapbook containing two fairy tales: 1. The History of Cinderella, or the Glass Slipper 2. Babes in the Wood Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario Canada Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9923331943505154">s0384b13</a> Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Scotland Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. The little glass slipper The babes in the wood https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/a6e56dd49ce57bcf20c27e05a80a2ef2.pdf aa67bd1c6e82c8235c0191c34fc34332 https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/1ab73df536273576e53c7f5e653acfb2.jpg ffcbe1f7dda52ccdbe040fd3d79bba66 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Illustration on title-page (enclosed in a rectangular border composed of a single line) of a man and woman dancing in a ballroom with onlookers in the background. https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/898c8faf708fea69c4db26f9622a1079.jpg 96ad330d9fdea592a18f262a779d0986 https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/31709122deb942692901908762655172.jpg 5249fcab37529a2ad6287c7b7fbb98d8 https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/7cd89a21ae198fc025fb863339da267d.jpg 327859240c53c47b3915acbbc55fcce0 https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/1b1b9a8f532af9e9093b3fc5098c1b84.jpg 817a12f5affa20dc82e65b70334db0be https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/66c51d46ef913cbb6ddf0f63fe55beae.jpg 6cd47877286f7044464370699989032e https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/7691683fd8479efe54ee9ef26f2ed939.jpg 17c63ea13b7f6bc1fa0a1180642e3140 https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/95d874cff14c3760439fe96cb656026a.jpg 1a7e1ea7a71c8a35c6e383695f9a6612 https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/5bf190f6d1ec696a8d9d3236d97de80e.jpg 9e601370b7c1ef990a559449d4683aee https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/81a52fda067701bed800265f9c34dbda.jpg d6d7ecfae2f12f6d3a2d1fd038d59ab5 https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/b229c1f26dd3f070641b7227c01b43ac.jpg 65bb14d989e24a0a8c03dafe6c2e416b https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/21b1557c7aacecddf1ca848fd5b6cbf4.jpg 32fe0f03acd342f11e390379346810f6 https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/ffb53d1e4b00ed3d9b133ebdd3278086.jpg 59f7365d9bd05971f12f31c69203db46 https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/f5ca18f1349d48b4856ff208a435066c.jpg c9ea8e6f657300c51f876a81ff4e5329 https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/76eca60be3ae0277658ae80a2cbdb096.jpg 27a2071c7ae979dfa7e1d3bf000801bc https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/21a6e0c6f3b55a8d40f9f37792a5e51c.jpg 2ad125053a983ab6c27cfb60befc3ab3 https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/90cea9b142ac39c338b61a7585b634d7.jpg ec30b705a98ec7f18b8f911ddeb8fd12 https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/c342c8cc8d5f0346a7a101942307eea8.jpg 45dc50f6fea302af295ea4677d72c86e https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/c991bd5916eeccf695837dd3004f624d.jpg 98b733125e9de413407a4e7a749210c3 https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/a2f74066ff0ca4dfd36b11c6df9f3a4b.jpg 7d577543d6cd2e14a6c2f7a041292e7a https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/dc42b8f101fee704d5e3aeba387f3760.jpg e034d948b4cd2d0b2e83dab32e9f9125 https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/27ad90dfcbb9ba2ff4653f2ff055aad4.jpg 63e0c4b66517b96ad1ccf7a05267b6ac https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/45356b089b5b9ce20dc4a8aa65ec5b22.jpg b6ee967bb54e2617b08e7cd028437f5f https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/fced6b1630690f327f32bfec03175cb2.jpg 6756a47663111c7e80a8f73b732260ee Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut 080_a: Title-page illustration in a single ruled rectangular border of a man and woman dancing in a ballroom with onlookers in the background. Document A resource containing textual data. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The History of Cinderella, or the Little Glass Slipper. New and Improved Series no. 45 Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. Hop-'O-My-Thumb New and Improved Series no. 45 Little glass slipper Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Perrault, Charles, 1628-1703 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1852 Extent The size or duration of the resource. 24 pages Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9923331933505154">s0094b27</a> Description An account of the resource Price One Penny printed at the bottom of the title-page. Advertisment for other titles in this, and other series on p. 24: "Histories, Religious Tracts, Song Books...Sold by all Booksellers" Woodcut #80_a: Illustration on title-page (enclosed in a rectangular border composed of a single line) of a man and woman dancing in a ballroom with onlookers in the background. Abstract A summary of the resource. Part of a series of fairy tales printed by the booksellers. This chapbook tells the classic fairy tale of Cinderella, which has several illustrations throughout. This tale is followed by a second fairy tale titled Hop-O’-My-Thumb, which appears to be a composite tale featuring many of the classic elements from tales such as Tom Thumb, Hansel and Gretel, and Jack and the Bean Stalk, among others. Subject The topic of the resource Courtship and Marriage Chapbooks - Scotland - Glasgow Is Referenced By A related resource that references, cites, or otherwise points to the described resource. <a title="University of Glasgow Union Catalogue of Scottish Chapbooks" href="http://special.lib.gla.ac.uk/chapbooks/search/">University of Glasgow Union Catalogue of Scottish Chapbooks</a> Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario Type The nature or genre of the resource fairytale/folk lore # of Woodcuts: 11 Activity: dancing Bib Context: title-page Chapbook Date: 1851-1860 Chapbook Genre: fairytale/folk tale Chapbook Publisher - Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Gender: man/men Gender: woman/women Indoor Scene Object: candle(s) Object: clock(s) https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/aec476fe16a14ee95028220e244fe19b.pdf cdb371b4bb64188525b938a3633302dc PDF Text Text D FOR THE BOOKSELLERS. THE H I S T O R Y OF CINDERELLA, L I T T L E G L A S S SLIPPER. TO WHICH IS ADDED, THE BABES IN THE WOOD. GLASGOW: 9 ��CINDERELLA, OR, THE LITTLE GLASS SLIPPE THERE was once a very rich gentleman who lost his wife; and having loved her exceedingly, he was very sorry when she died. Finding himself quite unhappy for her loss, he resolved to marry a second time, thinking by this means he should be as happy as before. Unfortunately, however, the lady he chanced to fix upon was the proudest and most haughty woman ever known; she was always out of humour with every one; nobody could please her, and she returned the civilities of those about her with the most affronting disdain. She had two daughters by a former husband, whom she brought up to be proud and idle: indeed, in temper and behaviour they perfectly resembled their mother; they did not love their books, and would not learn to work; in short, they were disliked by every body. The gentleman on his side too had a daughter, who, in sweetness of temper and carriage, was the exact likeness of her own �4 mother, whose death he had so much lamented, and whose tender care of the little girl he was in hopes to see replaced by that of his new bride. But scarcely was the marriage ceremony over, before his wife began to show her real temper; she could not bear the pretty little girl, because her sweet obliging manners made those of her own daughters appear a thousand times the more odious and disagreeable. She therefore ordered her to live in the kitchen; and, if ever she brought any thing into the parlour, always scolded her till she was out of sight. She made her work with the servants, in washing the dishes, and rubbing the tables and chairs: it was her place to clean madam's chamber, and that of the misses her daughters, which was all inlaid, had beds of the newest fashion, and looking-glasses so long and broad, that they saw themselves from head to foot in them; while the little creature herself was forced to sleep up in a sorry garret, upon a wretched straw bed, without curtains, or any thing to make her comfortable. The poor child bore all this with the greatest patience, not daring to complain to her father, who, she feared, would only reprove her, for she saw that his wife governed him entirely. When she had done all her work �5 she used to sit in the chimney corner among the cinders; so that in the house she went by the name of Cinderbreech : the youngest of the two sisters, however, being rather more civil than the eldest, called her Cinderella. And Cinderella, dirty and ragged as she was, as often happens in such cases, was a thousand times prettier than her sisters, drest out in all their splendour. It happened that the kings son gave a ball, to which he invited all the persons of fashion in the country : our two misses were of the number; for the king's son did not know how disagreeable they were ; but supposed, as they were so much indulged, that they were extremely amiable. He did not invite Cinderella, for he had never seen or heard of her. The two sisters began immediately to be very busy in preparing for the happy day: nothing could exceed their joy; every moment of their time was spent in fancying such gowns, shoes, and head-dresses as would set them off to the greatest advantage. All this was new vexation to poor Cinderella, for it was she who ironed and plaited her sisters' muslins. They talked of nothing but how they should be dressed. " I," said the eldest, " will wear my scarlet velvet with French trimming." " And I," said the youngest, " shall wear the same petticoat I �6 had made for the last ball: but then to make amends for that, I shall put on my gold muslin train, and wear my diamonds in my hair; with these I must certainly look well." They sent several miles for the best hairdresser that was to be had, and all their ornaments were bought at the most fashionable shops. On the morning of the ball they called up Cinderella to consult with her about their dress, for they knew she had a great deal of taste. Cinderella gave them the best advice she could, and even offered to assist them in adjusting their head-dresses; which was exactly what they wanted, and they accordingly accepted her proposals. While Cinderella was busily engaged in dressing her sisters, they said to her, " Should you not like, Cinderella, to go to the ball ?" " A h ! " replied Cinderella, " you are only laughing at me; it is not for such as I am to think of going to balls." "You are in the right," said they: " folks might laugh indeed to see a Cinderbreech dancing in a ball-room." Any other than Cinderella would have tried to make the haughty creatures look as ugly as she could; but the sweet-tempered girl, on the contrary, did every thing she could think of to make them look well. The sisters had scarcely eaten any thing �7 for two days, so great was their joy as the happy day drew near. More than a dozen laces were broken in endeavouring to give them a fine slender shape, and they were always before the looking-glass. At length themiuch- wished- for moment arrived: the proud misses stepped into a beautifulcarriage,and followed by servants in rich liveries, drove towards the palace, Cinderella followed them with her eyes as far as she could; and when they were out of sight, she sat down in a corner and began to cry. Her, godmother, who saw her in tears, asked what ailed her. " I wish 1 w-i-s-h—," sobbed poor Cinderella without being able to say another word. The godmother who was a fairy, said to her, " You wish to go to the ball, Cinderella; is not this the truth?" " Alas ! yes," replied the poor child, sobbing still more than before. " Well, well, be a good girl," said the godmother, "and you shall go." She then led Cinderella to her bedchamber, and said to her, " Run into the garden and bring me a pumpion." Cinderella flew like lightning, and brought the finest she could lay hold of. Her godmother scooped out the inside, leaving nothing but the rind; she then struck it with her wand, and the pumpion instantly became a fine coach �8 gilded all over with gold. She next looked into her mousetrap, where she found six mice all alive and brisk: she told Cinderella to lift up the door of the trap very gently; and as the mice passed out, she touched them one by one with her wand, and each immediately became a beautiful horse of a fine dapple grey mouse-colour. " Here, my child," said the godmother, "is a coach and horse too, as handsome as your sisters': but what shall we do for a postilion ?" " I will run," replied Cinderella, "and see if there be not a rat in the rat-trap; if I find one, he will do very well for a postilion." " Well thought of, my child!" said her godmother; " make what haste you can." Cinderella brought the rat-trap, which to her great joy, contained three of the largest rats ever seen. The fairy chose the one which had the longest beard, and touching him with her wand, he was instantly turned into a smart handsome postilion, with the finest pair of whiskers imaginable. She next said to Cinderella, " Go again into the garden, and you will find six lizards behind the watering-pot; bring them hither." This was no sooner done, than, with a stroke from the fairy's wand, they were changed into six footmen, who all immediately jumped up behind the coach in �9 laced liveries, and stood side by side as cleverly as if they had been used to nothing else the whole of their lives. The fairy then said to Cinderella, "Well, my dear, is not this such an equipage as you could wish for to take you to the ball ? Are you not delighted with it ?" "Y-e-s," replied Cinderella with hesitation ; "but must I go hither in these filthy rags ?" Her godmother touched her with the wand, and her rags instantly became the most magnificent apparel, ornamented with the most costly jewels in the whole world. To these she added a beautiful pair of glass slippers, and bade her set out for the palace. The fairy, however, before she took leave of Cinderella, strictly charged her on no account whatever to stay at the ball after the clock had struck twelve; telling her that, should she stay but a single moment after that time, her coach would again become a pumpion, her horses mice, her footmen lizards, and herfineclothes be changed tofilthyrags. Cinderella did not fail to promise all her godmother desired of her; and, almost wild with joy, drove away to the palace. As soon as she arrived, the king's son, who had been informed that a great princess whom nobody knew, was come to the ball, �10 presented himself at the door of the carriage, helped her out, and conducted her to the ball-room. Cinderella no sooner appeared than every one was silent; both the dancing and the music stopped, and every body was employed in gazing at the uncommon beauty of this unknown stranger: nothing was heard hut whispers of " How handsome she is!" The king himself, old as he was, could not keep his eyes from her, and continually repeated to the queen, that it was a long time since he had seen so lovely a creature. The ladies endeavoured to find out how her clothes were made, that they might get some of the same pattern for themselves by the next day, should they be lucky enough to meet with such handsome materials, and such good work-people to make them. The king's son conducted her to the most honourable seat, and soon after took her out to dance with him. She both moved and danced so gracefully, that every one admired her still more than before, and she was thought the most beautiful and accomplished lady ever beheld. After some time a delicious collation was served up: but the young prince was so busily employed in looking at her, that he did not eat a morsel, Cinderella seated herself near her sisters, �11 paid them a thousand attentions, and offered them a part of the oranges and sweatmeats with which the prince had presented her; while they on their part were quite astonished at these civilities from a lady whom they did not know. As they were conversing together, Cinderella heard the clock strike eleven and three quarters: she rose from her seat, curtsied to the company, and hastened away as fast as she could. As soon as she got home she flew to her godmother, and, after thanking her a thousand times, told her she would give the world to be able to go again to the ball the next day, for the king's son had entreated her to be there. While she was telling her godmother every thing that had happened to her at the ball, the two sisters knocked a loud rat-tattat at the door, which Cinderella opened. "How late you have staid!" said she, yawning, rubbing her eyes, and stretching herself as if just awaked out of her sleep, though she had in truth felt no desire to sleep since they left her. " If you had been at the ball," said one of the sisters, " let me tell you, you would not have been sleepy: there came thither the handsomest, yes, the very handsomest princess ever beheld! She paid us a thousand �12 attentions, and made us take a part of the oranges and sweatmeats the prince had given her." Cinderella could scarcely contain herself for joy: she asked her sisters the name of this princess: to which they replied, that nobody had been able to discover who she was; that the king's son was extremely grieved on that account, and had offered a large reward to any person who could find out where she came from. Cinderella smiled, and said, "How very beautiful she must be! How fortunate you are! Ah, could I but see her for a single moment! Dear Miss Charlote, lend me only the yellow gown you wear every day, and let me go and see her." " O h ! yes, I warant you; lend my clothes to a Cinderbreech! Do you really suppose me such a fool? No, no; pray, Miss Forward, mind your proper business, and leave dress and balls to your betters." Cinderella expected some such answer, and was by no means sorry, for she would have been sadly at a loss what to do if her sister had lent her the clothes that she asked of her. The next day the two sisters again appeared at the ball, and so did Cinderella, but dressed much more magnificently than the night before. The king's son was continually by her �13 side, and said the most obliging things to her imaginable. The charming young creature was far from being tired of all She agreeable things she met with : on the contrary, she was so delighted with them, that she entirely forgot the charge her godmother had given her. Cinderella at last heard the striking of a clock, and counted one, two, three, on till she came to twelve, though she had thought that it could be but eleven at most. She got up and flew as nimbly as a deer out of the ball-room. The prince tried to overtake her; but Cinderella's fright made her run the faster. However, in her great hurry, she dropped one of the little glass slippers from her foot, which the prince stooped down and picked up, and took the greatest care of it possible. Cinderella got home tired and out of breath, in her dirty old clothes, without either coach or footman, and having nothing left of her magnificence but the fellow of the glass slipper which she had dropped. In the meanwhile, the prince had enquired of all his guards at the palace gates, if they had not seen a magnificent princess pass out, and which way she went ? The guards replied, that no princess had passed the gates; �14 and that they had not seen a creature but a little ragged girl, who looked more like a beggar than a princess. When the two sisters returned from the ball, Cinderella asked them if they had been as much amused as the night before, and if the beautiful princess had been there ? They told her that she had; but that as soon as the clock struck twelve she hurried away from the ball-room, and in the great haste she made, had dropped one of her glass slippers, which was the prettiest shape that could be; that the king's son had picked it up, and had done nothing but looked at it all the rest of the evening; and that every body believed he was violently in love with the handsome lady to whom it belonged. This was very true; for a few days after, the prince had it proclaimed by sound of trumpet, that he would marry the lady whose foot should exactly fit the slipper he had found. Accordingly the prince's messengers took the slipper, and carried it first to all the princesses ; then to the duchesses: in short, to all the ladies of the court,---but without success. They then brought it to the two sisters, who each tried all she could to squeeze her foot into the slipper, but saw at last that this was quite impossible. �15 Cinderella, who was looking at them all the while, and knew her slipper, could not help smiling, and ventured to say, " Pray, sir, let me try to get on the slipper." Her sisters burst out a laughing in the rudest manner possible:—" Very likely, truly," said one of them, "that such a clumsy foot as your's should fit the slipper of a beautiful princess." The gentleman, however, who brought the slipper, turned round, looked at Cinderella, and observing that she was very handsome, said, that as he was ordered by the prince to try it on every one till it fitted, it was but just that Cinderella should have her turn. Saying this, he made her sit down; and putting the slipper to her foot, it instantly slipped in, and he saw that itfittedher like wax. The two sisters were amazed to see that the slipper fitted Cinderella: but how much greater was their astonishment, when she drew out of her pocket the other slipper and put it on! Just at this moment the fairy entered the room, and touching Cinderella's clothes with her wand, made her all at once appear more magnificently dressed than they had seen her before. The two sisters immediately perceived �16 that she was the beautiful princess they had seen at the ball. They threw themselves at her feet, and asked her forgiveness for the ill treatment she had received from them. Cinderella helped them to rise, and, tenderly embracing them, said that she forgave them with all her heart, and begged them to bestow upon her their affection. Cinderella was then conducted, drest as she was, to the young prince, who finding her more beautiful than ever, instantly desired her to accept of his hand. The marriage ceremony took place in a few days; and Cinderella, who was as amiable as she was handsome, gave her sisters magnificent apartments in the palace, and a short time after married them to two great lords of the court. THE END �THE BABES IN THE WOOD. A GREAT many years ago, there lived in the county of Norfolk a gentleman and his lady. The gentleman was brave, generous, and honourable; and the lady gentle, beautiful, and virtuous : they were beloved by all who knew them, and were blessed with two children, a boy and a girl. The boy was only about three years old, and the girl not quite two, when the gentleman was seized with a dangerous malady, and the lady, in attending her beloved husband, caught the contagion. Notwithstanding every medical assistance their disorder daily increased, and as they expected to be soon snatched away from their little babes, they sent for the gentleman's brother, and gave the darlings into his care. " A h ! brother," said the dying man, " you see I have but a short time to live; yet neither death nor pain can pierce my heart with half so much anguish as what I feel at the thought of that these dear babes will do without a parent's care. Brother they will have none but you to be kind to them, to see them clothed and fed, and to teach them to be good." �18 " Dear, dear brother," said the dying lady, " you must be father, mother, and uncle too, to these dear innocent lambs. First let William be taught to read; and then he should be told how good his father was. And little Jane, —Oh! brother, it wrings my heart to talk of her; think of the gentle usage she will need, and take her fondly on your knee, brother, and she and William too will pay your care with love." " How does it grieve my heart to see you, my dear relatives, in this mournful condition ! replied the uncle. "But be comforted, there may yet be hopes of your welldoing : but should we have the misfortune to lose you, I will do all you can desire for your darling children. In me they shall find father, mother, and uncle; but, dear brother, you have said nothing of your wealth." " H-e-r-e, h-e-r-e, brother, replied he, is my will, in which 1 have provided for my dear babes." The gentleman and his lady then kissed their children, and a short time after they both died. The uncle, after sheding a few tears, opened the will, in which he found, that to William was bequeathed three hundred pounds a-year, when he became of age, and to little Jane five hundred pounds in gold on her marriage day. But if the children �19 should chance to die before coming of age, then all their wealth was to be enjoyed by their uncle. The will of the unfortunate gentleman next desired, that he and his beloved wife should be buried side by side in the same grave. The two little innocents were now taken to the house of their uncle, who, for some time, recollecting what their parent said so sorrowfully upon their death-bed, behaved to them with great kindness. But when he had kept them about a twelvemonth, he by degrees forgot to think both how their parents looked when they gave their children to his care, and the promises he made to be their father, mother, and uncle, all in one. After a little more time had passed, the uncle could not help thinking that he wished the little boy and girl would die, for he should then have all their wealth for himself; and when he had begun to think this, he went on till he could think scarcely of any thing else; and at last, says he to himself, It will not be very difficult for me to kill them, so as nobody knows any thing of the matter, and then their gold is mine. When the barbarous uncle had once brought his mind to kill the helpless little creatures, he was not long in finding a way to execute his cruel purpose. He hired two sturdy ruffians, who had already killed many �20 travellers in a dark thick wood, at some distance, and then robbed them of their money. These two wicked creatures agreed, for a large reward, to do the blackest deed that ever yet was heard of; and the uncle began to prepare every thing accordingly. He told an artful story to his wife, of what good it would be to put the children forward in their learning ; how he had a relation in London who would take the greatest care of them. He then said to the innocent children, " Should you not like, my pretty ones, to see the famous town of London, where you, William, can buy a fine wooden horse to ride upon all day long, and a whip to make him gallop, and a fine sword to wear by your side ? And you, Jane, shall have pretty dolls, and pretty pincushions, and a nice gilded coach shall be got to take you there." " Oh, yes, I will go, uncle," said William, " Oh, yes, I will go, uncle," said Jane; and the uncle, with a heart of stone soon got them ready for their journey. The unsuspecting little creatures were a few days after put into afinecoach,and with them the two inhuman butchers, who were soon to end their joyful prattle, and turn their smiles to tears. One of them served as coachman, and the other sat between little William and little Jane. �21 When they had reached the entrance to the dark thick wood, the two ruffians took them out of the coach, telling them they might now walk a little way, and gather flowers; and, while the children were skipping about like lambs, the ruffians turned their backs on them, and began to consult about what they had to do. " In good truth," says the one who had been sitting all the way between the children, "now I have seen their cherub faces, and heard their pretty speech, I have no heart to do the bloody deed; let us fling away the ugly knife, and send the children back to their uncle." " That I will not," says the other; "what boots their pretty speech to us? And who will pay us for being so chicken-hearted ?" At last the ruffians fell into so great a passion about butchering the innocent little creatures, that he who wished to spare their lives, suddenly opened the great knife he had brought to kill them, and stabbed the other to the heart, so that he fell down dead. The one who had killed him was now greatly at a loss what to do with the children, for he wanted to get away as fast as he could, for fear of being found in the wood. He was not, however, long in determining that he must leave them in the wood, to the �chance of some traveller passing by. " Loo ye, my pretty ones," said he, "you must each take hold and come along with me." The poor children each took a hand, and went on, the tears bursting from their eyes, and their little limbs trembling with fear. Thus did he lead them about two miles further on in the wood, and then told them to wait there till he came back with some cakes. William took his sister Jane by the hand, and they wandered fearfully up and down the wood. " Will the strange man come with some cakes, Billy?" says Jane, " Presently, dear Jane," says William. And soon again, " I wish I had some cakes, Billy," said she; and it would have melted a heart of stone to have seen how sorrowfully they looked. After waiting very long, they tried to satisfy their hunger with black-berries; but they soon devoured all that were within their reach; and night coming on, William, who had tried all he could to comfort his little sister, now wanted comfort himself; so when Jane said once more, "How hungry I am, Billy, I b-e-l-i-e-v-e I cannot help crying," —William burst out crying too; and down they lay upon the cold earth, and putting their arms round each other's neck, there theystarved, and there they died. Thus were these pretty little innocents �murdered; and as no one knew of their death so no one sought to give them burial. The wicked uncle, supposing they had been killed as he desired, told all who asked after them an artful tale of their having died in London of the small pox; and accordingly took possession openly of their fortune. all this did him very little service, for soon after his wife died; and being very unhappy, and always thinking too that he saw the bleeding innocents before his eyes, he neglected all his business; so that, instead of growing richer, he every day grew poorer. His two sons, also, who had embarked for a foreign land, were both drowned at sea, and he became completely miserable. When things had gone on in this manner for years, the ruffian who took pity on the children, committed another robbery in the wood, and being pursued by some men, he was laid hold of, and brought to prison, and soon after was tried at the assizes, and found guilty—so that he was condemned to be hanged for the crime. As soon as he found what his unhappy end must be, he sent for the keeper of the prison, and confessed to him all the crimes he had been guilty of in his whole life, and thus declared the story of the pretty innocents; telling him at the same time, in what part of the wood he had left them to starve. �24 The news of the discovery he had made soon reached the uncle's ears; who being already broken-hearted for misfortunes that had befallen him, and unable to bear the load of public shame that could not but await him, lay down upon his bed and died that very day. No sooner were the tidings of the fate of the two children made public, than proper persons were sent to search the wood; when, after many fruitless endeavours, the pretty babes were at length found stretched in each other's arms, with William's arm round the neck of Jane, his face turned close to her's, and his frock pulled over her body. They were covered all over with leaves, which in all that time never withered; and on a bush near this cold grave a Robin-Redbreast watched and chirped: so that many gentle hearts still think that pretty bird did bring the leaves which made their grave. FINIS. � https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/f5d8796b3b4f16f5c5d1048baee9b2ec.jpg 3b6260d0b9a51fe01f5fb7028726be78 Omeka Image File The metadata element set that was included in the `files_images` table in previous versions of Omeka. These elements are common to all image files. Bit Depth 8 Channels 3 Height 3357 Width 1891 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Illustration on title-page of a large two story house with smoke blowing out of its chimney. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut 054_a: Illustration on title-page of a large two story house with smoke blowing out of its chimney. Document A resource containing textual data. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The history of Cinderella, or, the little glass slipper. To which is added, The Babes in the Wood.&nbsp;<span><br /></span> Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1840-1850 per University of Glasgow Union Catalogue of Scottish Chapbooks Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9923331943505154">s0384b13</a> Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Glasgow, Scotland Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. The Babes in the Wood Extent The size or duration of the resource. 24 pages 16 cm Description An account of the resource 9 is printed at the bottom of the title-page Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph libaspc@uoguelph.ca 519-824-4120 Ext 53413 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Type The nature or genre of the resource fairytale/folk lore Subject The topic of the resource Chapbooks - Scotland - Glasgow Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario # of Woodcuts: 2 Architecture: house Bib Context: title-page Chapbook Date: 1841-1850 Chapbook Genre: fairytale/folk tale Chapbook Publisher - Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Outdoor Scene https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/b04c2a0d34d889968f18640fe4f0f215.jpg 6f528157ae8fe1cc0045f3835168214d Omeka Image File The metadata element set that was included in the `files_images` table in previous versions of Omeka. These elements are common to all image files. Bit Depth 8 Channels 3 Height 3016 Width 1951 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Illustration on the title-page of a mountainous island with a town at the base. In the foreground are four sail boats in the water. https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/98ab9c20fdfd0e75d3c88d3543f18fe2.pdf c6851dd05af70d9b8baa6f4278ec0b1b PDF Text Text T O W H I C H IS ADDED A COLLECTION OF SONGS, PRINTED GLASGOW : FOR THE BOOKSELLERS �7 1 YH0T8IH 3HT I ' 'JI I ir-- c r a a a / si h o i h t t ot ,£OMO8 ''-u k c i t q s i j o o X ; wOO^JO' ziiiT H01 CL-IT/HOT �D O W A li D AND HIS f DOG. Atween twa hills that tower 5 d up to the clouds, Clad o'er with heather, bent, and wuds ; 'Mang rocks, and steeps, and waters fallingj W a s Highland Donald's humble dwelliug. Aroun 5 his hut, beneath his eye, F e d bout a score o' stirks and key, W h i l k , wi* his wife and family, were His pleasure and pecular care: A m a n g sic barren heights and howes, W h a r grain for food but scanty grows, His family were but sparely f e d — Right coarse, and barely were they clad ; For he had wi' the laird for years Had, 6 aginst his will been in arrears F o r whilk he had to thole the snarl A n d threats o' the tyrannic carl Till D o n a l d s independent spirit �4 Nae 1 auger was resolved to bear it, And hardships was resolved to s c o r n As the saying- is, ( to mak< a spoon or spoil & horn.4 He shrewd and clever was, I trow; Spak 4 Gaelic weel, and Lawlan's, too ; And, as he was an honest chiel ? By a4 his neighbours liket weel. A e day—contrivin' what to dae T o keep himsel' aboon the brae— A plan he modell'd in his head, And thus it down before them laid - That twa weeks hence in England, there W a d be a great black cattle fair. W h a r kye as he learnt frae men o* dealings Gied double price gi'en in the Highlands. Now if, wi' what he could himsel Spare safely frae his flock to sell, They wad mak' up a drove amang them, He pledged his word he w«adna wrang them? But render, at his comin' back ? A just account o' ilka plack; Allowing him for recompense Some sma' commission a n d ' s expense/ On this they quickly greed to gia �5 Oat o' their flocks some tWa, some three Till a handsome drove colleckit, And to the south his way direckit. He mounted was upon a pony, A dog his servant was, and crony ; And by his side, like ony lord, There hung a braid sheep-headed sword— No as a weaqon o' offence; But, in case o' need, for self-defence ; For they wha liket, rich or poor, Might wear a sword in days o' yore. Baith ear' and late—baith wat and d r y — The dog and Donald drave the.kye ; And, after muckle toil and care A ' safe and sound they reached the fair. The kye were said—the price was paid-— 'Twas down in yellow guineas laid ; The guineas in his purse was sneekit— The price was mare than he expeckit. W h i l k raised his heart—and I wat wee! He thought himsel' a clever chiel. Instead o' Donald longin' careless About the fair, to keek at fairlies, Or bouze wi limmers, or to gamble, Or spend his cash in ony ramble, �6 He wisely mounts bis Highland shelly, And took the road 011 helty skelty. A s he rode on and cracked his wimp, A gentleman came riding up, Wha bade ? Good day,' wi friendly air, And spiered ' if he'd been at the fair ?' When Donald, without vain parade, Returned him thanks, and said 4 hejiad y And a' his business, tap and tail 0% When at the fair, he tauld the hale o't. Right crouse they grew wi' ane auither, And mony stories tauld to itlier, Bout kings an' priests an' great commanders The wars in Britain, France, and Flanders. When mony mile's they'd rode in league, They in a hollow reached a brig Across a burn, tljat ran wi' ease Down through a glen adorned wi' trees.; Now 'twas a bonnie summer's day, When a' the fields were clothed and gay, They stopped, and dropped there tales arid jo kin', Their horses' lowing drouth to slokeri, And greed some little time to pass, To let them rest and eat some grass. �Now, as Donald and his comrade sat Upon the green, they resumed their chat; And Donald's dog before their 'feet Lay stretched, and panting \vi' the h e a t — And Donald's sword, which he did carry Beneath his hodden-grey havarry, The Englishman's attention Seized, B e begged a sight o% if he pleased Wliilk Donald drew and frankly gave him, In confidence he'd not deceive him. The billy thanked him for the sight o't, Then praised the size the mak, an weight o't And asked at Donald, on his word, If maist he trusted to the dog or sword, Supposing the case, that any pad Should demand the money that he had ? 4 The sword,' quoth DonAld, 41 can wield, And should sic wretch, by road or field, E'er daur demand frae me a shilling, I'd plunged with freedom in the villain ; Y e t nevertheless, for a' my cracks o't, I wadna gie the dog for sax o ' t W i ' this the fellow, at the word, Chapped aff the dog's head with the sword ; Syne pointed it to Donald's heart, �8 At id svro^e lie with his cash should part, Or instantly, with stabs and cuts, He'd pierce his heart and rip his guts. ' 01" says Donald, 4 spare my life, For sake o' my poor weans and wife! IIae, there's the cash; but wi' what shame And grief maun I face friends at hame I They'll no believe a word o't neither— Lord help's, we're ruined a thegither I' 4 Stop.' says the fellow* 'cease your c r y i n g ; Y o u r friends will not suppose you lying ; They will believe what you say to them, B y evidence^ which you shall give them F k m ever man I rob I've credit, By giving me his hand I did i t ; My comrades and I together This token give to one another ; So one of your hands must go with me So take your choice, which shall it be. 4 My dog is gane and darling purse, And now my hand —still worse and worse Hae mercy on me " Donald prays, Ml be a beggar a{ my days. 4 ' N o mercy for you, ' cried the wretch; Come, down wi't—.I'll make quick dispatch �9 « W e e l then/ says Donald, 4 I submit) But ae repiiest grant, if it's fit; That is, since my left hand must go, Drive't aff at ae most desperate blow ; N o on the saft green, there perhaps Ye'll pine me sair by several chaps, But ye'll at ance mair siccar do't On yonder smooth tree*s spreading root.4 Puir Donald's prayer was heard, he then Made bare his left hand shackle-bane, And on the tree root laid it quaking ; The robber now his aim was taking— Baith hands raised the vengfu' whittle, And, as he drew with awful ettle, Sly Donald slipped his arm a-jee, When firm the sword stuck in the tree. 4 Have at ye now, ye cruel wretch, 4 Quoth Donald, 4 I am now your match V W i t h that he caught him by the collar, Gied him a jerk that garred him gollar ; Donald4s blood boiled in a passion, He gied his face a horrid bashin, His cravate Donald squeesed sae tight, That faith he strangled him inaist outright. B y this means Donald manned to ma k �10 His hands secure ahirit his back, Syne on the horse he put the billy, His feet he tied beneath his belly; T h e dog, whom Donald mourned full sore, A frightfu' sight of reeking gore, He on ahint the fellow placed Across the hurdies of the beast. Syne, Donald's triumph to evince, He mounts his horse proud as a princesBrandished the sword, and dared the blade T o move his hands, feet, tongue, or head; That if be did, he warned him now Up to the hilt he'd run him through, Sae on th e road they moved alang, And Donald crooned a Highland,sang; They reache'd the town, folks were surprised The rober soon was recognized; The magistrates they brawly kent him, For mair nor ance he'd been foment them. For mony years his deeds of horror Had kept baith far and near in terror, For whilk, whae'er wad apprehend him. And to the nearest prison send him. W ad he entitled to regard, And twenty guineas of reward, �u Whilk Donald got in word and deed, With honours heaped upon hig head. The rober, too got his reward— s I Stern Justice at him awfu' stared; Guilt and remorse his bosom stung, Hence he was tried, condemned, and hung, Rauld Donald soon arrived at hame, Paid aff his laird and ilka claim ; Mair o' him y e ' d tire to hear me tell, But he was soon a laird himsel, Y e t ne'er forgot the awfu' shock, When his left hand lay on the block. END OE DONALD A N D HIS DOG �12 NEGRO AND COMIC SONGSTERLUCY jr. LONG Twas away down old Virginny, A nigger used to dwell, She was a handsome yaller girl, Dis darkle knew her well. O such a lubly creature As you shall plainly see, Much better than a Wenus, x\nd bery much like me. 0, take* your time Miss Lucy, Lublv Lucy Long, Roc the cradle, Lucy, While I sing you anoder song. Talk about your Taglioni, And say she jumps so high, Miss Lucy lept a fiye-barr'd gate, Made all de Niggas fly; And when eber Lucy trabels She always leave de mark Ob her footsteps in de grable, Y o u can see dem in de dark.—Oh, &cv Miss Lucy she is handsome, All ober she is chaste Just five yards round de shoulders And six yards round de waist; �13 Oh, 1 does like ^at'iiigg^ wellf I tink she does like mo, And if I had her by my side, How happy I should be ; I like de white one an dp black, And ebery one ob de rest, I like dat one dat does like me, But I like myself de best.—Oh, etc;, LUCY NEAL. AS SUNG 13Y M R . BARLOW I was born in Alabama, My massa name was Deal, He used to own a yaier gal, Her name was Lucy Neal, My massa he did iseli me, Because he thought I'd steal, Which caused a separation, Ob myself and Lucy Neal. Oh ! poor Lucy Neal Oh ! poor Lucy iNeal; If I had her by my side, Ho\? happy I should feel. One night the nigger gave a ball Miss Lucy danced a reel But none was dare dat could compare; W i d my sweet. Lucy Neal She used to go out wid us7 T o pluck cotton in de fief And dcre is where I fell in lub' Wid my sweet Lucy Neal �14 Oh poor L a c y Neal'&c. One day I got a letter And jet black was the seal; It was cle'nouncment ob de death Ob my poor Lucy Neal. Oh my poor Lucy Neal, &c. Dey bore her from my bosom, But de wound dey cannot heal; And my heart, my heart is breaking. For I lub'd sweet L u c y Neal. Oh, yes, when I am dying, And dark visions round me steal, De last low murmur ob dis life Shall be sweet Lucy Neal. Oh, poor Lucy Neal, &c. OLD DAN TUCKER. I cum to town de oder night, I heard a noise and seed a sight * De folks were all running roun, Crying ole Dan Tucker's come to town. Den get out ob de way, G et out ob de way, Get out ob de way ole Dan Tucker, You're too late to come to supper. W e are de boys from ole Virginni, And take de shine from Paganiiini, W i d our ole banjo and jaw-bone, V e drive all oder music home. He war one ob de real ole stock, And wid his head cpuld split a hose block * �15 For de wool dat he shave off his head W ould make a bery good feather bed ; White folk treat de nigger well If dey do not cut too great a swell, And talk about amalgamation, Disgustin' ting to ebcry nation. A n Indian hoosier came to town. He swalled a molasses hogshead down. The hoops flew off and de hogshead bust A n'he went up in a thunder gust. Tucker was a nice ole man, He used to ride 011 a steam engine; One night he laid across de track, A n de locomotive came and broke hisback T H E OLD JAWBONE. De jawbone hung ober log-hut fire— Jawbone de ting I most admire, And when at night my work am done Jawbone an I can hab some fun. Dance jowbone wid your turkey too, Neber mind my looking at you. I neber make dat jawbone swing, But all de bells begin to ring, But if I cut a caper or two, Jawbone always dances too. Dance, etc. Jawbone and Joe will neber part, Jawbone al ways in my heart; For my old fader gabe it me, As a gen wine jawbone legacy, » Dance, etc. �i6 Dace when de flame was burning bright O, what a sight I seed that n i g h t — I fancy the jaw-bone a lubly wraith W i d de face ob my Dinnah underneath. Dance, &c. O, how my heart went pit a pee, I blushed at her she blushed at me ; But de faut was hers I'm certain sure, For I know she lub'd dat N i g next doo^ Dance, etc. THE LASS O' G O W K IE. T w a s on a s i m m e r ' s a f t e r n o o n , A w e e b e f o r e t h e s u n g a e d down, M y lassie, w r a braw new g o w n , G a m e o ' e r t h e hills to G o w r i e . T h e r o s e - b u d t i n g ' d wi' m o r n i n g s h o w e r s , B l o o m ' d f r e s h within t h e s u n n y b o w e r s , B u t K i t t y was t h e f a i r e s t f l o w e r T h a i e v e r b l o o m ' d in G o w r i e . 1 p r a i s ' d h e r beauty loud and.lang, T h e n r o u n d h e r w a i s t m y a r m s I thing, A n d s a i d , " M y l a s s i e , will y o u gangT o view t h e C a r s e o ' G o w r i e I ' l l taJce y o u t o m y f a t h e r ' s l i a ' , I n y o n g r e e n field b e s i d e t h e s h a w , A n d m a k e y o u l a d y o ' t h e m a', T h e b r a w e s t wife in G o w r i e . S a f t k i s s e s o n h e r lips I l a i d , T h e blush upon her cheek soon s p r e a d ; S h e w h i s p e r ' d m o d e s t l y , and s a i d , " I'll g a n g wi' y o u t o G o w r i e . " T h e auld folk soon g a v e their consent, A n d to Mess John*we'quickly went, W h a t i e d us t o our h e a r t ' s c o n t e n t , A n d now she's L a d y G o w r i e �IT TAM U IB A X D T H E SOW. Quo' Nell, ray wife, the itlier clay, Provisions they are cheap, man ; A n d for the trifle it wid tak', A sow we weei miclit keep, man, Indeed, says i, my dearest Nell, I've just been thinking sae mysel', And since we've on the notion fell, I'll just gang down to Matiie Broon This afternoon aud very soon Bring hame yin in a rape man. Sae in my pouch I put the rape And down to Matties went man, Resolved to hae a gude yin wault, Reflections to prevent man. A s soon's as I enterd Mattie's door, She blythely met me on the floor, And kindly questioned speerta score, Aboot mysel, the barns and Nell, Nor can I tell what cracks befei, Ere my errent it wa kent man. But when auld stories a' were telt, And aiblins something new man, I faun 'twas time that I should* mak' Some mention o'the sow man. When I my errant did unfauld, I faun the young anes a' were sauld, But gin 1 liked to tak the auld, W i ' a' her heart she'd send her cart, She weel conld spare't, I thanked her for't, But out the rape I drew, man. �IS Sae round dame grumphy's hindsome ;eg The rape I soon did tie, man, And wi' supple birken twig, I drave her out o' the sty man ; W i ' Mat tie straught 1 bade gu<ie e'en, . And briskly to the road we tane • Bnt scarcely fifty yards we'd gaoe, When madam sow impatient grew, ^nd soon I trow, made me to rue, That her I chanced to buy, man. For being o< the female breed, She proved a stubborn jade, man ; W e r e I to flee the brute alive, She'd aye bae her ain road, man. J wanted east, but she'd be wast, O r any way she liked best, A n d did my brains sae fairly pest; Till in my wraith * wi' mony an aith, 1 vowed her skaith, and kicked her bait I , A n d gart her squeak aloud man. But though pig's flesh it never mair Should be my lot to pree, man ; I vow and swear an it her sow Will ne'er be bought by me, man. A s laug's there heering in Lochfine, I'll ne'er want*kitchen when I dine, And henceforth bid adieu to swine • O ' nae sic gear the price I'll speer, Nor stan' the sneer and taunting jeer. That I frae neeboius dree.man. �19 THE JOLLY BEGGAR. T h e r e was a joUie b e g g a r , and a b e g g i n ' he wasbor.n', A nd he took up his quarters into a landwart town. A n d we'll g a n g nae mair a-rovin', A - r o v i n ' in the n i g h t , A n d we'll g a n g nae mair a-.rovin', L e t the moon shine ne'er sae b r i c h t . He wad neither lie in b a r n , nor y e t wad he in b y r e , B u t in ahint the h a ' door, or else afore the tire. A n d we'll g a n g nae mair a-rovin', & c . T h e b e g g e r ' s bed was m a d e at e'en wi' g u d e clean straw and h a y , A n d in ahint the h a ' door, and t h e r e t h e b e g g a r lay. A n d we'll g a n g nae mair a-rovin', & e . Up rose the g u d e man's dochter, and f o r to b a r the door; • > : • A n d there she saw tire b e g g a r Stan din' i' the floor. A n d we'll g a n g nae mair a - r o v i n ' , & c . He took the lassie in his arms, and off with h e r he ran O , hoolie, hoolie, wi* me, s i r ; ye'll wauken our g u d e man.' A n d we'll g a n g * n a e mair a-rovin 5 , & c . T h e b e g g a r was a c u n i n ' l o o n , and ne'er a word he spak Untill the c o c k b e g a n to craw ; syne he b e g a n to c r a c k . A n d we'll g a n g nae mair a-rovin', &p. I s there ony dowgs into this town ? maiden, tell me t r u e A n d what wad y e do wi' them, m y hinnie and my dow ? A n d we'll g a n g nae mair a - r o v i n ' , & e . T h e y ' l l r v v e a' m y m e a l - p o c k s and d o m e mickle wrang, O h , dule f o r t h e dooin' o't, are y e t h e p o o r man, A n d we'll g a n g nae mair a - r o v i n , & c . T h e n she took up the m e a l - p o c k s , and f l a n g them o'er the wa' T h e deil g a e wi' the meal p o c k s an' t a k yersel' awa' A n d we'll g a n g n a e mair a-rovin', <$rc. I t o o k y e f o r some g e n t l e m a n , at least the laird o ' B r o d i e O h , dule f o r the doin' o't are y e the pnir bodie, A n d we'll g a n g nae mair a-rovin', & e . He took t h e lassie in his arms, and g a e her kisses three A n d four an' twenty h u n d e r m e r k s f o r h a v i n ' made so free. A n d we'll g a n g nae mair a - r o v i n ' , & c . �20 A n d he t o o k out his little knife, loot a' his duddies fa', A n d he was t h e brawest g e n t l e m a n t h a t was a m a n g them a'. A n d we'll g a n g nae mair a-rovin', &e< T h e b e g g a r was a clever loon, and he lap slioutherhicht, A n d aye for siccan quarters as I g a t yesternight. A n d we'll g a n g nae mair a - r o v i n , & e . l i e took a horn frae his side and blew b a i t h loud and shrill, A n d four and twenty belted k n i c h t s came s k i p p i n ' o w e r the hill. A n d we'll g a n g nae mair a-rovin'^ & c . SHIVER AND SHAKE!. A l l you wlio're fond, in spite of price* N f pastries, creams, and jellies nice, B e cautious how y o u t a k e an ice, W h e n e ' e r y o u ' r e o v e r warm. A m e r c h a n t who f r o m India came, A n d s h i v e r - a n d - S h a k e y was his name, A p a s t r y c o o k did once entice, T o take a cooling, luscious ice. T h e w e a t h e r h o t e n o u g h to kill, K e p t t e m p t i n g him to eat until I t g a v e his corpus such a chill, H e n e v e r a g a i n felt warm. Shiver-and-Shakey, O, O, 0 , C r i m i n y c r i c k e y , isn't it cold ? W o o , woo, woo, woo, oo, 00, 00, B e h o l d the man t h a t couldn't g e t warm. Close to a b l a z i n g fire he g o t , A n d t o o k t o d r i n k i n g b r a n d y hot, A n d sent for doctors, such a lot, T h e man t h a t couldn't g e t warm. W e r e c o m m e n d e d ehamois leather. JFlannel, shoes o f I n d i a - r u b b e r , M u s t a r d , chillis, and c a y e n n e , B u t n o t h i n g s e e m ' d t o warm the m a n ; A n d when the doctors t o o k their fees, I t chill'd their blood full twelve degree*, �21 A n d realty made t h e i r fingers f r e e z e — T h e man t h a t couldn't g e t warm. Shiverr-and-Shakerv, <5fc. His room was h o t e n o u g h t o bake, A n d y e t he still with cold did ache, N a y , made t h e s e r v a n t s s h a k e and quake, T h e man t h a t couldn't g e t warm. T h e n u r s e r y - m a i d , t h e scullion, cook, E ' e n John and C o a c h m a n shiver'd and shook, A n d ail k e p t crying^ n i g h t and m o r n i n g , " Y e really must g i v e m a s t e r y a r n i n g . " W h a t ' s worse, his wife b e g a n to pout, A n d left his house quite chilled no doubt, F o r it even frose his g a r d e n e r out, T h e m a n t h a t c o u l d n ' t g e t warm. Shiver-and-Shakey, &c. T h e n he with g r i e f filled to the brim, R e s o l v e d to g o a b r o a d b y steam, B u t not a ship would mOve with him, T h e man t h a t c o u l d n ' t g e t warm. H e went in the e n g i n e - r o o m I'm t o l d , A n d g a v e the s t o k e r sudden cold, C o n d e n s e d the steam, which stopped the wheel?. A n d g a v e t h e p a s s e n g e r s t h e chills. T h e vessel i c e - b o u n d seemed, and so T h e captain shiv'ring f r o m top t o toe, A f f i r m ' d on shore a g a i n must g o , T h e man t h a t c o u l d n ' t g e t warm. Shivery-and-Shakery, O, O, O, I say, messmates, isn't it c o l d ?" Woo, woo, &e. T h e m o r n i n g a f t e r he was drowned, W h i l e in a hot bath, and they found T h e w a t e r f r o z e n all around T h e man t h a t couldn't g e t warm. A j u r y p r o v e d it in a triee, H e died of u n d i g e s t e d i c e — A n d t h e n the foreman, P a t r i c k R i c e , T h e v e r d i c t g a v e , with this advice, - Q c h , have i c e - c r e a m s w h e n e ' e r you will^ �22 B u t do not eat t h e m till y o u ' r e ilL A n d always first t a k e off t h e chill, A n d swallow y o u r ices warm.'"' Shiver-and-Shakery, &c, THE CORK LEG A T a l e I now tell without any flam, I n Holland dwelt M y n h e e r Y o n C l a m , "Who every morning said I am T h e richest m e r c h a n t in R o t t e r d a m , R i too ral, & c . O n e day he s t u f f d him full as an e g g , W h e n a poor relation came to b e g ; B u t he k i c k ' d him out without b r o a c h i n g a k e g A n d in k i c k i n g him out he b r o k e his r i g h t leg. R i too ral, & c , A n artist in R o t t e r d a m , 'twould seem, H a d made c o r k l e g s his s t u d y and theme ; E a c h j o i n t was as s t r o n g a s an iron b e a m T h e s p r i n g s a c o m p o u n d of c l o c k w o r k and steam, R i too ral, & c . T h e l e g was made and fitted right I n s p e c t i o n th' artist did i n v i t e ; T h e fine shape g a v e M i n h e e r g r e a t delight, A s he fixed it ©11 and s c r e w ' d it tight. R i too ral, & c . H e walk'd t h r o u g h squares, and past each.shop, O f speed he went to the v e r y t o p ; E a c h step he t o o k with a bound and a hop, B u t he found his l e g he could n o t stop. R i too ral, & c . H o r r o r and f r i g h t were in his face, T h e n e i g h b o u r s t h o u g h t he was r u n n i n g a r a c e H e c l u n g to a p o s t t o stay its jiace, B u t the l e g , remorseless, k e p t up the chase. R i t o o ral, & c . T h e n he call'd to some men with all his m i g h t , " O h , stop this l e g or I'm m u r d e r e d q u i t e , " B u t t h o u g h they heard him aid invite, I n less than a minute he was out of sight. R i too ral, & c . �23 He ran o'er hill, and dale, and plain, T o ease his weary b o n e s he fain D i d throw himself down, but all in vain. T h e l e g g o t up, and was off again. R i t o o ral, & c . H e walk'd of days and nights a score, O f E u r o p e he had made the t o u r ; H e died.—but t h o u g h he was no more, T h e l e g w a l k ' d on t h e same as beforp. ; R i top ral, & c . I n Holland he sometimes c o m e s to sight. A skeleton on a c o r k l e g t i g h t ; N o cash did t h e artist's skill requite. H e n e v e r was paid and it serv'd him right R i too ral, & c . M y tale I ' v e told, b o t h plain and t r e e ; O f the richest m e r c h a n t t h a t could b e ; W h o never was b u r i e d t h o u g h dead, we see, A n d I've b e e n s i n g i n g his L , E , G . R i too ral, & e . LORD LOYEL. L o r d L o v e l h e stood at his castle g a t e , C o m b i n g his m i l k - w h i t e steed, W h e n up came L a d y N a n c y Bell, T o wish h e r lover g o o d speed, speed, speed, W i s h i n g h e r lover g o o d speed. O h , where are y o u g o i n g , L o r d L o v e l ? she cried O h r where are y o u g o i n g said she, I ' m g o i n g m y L a d y N a n c y Bell. S t r a n g e countries f o r to see, see, see, & c . W h e n will y o u b e b a c k L o r d L o v e l ? she said O h , when will y o u be b a c k ? said she, I n a y e a r or two or t h r e e at most, I'll r e t u r n to my fair N a n c y , - c y , - c y , & c . B u t he h a d not b e e n g o n e a y e a r and a day, S t r a n g e countries f o r to see, W h e n l a n g u i s h i n g t h o u g h t s come into his h e a d L a d y N a n c y Be'll he would g o see, see, see, & c �24 S o he he r o d e a n d he r o d e op hjis m i l k - w h i t e hors® T e l l he c a m e t o L o n d o n town : A n d t h e r e he h e a r d S t . P a u e r a s * bell t o l l : A n d t h e p e o p l e all m o u r n i n g r o u n d , & c . O h w h a t is t h e m a t t e r f L o r d L o v e l he said, O h w h a t is t h e m a t t e r ? said he. A L o r d ' s l a d y is d e a d , t h e women r e p l i e d A n d s o m e call h e r lady Naney-rCy-rCy, <Sgc. S o he o r d e r e d t h e g r a v e t o b e o p e n e d wide A n d t h e s h r o w d he t u r n e d down. A n d t h e r e h e kissed h e r c l a y c o l d lips, Till t h e t e a r s c a m e t r i c k l i n g d o w n , L a d y N a n c y she L o r d Lovel he L a d y N a n c y she L o r d L o v e l he died a s it m i g h t b e t o - d a y , died as to m o r r o w died o u t of p u r e p u r e g r i e f , died out o f s o r r o w , & c . L a d y N a n c y was laid in St. I^aiiei'as c h u r c h Vai d, L o r d L o v e l was laid is t h e c h o i r . A n d o u t of h e r b o s o m t h e r e g r e w a r e d r o s e . A n d out of h e r l o v e r ' s a b r i a r - r i a r , & e . I f g r e w and it g r e w t o t h e c h u r c h s t e e p l e t o p A n d t h e n it could g r o w n o h i g h e r , S o then it entwined in a t r u e lover's, k^iyt. F o r all t r u e lovers t<) a d m i r e r rier, rier, THE END. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut 051: Title-page illustration of a mountainous island with a town at its base. In the foreground are four sail boats in the water. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The history of Donald and his dog, to which is added a collection of songs Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1840-1850 per National Library of Scotland Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9923331983505154">s0384b14</a> Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Glasgow, Scotland Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Extent The size or duration of the resource. 24 pages 15 cm Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph libaspc@uoguelph.ca 519-824-4120 Ext 53413 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Type The nature or genre of the resource ballads & songs Subject The topic of the resource Chapbooks - Scotland - Glasgow Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario # of Woodcuts: 1 Architecture: city view Bib Context: title-page Chapbook Genre: ballads & songs Chapbook Publisher - Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Nature: cloud(s) Nature: mountain(s) Nature: ocean/sea Outdoor Scene Transportation: ship/boat(s) https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/b22b3bfc8548fa9655e09f01d8a934a1.jpg 3d9cf2e4ecfb49da4a70e65e4cd4489d Omeka Image File The metadata element set that was included in the `files_images` table in previous versions of Omeka. These elements are common to all image files. Bit Depth 8 Channels 3 Height 3484 Width 2008 https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/e8ff7114e22197e362a05a90b79e3834.pdf 292f8f80f080afa981855bb530e8df51 PDF Text Text m,. I �DUNCAN CAMPBELL D U N C A N C A M P B E L L came from the Highlands, when six years of age, to live with an old maiden aunt in Edinburgh, and attend the school. His mother was dead ; but his father had supplied her place by marrying his house-keeper Duncan did not trouble himself about these matters, nor indeed about any other matters, save a black foal of his father's, and a large sagacious colley, named Oscar, which belonged to one of the shepherds. —With his garter tied round Oscar's neck, and a piece of deal tied to his big bushy tail, Duncan would often lead him about the green, pleased with the idea that he was conducting a horse and a cart. Oscar submitted to all this with gi^at cheerfulness, but whenever Duncan mounted to ride on him, he found means instantly to unhorse him, either by galloping, or rolling himself on the green. When Duncan threatened him, he looked submissive, and licked his face and hands ; when he corrected him with the whip, he cowered at his feet; —matters were soon made up. Oscar would lodge nowhere during the night but at the door of the room where his young friend slept, and woe befel the man or woman who ventured to enter in at untimely hours* ��4 Duncan Campbell. When Duncan left his native home, he thought not of his father, nor of any of the servants. He was fond of the ride, and some supposed that he even scarcely thought of the black foal; but when he saw Oscar standing looking him ruefully in the face, the tears immediately blinded both his eyes. He caught him around the neck, hugged and kissed him. 'Good bye, Oscar,' said he, blubbering, * Good bye, God bless you, my dear Oscar !' Duncan mounted before a servant, and rode away. Oscar still followed at a distance, until he reached the top of a hill; he then sat down and howled. Duncan cried till his little heart was like to burst. c What ails you V said the servant. ' I will never see my poor honest Oscar again,' said Duncan, ' an* my heart canna bide it.' Duncan staid a year in Edinburgh, but he did not make great progress in learning. He did not approve highly of attending at the school, and his aunt was too indulgent to compel his attendance. She grew extremely ill one day—the maids kept constantly by her, and never regarded Duncan. He was an additional charge to them, and they never loved him, but used him harshly. It was now with great difficulty that he could obtain either meat or drink. Jn a few days after, his aunt was taken ill, and died. All was in confusion, and poor Duncan was like to perish with hunger :—he could find no person in the house ; but hearing a noise in his aunt's chamber, he went in, and beheld them dressing the corpse of his kind relation : it was enough: Duncan was horrified beyond what mortal breast was able to endure :—he hasted down the stairs, and ran along the High-Street and SouthBridge, as fast as his feet would carry him, crying incessantly all the way. He would not have entered that house again if the world had been offered him as a reward. Some peo*>le stopped him in �5 Duncan Campbell. order to ask what was the matter, but he could only answer them by exclaiming, Oh dear ! Oh dear!' and struggling till he got free, held on his course, careless whither he went, provided he got far enough from the horrid scene he had so lately witnessed. Some have supposed, and I believe Duncan has been heard to confess, that he then imagined he ^was running for the Highlands, but mistook the direction. However that was, he continued his course until he came to a place where two roads met, a little south of Grange Toll. Here he sat down, and his frenzied passion subsided into a soft melancholy —he cried no more, but sobbing excessively, fixed his eyes on the ground, and made some strokes in the dust with his finger. A sight just then appeared, which somewhat cheered, or at least interested his heavy and forlorn heart—-it was a large^ drove of Highland cattle. They were the only creatures like acquaintances that Duncan had seen for a twelvemonth, and a tender feeling of joy, mixed with regret, thrilled his heart at the sight of their white horns and broad dew-laps. As the van passed him, he thought their looks were particularly gruff and sullen; he soon perceived the cause, they were all in the hands of Englishmen ; poor exiles like himself; going far away to be killed and eaten, and would never see the Highland hills again. When they were all gone by, Duncan looked after them, and wept anew ; but his attention was suddenly called away to something that softly touched his feet; he looked hastily about—it was a poor hungry lame dog, squatted on the ground, licking his feet and manifesting the most extravagant joy. Gracious Heaven! it was his own beloved and faithful Oscar! starved, emaciated, and so crippled, that he was scarcely able to walk ! He was now doomed to be the slave of a Yorkshire peasant, (who, �6 Duncan Campbell. it seems, had either bought or stolen him at Falkirk,) the generosity and benevolence of whose feelings were as inferior to those of Oscar, as Oscar was inferior to him in strength and power. It is impossible to conceive a more tender meeting than this was ; but Duncan soon observed that hunger and misery were painted in his friend's looks, which again pierced his heart with feelings unfelt before. — c I have not a crumb to give you, my poor Oscar!' said he, tf I have not a crumb to eat myself, but I am not so ill as you are.' The peasant whistled aloud. Oscar well knew the sound, and clinging to the boy's bosom, leaned his head upon his thigh, and looked in his face, as if saying, ' O Duncan, protect me from yon ruffian.' The whistle was repeated, accompanied by a loud and surly call. Oscar-trembled, but fearing to disobey, he limped away reluctantly after his unfeeling master, who observing him to linger and look back, imagined he wanted to effect his escape, and came running back to meet him. Oscar cowered to the earth in the most submissive and imploring manner, but the peasant laid hold of him by the ear, and uttering many imprecations, struck him with a thick staff till he lay senseless at his feet. Every possible circumstance seemed combined to wound the feelings of poor Duncan, but this unmerited barbarity shocked him most of all. He hasted to the scene of action, weeping bitterly, and telling the man that he was a cruel brute, and that if ever he himself grew a big man he would certainly kill him. He held up his favourite's head that he might recover his breath, and the man, knowing that he could do little without his dog, waited patiently to see what would be the issue. The animal recovered, and staggered away at the heels of his tyrant, without daring to look behind him. Duncan stood still, but kept his eyes fixed �7 Duncan Campbell. eagerly upon Oscar, and the farther he went from him, the more strong his desire grew to follow him. He looked the other way, but all there was to him a blank—he had no desire to stand where he was, so he followed Oscar and the drove of cattle. The cattle were weary, and went slowly; and Duncan, getting a little rod in his hand, assisted the man greatly in driving them. One of the drivers gave him a penny, and another gave him twopence ; and the lad who had the charge of the drove, observing how active and pliable he was, and how far he had accompanied him on the way, gave him sixpence : this was a treasure to Duncan, who, being extremely hungry, bought three penny rolls, as he passed through a town; one of these he ate himself, another he gave to Oscar, and the third he carried below his arm, in casp of farther necessity. He drove all the day, and at night the cattle rested upon a height, which, by his description, seems to have been that between Gala Water and Middleton. Duncan went off at side in company with Oscar, to eat his roll; and taking shelter behind an old earthen wall, they shared their dry meat most lovingly between them. Ere it was quite finished, Duncan, being fatigued, dropped into a profound slumber, out of which he did not awake until the next morning was far advanced. Englishmen, cattle, and Oscar, all were gone. Duncan found himself alone on a wild height, in what country or kingdom he knew not. He sat for some time in a callous stupor, rubbing his eyes and scratching his head, but quite irresolute what was further necessary for him to do, until he was agreeably surprised by the arrival of Oscar, who (though he had gone at his master's call in the morning) had found means to escape and seek the retreat of his young friend and benefactor. Duncan, without reflecting on the consequence, rejoiced in the event, and thought of �8 Duncan Campbell. nothing less than furthering his escape from the ruthless tyrant who now claimed him. For this purpose he thought it would be best to leave the road, and accordingly he crossed it, in order to go over a waste moor to the westward. He had not got forty paces from the road, until he beheld the enraged Englishman running towards him without his coat, and having his staff heaved over his shoulder. Duncan's heart fainted within him, knowing it wa^all over with Oscar, and most likely with himself. The peasant seemed not to have observed then^ as he was running, and rather looked the other way; and as Duncan quickly lost sight of him in a hollow place that lay between them, he crept into a bush of heath and took Oscar in his bosom. The man had observed from whence the dog had started in the morning, and hasted to the place, expecting to find him sleeping beyond the old earthen dyke ; he found the nest, but the birds were flown: he called aloud; Oscar trembled and clung to Duncan's breast; Duncan peeped through his purple covert like a heath-cock on his native waste, and again beheld the ruffian coming straight towards them, with his staff still heaved, and fury in his looks ;—when he came within a few yards he bellowed out, ' Oscar, yho, yho !' Oscar quaked, and still clung closer to Duncan's breast; Duncan almost sunk in the earth ; ( D n him,' said the Englishman, 'If I had hold of him I should make both him and the little thievish rascal dear at a small price ; they cannot be far gone—I think I hear them ; ' he then stood listening, but at that instant a farmer came up on horseback, and having heard him call, asked him if he had lost his dog. The peasant answered in the affirmative, and added that a blackguard boy had stolen him. The farmer said that he met a boy with a dog about a mile forward. During this dialogue, the farmer's dog came d �V,- Duncan Campbell. 9 »p to Duncan's den, smelled upon him, then upon Oscar,—cocked his tail, walked round them growling, and then behaved in a very improper and uncivil manner to Duncan, who took all patiently, uncertain whether he was yet discovered. But so intent was the fellow upon the farmer's intelligence, that he took no notice of the discovery made by the dog, but ran off without looking over his shoulder. Duncan felt this a deliverance so great that all his other distresses vanished; and as soon as the man was out of his sight, he arose from his covert and ran over the moor, and ere it was long, came to a shepherd's house, where he got some whey and bread for his breakfast, which he thought the best meat he had ever tasted, yet shared it with Oscar. Though I had his history from his own mouth, yet there is a space here which it is impossible to relate with any degree of distinctness or interest, He was a vagaband boy, without any fixed habitation, and wandered about Heriot Moor, from one farm-house to another, for the space of a year ; staying from one to twenty nights in each house, according as he found the people kind to him. H e seldom resented any indignity offered to himself, but whoever insulted Oscar, or offered any obser-* vations on the impropriety of their friendship, lost Duncan's company next morning. He staid several months at a place called Dewar, which he said was haunted by the ghost of a piper. The piper had been murdered there many years before, in a manner somewhat mysterious, or at least unaccountable ; and there was scarcely a night in which he was tfiot supposed either to be seen or heard about the house. Duncan slept in the cow-house, and was terribly harassed by the piper, often hearing hi? scratching about the rafters, and sometimes groanm g �10 Duncan Campbell. like a man dying, or a cow that was choTked in the band; but at length he saw him at his side one night, which so discomposed him that he was obliged to leave the place, after being ill for many days. I shall give this story in Duncan's own words, which I have often heard him repeat without any variation. ' I had been driving some young cattle to the heights of Willensfie—it grew late before I got home. I was thinking, and thinking, how cruel it was to kill the poor piper ! to cut out his tongue, and stab him in the back. I thought it was no wonder that his ghost took it extremely ill; when, all on a sudden, I perceived a light before me :— I thought the wand in my hand was all on fire, and threw it away, but I perceived the light glide slowly by my right foot, and burn behind me; I was nothing afraid, and turned about to look at the light, and there I saw the piper, who was standing hard at my back, and when I turned round, he looked me in the face.' What was he like, Duncan V ' H e was like a dead body; but I got a short view of him ; for that moment all around me grew dark as a pit! I tried to run, but sunk powerless to the earth, and lay in a kind of dream, I do not know how long; when I came to myself, I got up and endeavoured to run, but fell to the ground every two steps. I was not a hundred yards from the house, and 1 am sure I fell upwards of a hundred times. Next day I was in a high fever : the servants made me a little bed in the kitchen, to which I was confined by illness many days, during which time I suffered the most dreadful agonies by night, always imagining the piper to be standing over me on the one side or the other. As soon as I was able to walk, I left Dewar, and for along time durst neither sleep alone during the night, nor stay by myself ia the day-time.' �11 Duncan Campbell. The superstitious ideas impressed upon Duncan's mind by this unfortunate encounter with the ghost of the piper, seem never to have been eradicated; a strong instance of the power of early impressions, and a warning how much caution is necessary m modelling the conceptions of the young and tender mind; for of all men I ever knew, he is the most afraid of meeting with apparitions. So deeply is his imagination minted with this startling illusion, that even the calm disquisitions of reason have proved quite inadequate to the task of dispelling it. Whenever it wears late, he is always on the look out for these ideal beings, keeping a jealous eye upon every bush and brake, in case they should be lurking behind them, ready to fly out and surprise him every moment; and the approach of a person in the dark, or any sudden noise, always deprives him of the power of speech for some time. After leaving Dewar, he went wandering about for a few weeks; and it appears that his youth, beauty, and peculiarly destitute situation, together with his friendship for his faithful Oscar, had interested the most part of the country people in his behalf, for he was generally treated with kindness. He knew his father's name, and the name of his house : but as none of the people he visited had ever before , heard of either the one or the other, they gave themselves no trouble about the matter. He staid nearly two years in a place he called Cowhaur, till a wretch, with whom he slept, struck and abused him one day. Duncan, in a rage, flew to the loft, and cut all his Sunday hat, shoes, and coat, in pieces ; and not daring to abide the consequences, decamped that night. He wandered about for some time longer among the farmers of Tweed and Yarrow ; but this life was now become exceedingly disagreeable to him. �12 Duncan Campbell. He durst not sleep by himself, and the servants did not always choose that a vagrant boy and his great dog should sleep with them. It was on a rainy night, at the close of harvest, that Duncan came to my father's house. I remember all the circumstances as well as the transactions of yesterday. The whole of his clothing consisted of one black coat only, which having been made for a full-grown man, hung fairly to his heels ; the hair of his head was rough, curled and weatherbeaten; but his face was ruddy and beautiful, bespeaking a healthy body, and a sensible feeling heart. Oscar was nearly as large as himself, had the colour of a fox, with a white stripe down his face, and a ring of the same colour round his neck, and was the most beautiful colley I have ever seen. My heart was knit to Duncan at the first sight, and I wept for joy when I saw my parents so kind to him. My mother, in particular, could scarcely do any thing else than converse with Duncan for several days. I was always of the party, and listened with wonder and admiration; but often have these adventures been repeated to me. My parents, who soon seemed to feel the same concern for him as if he had been their own son, clothed him in blue drugget, and bought him a smart little Highland bonnet; in which dress he looked so charming that I would not let them have peace until I got one of the same. Indeed, all that Duncan said or did was to me a pattern, for I loved him as my own ]ife. I was, at my own request, which he persuaded me to urge, permitted to be his bed-fellow, and many a happy night and day did I spend with Duncan and Oscar. As far as I remember, we felt no privation of any kind, and would have been completely happy, if it had ^Lot been for the fear of spirits. When the conversation chanced to turn upon the Piper of �13 Duncan Campbell. Dewar, the Maid of Plora, or the Pedlar of Thirlestane Mill,, often have we lain with the bed-clothes drawn over our heads until nearly suffocated. We loved the fairies and the brownies, and even felt a • little partiality for the mermaids, on account of their beauty and charming songs; we were a little jealous of the water-kelpies, and always kept aloof from the frightsome pools. We hated the devil most heartily, but we were not much afraid of him ; but a ghost! oh dreadful! the name ghost, spirit, or apparition, sounded in our ears like the knell of destruction, and our hearts sunk within us as if pierced by the cold icy shaft of death. Duncan nerded my father's cows all the summer—so did I— we could not live asunder. We grew fishers so expert, that the speckled trout, with all his art, could uiot ©lude our machinations ; we forced him from bis watery cove, admired the beautiful shades and purple drops that were painted on his sleeky sides, % d forthwith added him to our number, without m r&luefcance. We assailed the habitation of the wild bee, and rifled all her accumulated sweets, though not without encountering the most determined resistance. My father's meadows abounded with hiYes; they were almost in every swath-—in every hillock. When the swarm was large, they would beat us off, day after day. In all these desperate engagements, Oscar came to our assistance, and prorided that none of the enemy made a lodgment in his lower defiles, he was always the last combatant of our party on the field. I do not remember of ever being so much diverted by any scene I ever witnessed, or laughing so immoderately as I have done, at seeing Oscar involved in a moving cloud of wild bees, wheeling, snapping on all sides, and shaking his ears incessantly. The sagacity which this animal possessed is almost incredible, while his undaunted spirit and gen- �14 Duncan Campbell. erosity it would do honour to every servant of our own species to copy. Twice did he save his master's life : at one time when attacked by a furious bulj, and at another time when he fell from behind Oscar N my father, off a horse into a flooded river. had just swimmed across, but instantly plunged in a second time to his master's rescue. He first got hold of his bonnet, but that coming off, he quitted it, and again catching him by the coat, brought him to the side, where my father reached him. He waked Duncan at a certain hour every morning, and would frequently turn the cows of his own will, when he observed them wrong. If Duncan dropped his knife, or any other small article, he would fetch it along in his mouth, and if sent back for a lost thing, would infallibly find it. When sixteen years of age, after being unwell for several days, he died one night below his master's bed. On the evening before, when Duncan came in from the plough, he came from his hiding-place, wagged his tail, licked Duncan's hand, and returned to his death-bed. Duncan and I lamented him with unfeigned sorrow, buried him below the old rowan tree at the back of my father's garden, placing a square stone at his head, which was still standing the last time I was there. With great labour we composed an epitaph between us, which was once carved on that stone : the metre was good, but the stone was so hard, and the engraving so faint, that the characters, like those of our early joys, are long ago defaced and extinct. Often have I heard my mother relate with enthusiasm, the manner in which she and my father first discovered the dawnings of goodness and facility of conception in Duncan's mind, though, I confess, dearly as I loved him, these circumstances escaped my ob servation. It was my father's invariable custom to pray with the family every night before they retired to rest, to thank the Almighty for his kind- �15 Duncan Campbell. ness to them during the bygone day, and to beg his protection through the dark and silent watches of the night. I need not inform any of my readers that that amiable duty consisted in singing a few stanzas of a psalm, in which all the family joined their voices with my father's, so that the aouble octaves of the various ages and sexes swelled to the simple concert. He then read a chapter from the Bible, going straight on from beginning to end of the Scriptures. The prayer concluded the devotions of each evening, in which the downfall of Antichrist was always strenuously urged, the ministers of the gospel remembered, nor was any friend or neighbour in distress forgot. At one time, the year following, my father, in the course of his evening devotions, had reached the 19th chapter of the book of Judges; when he began reading it, Duncan was seated on the other side of the house, but ere it was half done, he had stolen up close to my father's elbow. Consider of it, take advice, speak your mind, said my father, and closed the book. Go on, go on, if you please, Sir, said Duncan, go on, and let us hear what they said about it. My father looked sternly at Duncan's face, but seeing him abashed on account of his hasty breach of decency, without uttering a word, he again opened the Bible, and read the 20th chapter throughout, notwithstanding of its great length. Next day Duncan was walking about with the Bible below his arm, begging of every body to read it to him again and again. This incident produced a conversation between my parents on the expenses and utility of education ; the consequence of which was, that, the week following, Duncan and I were sent to the parish school, and began at the same instant to the study of that most important and fundamental branch of literature, the A, B, C ; but my �16 Duncan Campbell. sister Mary, who was, older than I, was already an accurate and elegant reader. This reminds me of another anecdote of Duncan, with a regard to family worship, which I have often heard related, and which I myself may well remember. My father happened to be absent overnight at a fair; when the usual time of worship arrived, my mother desired a lad, one of the servants, to act as chaplain that night; the lad declined it, and slunk away to his bed. My mother testified her regret that we should be obliged to go prayerless to our beds for that night, observing that she did not remember the time when it so happened before. Duncan said he thought we might contrive to manage it amongst us, and instantly proposed to sing the psalm and pray, if Mary would read the chapter. To this my mother, with some hesitation, agreed, remarking, that if he prayed as he could, with a pure heart, his prayer had as good a chance of being accepted as some others that were better worded. Duncan could not then read, but having learned several psalms from Mary by rote, h« caused her to seek out the place, and sung the 23rd Psalm from end to end with great sweetness and decency. Mary read a chapter in the New Testament, and then (my mother having a child on her knee) we three kneeled in a row, while Duncan prayed thus: e O Lord, be thou our God, our guide and our guard unto death, and through death!' that was a sentence my father often used in prayer ; Duncan had laid hold of it, and my mother began to think that he had often prayed previous to that time.— ' O Lord, thou—' continued Duncan, but his matter was exhausted ; a long pause ensued, which I at length broke, by bursting into a loud fit of laughter. Duncan rose hastily, and without once lifting up his head, went crying to his bed; and as I continued to indulge in laughter, my mother, for my �17 Duncan Campbell. irreverent behaviour, struck me across the shoulders with the tongs•:; our evening devotions terminated exceedingly ill, I went crying to my bed after Duncan, even louder than he, and abusing him for his useless prayer, for which I had been nearly felled. By the time that we were recalled from school to herd the cows next summer, we could both read the Bible with considerable facility. But Duncan far excelled me in perspicacity ; and so fond was he of reading Bible history, that the reading of it was now our constant amusement. Often have Mary, and he, and I, lain under the same plaid, by the side of the corn or meadow, and read chapter about in the Bible for hours together, weeping over the failings and fall of good men, and wondering at the inconceivable might of the heroes of antiquity. Never was man so delighted as Duncan was when he came to the history of Sampson, and afterwards of David and Goliahj he could not be satisfied until he had read it with every individual with whom he wis acquainted, judging it to be as new and as interesting to every one as it was to himself. I have seen him steading by the girls as they were milking the cows, reading to them the feats of Sampson; and, in short, harassing every man and woman about the hamlet for audience; .On Sundays, my parents accompanied us to the fields, and joined in our delightful exercise. Time passed away, and so also did our youthful delights ! but other cares and other pleasures awaited us. As we advanced in years and strength, we quitted £he herding, and bore a hand in the labours of the farm. Mary, too, was often our assistant. She and Duncan were nearly of an age— he was tall, comely, and affable ; and if Mary was not the prettiest girl in the parish, at least Duncan and I believed her to be so, which with us �18 Duncan Campbell. amounted to the same thing. We often compared the other girls in the parish with one another, as to their beauty and accomplishments, but to think of comparing any of them with Mary, was entirely out of the question. She was, indeed, the emblem of truth, simplicity, and innocence, and if there were few more beautiful, there were still fewer so good and amiable; but still, as she advanced in years, she grew fonder and fonder of being near Duncan ; and by the time she was nineteen* was so deeply in love, that it affected her manner, her spirits, and her health. At one time she was gay and frisky as a kitten: she would dance, sing, and laugh violently at the most trivial incidents. At other times she was silent and sad, while a languishing softness overspread her features, and added greatly to her charms. The passion was undoubtedly mutual between them ; but Duncan, either from a sense of honour, or some other cause, never declared himself farther on the subject, than by the most respectful attention, and tender assiduities. About forty years ago the flocks of southern sheep, which have since that period inundated the Highlands, had not found their way over the Grampian mountains, and the native flocks of that sequestrated country were so scanty, that it was found necessary to transport small quantities of wool annually to the north, to furnish materials for clothing the inhabitants. During two months of each summer, the hilly countries of the Lowlands were inundated by hundreds of women from the Highlands, who gartered small articles of dress, and of domestic import, for wool; these were known by the appellation of norlart nettles ; and few nights passed, during the wool season, that some of them were not lodged at my father's house. It was from tw.o of these that Duncan learned one day that he was the laird of Glen©llich's only son and heir, and that a large sum had �19 Duncan Campbell. been offered to any person that could discover him. My parents certainly rejoiced in Duncan's good fortune, yet they were disconsolate at parting with him, for he had long ago become as a son of their own ; and I seriously believe, that from the day they first met, to that on which the two norlan' nettles came to our house, they never once entertained the idea of parting. For my part, I wished that the nettles had never been born, or that they had staid at their own home; for the thoughts of being separated from my dear friend made me sick at heart. All our feelings were, however, nothing, when compared with those of my sister Mary. One day, at dinner time, after a long and sullen pause, my father s a i d — h o p e you do not intend to leave us soon, Duncan V 61 am thinking of going away to-morrow, Sir,' said Duncan. The knife fell from my mother's hand : she looked him steadily in the face for the space of a minute.—6 Duncan,' said she, her voice faltering, and the tears dropping from her eyes, eDuncan, I never durst ask you before, but I hope you will not leave us altogether V Duncan thrust the plate from before him into the middle of the table—took up a book that lay on the window, and looked over the pages—Mary left the room. No answer was returned, nor any further inquiry made, and our little party broke up in silence. When we met again in the evening, we were still all sullen. My father said, ' You will soon forget us, Duncan ; but there are some among us who will not so soon forget you.' Mary again left the room, and silence ensued until the family were called to gether for evening worship. The next morning, after a restless night, Duncan rose early, put on his best suit, and packed up some little articles to carry with him. I lay panting and trembling, but pretended to be fast asleep. When he was ready to depart, he took his bundle below �20 Duncan Campbell. his arm, came up to the side of the bed, and listened if I were sleeping. He then stood long hesitating, looking wistfully at the door, and then to me alternately ; and I saw hint three or four times wipe his eyes. At length Re shook me gently by the shoulder, and asked if I were awake. I feigned to start, and answered as if half asleep. ' I must bid you farewell,' said he, groping to get hold of my hand. 'Will you not breakfast with us, Duncan,' said I. ' No,' said he, ' I am thinking that it is best to steal away, for it will break my heart to take leave of your parents and—'. 'And who, Duncan?' said I. 'And you,' said he: 'indeed but it is best, Duncan !' said I, we will all breakfast together for the last time, and then take a formal and kind leave of each other.' We did breakfast together, and as the conversation turned on former days, it became highly interesting to us all.—When my father had returned thanks to Heaven for our meal, we knew what was coming, and began to look at each other* Duncan rose, and after we had all loaded him with our blessings and warmest wishes, he embraced my parents and me. He turned about. His eyes said plainly there was somebody still wanting, but his heart was so full he could not speak. ' What is become of Mary V said my father :—Mary was gone. We searched the house, the garden, and the houses of all the eottagers, but Mary was nowhere to be found. Poor lovelorn, forsaken Mary ! She had hid herself in the ancient yew that grows in front of the old ruin, that she might see her lover depart, without Ijerself being seen, and might indulge in all the luxury of woe. I must pass over Duncan's journey to the north Highlands, for want of room ; but on the evening of the sixth day after leaving my father's house, he reached the mansion-house of Glenellich, which stands in a little beautiful woody strath, command- �21 Duncan Campbell. ing a view of the Deu, Caledonian Sea, and part of the Hebrides ; every avenue, tree, and rock, was yet familiar to Duncan's recollection. He had, without discovering himself, learned from a peasant that his father was still alive, but that he had never overcome the loss of his son, for whom he lamented every day. Duncan could not think of ought to detain him; and, being desirous of seeing how matters went on about the house, thought it best to remain some days incog. He went into the kitchen, conversed freely with the servants, and soon saw his step-mother and sister appear. The former had all the insolence and ignorant pride of vulgarity raised to wealth and eminence; the other seemed naturally of an amiable disposition, but was entirely ruled by her mother, who taught her to disdain her father, all his relations, and whomsoever he loved. On the same evening he came into the kitchen, where she then was chatting with Duncan, to whom she seemed attached at first sight. Lexy, my dear, said he, did you see my spectacles? Yes, said she, I think I saw them on your nose to-day, at breakfast. Well, but I have lost them since, said he. You may take up the next you find then, sir, said she.—The servants laughed. " I might well have known what information I would get of you," said he, regretfully. " How can you speak in such a style to your father, my dear lady ?" said Duncan. " It ill becomes so pretty a young lady to address an old father thus." " He," said she, " is a dotard, an old complaining, superannuated being, worse than a child." " But consider his years," said Duncan, "and besides he might have met with crosses and losses sufficient to sour the temper of a younger man. You should, at all events, pity and reverence, but never despise your father." The old lady now joined them. " You have yet heard nothing, *Toung man," said the old l a i r d i f �32 Duncan Campb elk you saw how my heart is sometimes wrung! Yes, I have had losses indeed." " You, losses!" said his spouse, " No ; you never had any losses that did not in the end turn out a vast profit." " Do you then count the loss of a loving wife and a son nothing?" said he. " B u t have you not got a loving wife and daughter in their room ? " returned she ; "the one will not waste your fortune as a prodigal son would have done, and the other will take care of both you and that, when you can do neither —the loss of your son, indeed! it was the greatest blessing you could have." " Unfeeling woman ! " said he, " but Heaven may yet restore that son to protect the grey hairs of his old father, and lay his head in an honoured grave."—The old man cried like a child : his lady mimicked him—and, at this, his daughter and servants raised a laugh. " Inhuman wretches ! " said Duncan, starting up, and pushing them aside, " thus to mock the feelings ot an old man, even although he were not the lord and master of you all: but take notice, the individual among you all that dares to offer such another insult to him, I'll roast on that fire ! " The old man elung to him, and looked him ruefully in the face. " You impudent beggarly vagabond!" said the lady, " do you know to whom you speak ?—Servants, turn that wretch out of the house, and hunt him with all the dogs in the kennel." " Softly, good lady," said Duncan, " take care that I do not turn you out of the house." u Alas! good youth," said the old laird, " you little know what you are about; you are brewing vengeance both for yourself and me." " Fear not," said Duncan, " I will protect you with my life." " Pray, may I ask you what is your name ? " said the old man. " That you may," replied Duncan, " no man has so good a right to ask any thing of me as you have—I am Duncan Campbell, your own son !" " M-m-m-my �23 Duncan Campbell. son!" exclaimed the old man, and sunk back on a seat with a convulsive moan. Duncan held him in his arms—he soon recovered, and asked many incoherent questions-—looking at the two moles on his right leg—kissed him,9 and then wept on his bosom for joy. " O God of heaven !" said he, " I thank thee heartily, for I have found my son ! my dear and only son ! " Every thing was committed to the management of Duncan, and he soon discovered, that besides a good clear estate, his father had personal funds to a great amount. The halls and cottages of Glenellich were filled with feasting, joy and gladness. It was not so at my father's house. Scarcely had our feelings overcome the shock, which they received by the loss of Duncan, when a more terrible misfortune overtook us. My father, by the monstrous ingratitude of a friend, whom we trusted, lost at once the greater part of his hard-earned fortune. We were all sitting in our little room one day, consulting what was best to be done, when two men came riding sharply up by the back of the old school house. " Yonder are the officers of justice now," said my mother, " what shall we do ? " We hurried to the window, and soon-discerned that they were no other than some attorney accompanied by a sheriff's officer. * My mother entreated my father to hide himself until this first storm was overblown, but he would in nowise consent; so finding all our entreaties vain, we could do nothing but sit down and weep. At length we heard the noise of their horses at the door. The qfficer, afraid lest his debtor should make his escape, jumped lightly from his horse, and hasted into the house. When we heard his footsteps approaching along the entry, our hearts fainted within us—he opened the door and stepped into the room—it was �24 Duncan Campbell. Duncan ! our own dearly beloved Duncan ! My father ran and got hold of one hand, and I of the other—my mother too, soon had him in her arms, but our embrace was short; for his eyes were fixed on Mary, who stood trembling with joy and wonder in a corner of the room, changing her colour every moment—he snatched her up in his arms and kissed her lips, and, ere she was aware, her arms had encircled his neck. " O my dear Mary!" said he, " my heart has been ill at ease since I left you; but, you little elusive rogue, you owe me another, for the one you cheated me out of then." Duncan then recounted his adventures to us, with every circumstance of his good fortune—our hearts were uplifted almost past bearing—all our cares and sorrows were now forgotten, and we were once more the happiest little group that ever perhaps sat together. Before the cloth was laid for dinner, Mary ran out to put on her white gown, and* comb her yellow hair, but was surprised at meeting with a smart young gentleman in the kitchen, with a scarlet neck on his coat, and a gold-laced hat. Mary having never seen so fine a gentleman, made him a low courtesy, and offered to conduct him to the room ; but he smiled, and told her he was the squire's servant. Duncan and Mary walked for two hours in the garden that evening; we do riot know what passed between them, but the next day he asked her in marriage of my parents. I need not tell my readers that my father's affairs were soon retrieved, or that I accompanied my dear Mary a bride to the Highlands, and had the satisfaction of saluting her as Mrs. Campbell, and lady of Glenellich. 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Duncan ! our own dearly beloved Duncan ! My father ran and got hold of one hand, and I of the other—my mother too, soon had him in her arms, but our embrace was short; for his eyes were fixed on Mary, who stood trembling with joy and wonder in a corner of the room, changing her colour every moment—he snatched her up in his arms and kissed her lips, and, ere she was aware, her arms had encircled his neck. " O my dear Mary !" said he, "my heart has been ill at ease since I left you; but, you little elusive rogue, you owe me another, for the one you cheated me out of then." Duncan then recounted his adventures to us, with every circumstance of his good fortune—our hearts were uplifted almost past bearing—all our cares and sorrows were now forgotten, and we were once more the happiest little group that ever perhaps sat together. Before the cloth was laid for dinner, Mary ran out to put on her white gown, and* comb her yellow hair, but was surprised at meeting with a smart young gentleman in the kitchen, with a scarlet neck on his coat, and a gold-laced hat. Mary having never seen so fine a gentleman, made him a low courtesy, and offered to conduct him to the room ; but he smiled, and told her he was the squire's servant. Duncan and Mary walked for two hours in the garden that evening , we do not know what passed * between them, but the next day he asked her in marriage of my parents. I need not tell my readers that my father's affairs were soon retrieved, or that I accompanied my dear Mary a bride to the Highlands, and had the satisfaction of saluting her as Mrs. Campbell, and lady of Glenellich. William Walker, Printer, Otley. THE HISTORY AND HIS AND T H E AN INTERESTING S C O T T I S H TALE, OTLEY P i l l N T E D BY W I L L I A M W A L K E R . s �W-16 Duncan Campbell. sister Mary, who was. older than I, was already an accurate and elegant reader. This reminds me of another anecdote of Duncan, with a regard to family worship, which I have often heard related, and which I myself may well remember. My father happened to be absent overnight at a fair; when the usual time of worship arrived, my mother desired a lad, one of the servants, to act as chaplain that night; the lad declined it, and slunk away to his bed. My mother testified her regret that we should be obliged to go prayerless to our beds for that night, observing that she did not remember the time when it so happened before. Duncan said he thought we might contrive to manage it amongst us, and instantly proposed to sing the psalm and pray, if Mary would read the chapter. To this my mother, with some hesitation, agreed, remarking, that if he prayed as he could, with a pure heart, his prayer had as good a chance of being accepted as some others that were better worded. Duncan could not then read, but having learned several psalms from Mary by rote, h« caused her to seek out the place, and sung the 23rd Psalm from end to end with great sweetness and decency. Mary read a chapter in the New Testament, and then (my mother having a child on her knee) we three kneeled in a row, while Duncan prayed thus: ' O Lord, be thou our God, our guide and our guard unto death, and through deatk!' that was a sentence my father often used in prayer; Duncan had laid hold of it, and my mother began to think that he had often prayed previous to that time.— < O Lord, thou—' continued Duncan, but his matter was exhausted ; a long pause ensued, which I at length broke, by bursting into a loud fit of laughter. . Duncan rose hastily, and without once lifting up his head, went crying to his bed; and as I continued to indulge in laughter, my mother, for my sn q ; m qoiqAS. <os ®q o; iaq paAarpq j pus UBOUUQ ;sBaj <qsii«d aq; ui \i\2 ;sai;;aid aq; ;ou SBAV ji puB 5 a{q«gB P ^ B 'Xpraoo SBM. aq —aSB UB jo'^iBau aia* UBOUUQ put? aqg -;UB;SIS -SB .mo u9}jo SUM. 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UBOUUQ si2 pa;qSipp os treui laAa^j *i£;rab -i;uB jo saoiaq aq) jo ;qSiui ajq«Apouooui aq; ;B SuiiapuoAV puB 'uara poo# jo JB puB sSuqiBj aq; {J iaAO SuidaaA tfiaq;aSo; sinoq I J ajqig aq; ui \x\o(\u O ia;duqa puai pu-e ^opuam J uioa aq; jo apis aq; O Iq 'piujd auius aq; lapun um\ e j puu faq puu aA-eq ua;jQ ^uauiasnui-B ;UB;SUOD JUO AVOII sbai ;I jo Suip-eaj aq; ^ q ; ^io;siq a^qtg Suip^ai jo aq SB/A puoj os puis i ^lo-BDidsjad ui a«u pa[poxa J J B UBOUUQ ;ng •X;qto,Bj ajqEiapisuoo q ; m a^qig aq; puai q;oq p|noo a^v f jauirans ;xau SMOO aq; pjaq o; poqos IUO.IJ pa^-eoai aiarn a \ ^ q ; auii; aq; A *pa||aj ipuau uaaq puq J qoiqAV xoj 'udfimd ssdjdm siq I J niiq O Suisnqu puu caq uuq; xapnoj uaAa fu^ounQ xd^p paq £ui o; SuiXia ;uaAv j ^{i ^{Suipaaoxa pa;uu -luna; suoi;oAap ^uiuaAa mo f sSuo; aq; q^m siap -jnoqs aq; ssoiou aui 5joni;s 'inoiA^qaq ;ua.iaAa.ui L\ 24 •HdqdmvQ unomifj Duncan Campbell. Duncan ! our own dearly beloved Duncan ! My father ran and got hold of one hand, and I of the other—my mother too, soon had him in her arms, but our embrace was short; for his eyes were fixed on Mary, who stood trembling with joy and wonder in a corner of the room, changing her colour every moment—he snatched her up in his arms and kissed her lips, and, ere she was aware, her arms had encircled his neck. " O my dear Mary!" said he, "my heart has been ill at ease since I left you; but, you little elusive rogue, you owe me another, for the one you cheated me out of then." Duncan then recounted his adventures to us, with every circumstance of his good fortune—our hearts were uplifted almost past bearing—all our cares and sorrows were now forgotten, and we were once more the happiest little group that ever perhaps sat together. Before the cloth was laid for dinner, Mary ran out to put on her white gown, and* comb her yellow hair, but was surprised at meeting with a smart young gentleman in the kitchen, with a f Duncan Campbell. IS mp to Duncan's den, smelled upon him, then upon Oscar,—cocked his tail, walked round them growling, and then behaved in a very improper and uncivil manner to Duncan, who took all patiently, uncertain whether he was yet discovered. But so intent was the fellow upon the farmer's intelligence, that he took no notice of the discovery made by the dog, but ran off without looking over his shoulder. Duncan felt this a deliverance so great that all his other distresses vanished; and as soon as the man was out of his sight, he arose from his covert and ran over the moor, and ere it was long, came to a shepherd's house, where he got some whey and bread for his breakfast, which he thought the best meat he had ever tasted, yet shared it with Oscar. Though I had his history from his own mouth, yet there is a space here which it is impossible to relate with any degree of distinctness or interest. He was a vagaband boy, without any fixed habitation, and wandered about Heriot Moor, from one farm-house to another, for the space of a year ; staying from one to twenty nights in each house, according as he found the people kind to him. He seldom resented any indignity offered to himself, but whoever insulted Oscar, or offered any obser* vations on the impropriety of their friendship, lost Duncan's company next morning. He staid several months at a place called Dewar, which he said was haunted by the ghost of a piper. The piper had been murdered there many years before, in a manner somewhat mysterious, or at least unaccountable ; and there was scarcely a night in which he was *iot supposed either to be seen or heard about the house. 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I feigned to start, and answered as if half asleep. ' I must bid you farewell,' said he, groping to get hold of my hand. ' W i l l you not breakfast with us, Duncan,' said I. ' No,' said he, 51 am thinking that it is best to steal away, for it will break my heart to take leave of your parents and—'. 'And who, Duncan?' said I. 'And you,' said he: 'indeed but it is best, Duncan !' said I, we will all breakfast together for the last time, and then take a formal and kind leave of each other.' W e did breakfast together, and as the conversation turned on former days, it became highly interesting to us all.—When my father had returned thanks to Heaven for our meal, we knew what was coming, and began to look at each other* Duncan rose, and after we had all loaded him with our blessings and warmest wishes, he embraced my parents and me. H e turned about. His eyes said plainly there was somebody still wanting, but his heart was so full he could not speak. ' What is become of Mary V said my father :—Mary was gone. W e searched the house, the garden, and the houses of all the cottagers, but Mary was nowhere to be found. Poor lovelorn, forsaken Mary ! She had hid herself in the ancient yew that grows in front of the old ruin, that she might see her lover depart, without ^erself being seen, and might indulge in all the luxury of woe. I must pass over Duncan's journey to the north Highlands, for want of room; but on the evening of the sixth day after leaving my father's house, he reached the mansion-house of Glenellich, which stands in a little beautiful woody strath, command- -ua£ puB ;uids po^uu-gpun siq 9jiqi& ^jqipaioin ;soua -[B si p9ss9ssod {BunuB siq; qoiqk X^IOBSBS a q ^ •£J;UBSSOOUI SXB9 siq £ui3i«QS pUB 'S9piS jp2 U SuiddBUS ^Sui|891|A\. *S99Q PJIA1 JO O puop SuiAOra B ui p9A]OAUl IB9S() 8ui99S <8U0p 9ABq J SB XP;B.I9pOUIUIl OS SUIQ#NBJ 10 'P9SS9U;IAL I9A9 J 9U90S XUB XQ p9^I9Aip qOUUI OS $Ul9q I 9 A 9 JO I9qui9ui9i ;ou op J *PPIJ oq; tro I ; I B D mo jo ; U B -;Bquioo ;SB| 9q; SIbavjb SBAi9q 'sojipp j9A\oj siqui ;u9uiSpo[,B 9pBiu Xui9u9 9q; j o 9U0U ;Bq; popiAoxd puB f9ouB;sissB jno o; 91UBD IBOSQ F S;U9LU9&SLI0 9)B.i9ds9p 9S9q; {{B u j *^BP I 9 ; J B XBp 'JJO sn ; ^ 9 Q NOQ^ ^I9A9 UI—q;BAVS ^I9A9 UI jSOUipS 9I9A^ Xoq; f 89Aiq q;iAv pgpunoqB sA\.opB9ui s^ioq^Bj ij\[ UBOUUQ uaq^ uvounq f Duncan Campbell. Duncan Campbell• P[UOA\ X o q ; ' 9 B I B { SBAI IUIBAVS 9 Q ; QSUGD O ; ASJIJ SBAI UBOUUQ lood puB 'uotsnjuoo UI'SBAI N Y *P9IPPUB <I\I U O ^ SBAi ;UUB siq ^9^JB S^Bp *Ai9J 1 Uf '^UUp 10 ^B9UI 3 I9q^i9 niB^qopjuoo 9q ;Bq; ^pi0|gip4B9ig q^iM AVOU SB^^j - % s i B q uiiq p9sn ^nq ; miq p9Aofi9A9u l 9 q ; puB <ui9q; o; 9^JBqo [BuopippB UB SBA3l 9JJ •UBDUUQ p9piB^9I I9A9U pUH Xq XpUB^SU03 %doy[ spiBui 9q;—^Bp 9UO \\i Apui91^x9 Ai9iS 9qg •90UBpU9^B Siq pduiOD 0} }U9SpipUl 00; SBM ^UUB siq PUB 'jooqos 9q^ ^B Suipu9^B j o iCjqSiq 9AOiddB ^ U pip 9JJ '^UIUIB9I UF SS9lSoxd ^918 91[BUI *ou O pip 9q ^nq 'qSinqutpg in IB9IC B PIB^S UBOUUQ t"\i Opiq *BUUBO ^ ! B 9 Q Am (uu, 'UBOUUQ piBS / U I B ^ B IBOSQ is9uoq jood Jim 99s J9A9U JJIAi J, -;UBAI9S piBS IlOi ^smq Q^II SBAI ^iB9q siq ftp p9iio UBOUUQ •p9{AVoq pUB UAVop ^BS U9qi 9q f fpq v j o do; oq^ p9qOB9J[ 9q jpuu *90UB^Stp B ^B p9A^C>nOJ [{^S IBOSQ • B V opoj pUB tf;UBAI9S B 9I0J9q p9;UU0UI U O XAB U -UUQ c j 3B0SQ IB9p Am fUOiC SS9iq P°£) pOO£) , 'Suuoqqnjq pmS / I B O S Q f 9iq poor), -uitq p9ssi5{ puBp9^§nq f5[09u 9q; punoiB uiiq ^qSuBO o j j •S9i£9 siq q^oq popui^q Xp^Bipguiuii sj'B9^ 9q; 'qOBJ oq; ui X [ P J 9 U I raiq Suinooj SUIPUB^S JBOSQ ^ B S aq U9qiii ;uq f ^boj spB^q 9q; jo' ;qSuoq; XpoiBOs U9A9 9q ;Bq; posoddus ouios puB f 9pii 9q; j o puoj S A 9 JJ *S;UBAI9S 9q; JO &IB JO JOU 'l9q;BJ Siq JO %0U BV -99tiii;sis -9.1 p9uiuu9;9p ;soui 9q; Suii9;unoou9 ;noq;m ;oo qSuoq; 's;99^s p9;B{nuiuooB I9q |[B p9^ii pu« b order to ask what was the matter, but he could only answer them by exclaiming, ' Oh dear ! Oh dear!' and struggling till he got free, held on his course, careless whither he went, provided he got far enough from the horrid scene he had so lately witnessed. Some have supposed, and I believe Duncan has been heard to confess, that he then imagined he^was running for the Highlands, but mistook the direction . However that was, he continued his course until he came to a place where two roads met, a little south of Grange Toll. Here he sat down, and his frenzied passion subsided into a soft melancholy ;—he cried no more, but sobbing excessively, fixed his eyes on the ground, and made some strokes in the dust with his finger. A sight just then appeared, which somewhat cheered, or at least interested his heavy and forlorn heart—it was a large^ drove of Highland cattle. They were the only creatures like acquaintances that Duncan had Seen for a twelvemonth, and a tender feeling of joy, mixed with regret, thrilled his heart at the sight of their white horns and broad dew-laps. As the van passed him, he thought their l o o k s were particularly gruff and sullen; he s o o n perCeiVedthe cause, they were all in the hands of Englishmen; poor exiles like himself; going far away to be killed and eaten, and would never see the Highland hills again. When they were all gone by, Duncan looked after them, and wept anew ; but his attention was suddenly called away to something that softly touched his feet; he looked hastily about—it was a poor hungry lame dog, squatted on the ground, licking his feet and manifesting the most extravagant joy. Gracious Heaven! it was his own beloved and faithful Oscar ! starved, emaciated, and so crippled, that he was scarcely able to walk ! H e was now doomed to be the slave of a Yorkshire peasant, (who, jo jgdij oq; uodu urn; o; poouBqo UOI;BSI9AIIOO oq; n8HAV *s;uids j o .iB9j oq; IOJ U99q ;ou pBq ;i ji 'XddBq i|9;o|duiob U99q 9ABq ppoAV puB 'piiii{ XUB J uoi;BAiid ou ; p j 9 V <i9qui9ui9.i J S IBJ s y O A B •IBOSQ P1113 - U U Q q ; m p u 9 d s j p i p i f e p p u B ; q S i u i d d B q B JCUBIU puB 'AV0^9J-p9q siq 9q p 9 p B u s i 9 d 9 q qoiqAv UAVO X u i SB u i i q o; p9;;iuii9d C ;S9NBOI p9A0"[ j IOJ u ^ o Km f '9Sin o ; 9UI ; B 'SBAV J -9ji[ u i o ; ; B d B 9 i u o ; SBA\ p i p 1 0 p i B S UBOUUQ ; B q ; \ye ' p 9 9 p u j -9UIBS 9 i { ; JO ouo ; o S j u ; u n 90B9d 9ABq u i 9 q ; ; 9 [ ; o u p [ u o A v j ; B q ; SuiuiiBqo qoiqAV u i i ;buuoq PUBJQSIJJ 9 p ; I [ ;IBUIS I x u i q ; q S n o q p u B B 'PSSNIP ou(q ui os p95[0G{ o q s s 9 i p rniq pgq;op 'uos imo Jt9t{; U99q p B q o q j i SB u i i q IOJ u i 9 o u o o 91UBS 9 q ; JOBJCI; p 9 u i 9 9 s u o o s oqAv f s ; u 9 i B d -oui o ; p 9 ; « 9 d 9 i t i 9 9 q s ^ i ^ u g A p ' s .osoq; 9ABq u 9 ; j o ; n q f uoi;BiiuipB puB i9puoA\ q;m pifAi 9q; j o uoi;B;iqBq 9q; p9{iBssB *90u«pnpi ; n o q ; m <.i9qumu m o o; raiq poppB q;iA\q;io| pmi 's9pis siq uop9;uiBd 919Ai ;Bq; sdoip 5>|4im! puB sopBqs ^uji;uB9q 9q; p9JiuipB '9A00 X i 9 ; m ®iq p o u 9 ; s i { p u B ' L ; m d 9 q ; j o S^BAV^ SBAY J uioij uiiq p90J0j 9 V i suoi;BuiqoBiu mo 9pnp % m A < PTUoo f;iB siij JIB q;iAV ';no.i; p9j^09ds 9q; ;Bq^ p u B ' ; q S i s ; s i ^ 9 q ; ; B UBOUUQ O ; ; i U 5 [ SBAV ; i B 9 q - S ^ B p \BIO -A9s IOJ UBOUUQ q ; m 9 S i 9 A u o o u B q ; o s p S u i q ; XUB op XpoiBOs pjuoo 'iB{uoi;iBd u i o ; p u p [ os s ; u 9 i B d Am •U99S 1 9 A 9 9 A B q j Ad\\oo c i 9 q ; o u i &j/s[ AVBS J u o q A i Aot -uiiq IOJ ; d 9 A i J ( u j i ; u B 9 q ; s o u i o q ; SBAI p u B �t L " r.L il. l ' i x a ' j ';q£is ;siij: ; B paqo-B;;!? paraaas aqs uioqAV o ; 'UBOUUQ q;iAV Sui;;i2qa S A u a q ; aqs aiaqAV 'uaqo;i3f BV a q ; o;ui auiBO aq SuiuaAa auras a q ; u q 'paAOj aq laAaosuioqAV pire ' s u o i ; ^ p i siq 'iaq;i2j.iaq uiBpsip o ; i a q ;qSni2; oqAV 'iaq;oui i a q p a p i £p.n;ua SBAV ;nq 'uoi;isodsip ajqBiurB ub jo iCjpi^Bu paraaas i a q ; o aq; aauauiuia pu'B q;paA\. o ; pasrei £;ii«8piA j o a p u d ;UBIOU3I pu-e aouapsui a q ; j p P 121 ! ^ t u i o j aqjL -maddis ia;sis p u s iaq;oui-da;s sxq AUZS UOOS puB 's;uBAias aq; q;iAViCpajj pasiaAuoo 'uaqo;i:5{ aq; o;ui ;uaA\ a j j -Sooui sX-ep anios ureuia.i 03 ;saq ; i ; q S n o q ; 'asnoq aq; ;noqra no ;uaA\. sia;;Bra Avoq Supas j o snoiisap Supq 'puB uiiq urepp o; ; q 8 n o j o 5{uiq; ; o u ppoo u'BOuhq -£ep jCiaAa pa;uauiBj a q uioqM. i o j ' u o s siq j o ssoj aq; araoqiaAo iaAau pBjq aq ; B q ; ;nq 'aAip jji;s SBAY iaq;Bj siq ;Bq; ;uBs^ad « UIOJJ paumaj 'jpsuiiq SuiiaAoosip ;noq;iAi 'psq a j j 'uoipajpoai s6irBounQ o; IBIJIUIBJ ;a£ 'ipox pui2 'aai; 'anuaA-B XiaAa F s a p i i q a j j a q ; SBAV j o ;x«d puB '^ag u-BiuopapQ ' n a ( j a q ; j o jaaiA 1 3 m 3 •aouBpua;;t> siq pdraoo o; ; u a S p p u i 00; s-bai ;urm siq puB 'poqas aq; ; s Suipiia;;T> jo ^qSiq aAOidd« * o n PIP 9 H 'SuiniBaj ut ssaiSoid ;sa 18 a^rn ;ou pip aq ;nq 'q&mquipg in maiC < pm)s u^boutiq b / ; i apiq -euu^a Xui 'todutiq pi^s /uiBS'B i'Bosoisauoq joodiuiaas iaAau \\ija 1, ^xreAias aq; pres ^ noi spB ^Bq^, ^sjiiq o; aifij sbav siq pauo u^oudq •pajAVoq pu^ uAvop uaq; aq f j'jiq v jo do; aq; paqo-eaj aq |i;un 'aou^stp -b paAionoj [yqs iuosq •£bau> apoj puu <;u®ax9s 1 aiojaq pa;u'nom mo 2 'Uxxq ( j a^oso i^ap ira ssaiq pox) tfaXq poor), 'Suuaqqiqq preS /i^osq ^ q poor), -raiq passim puB pa^nq ^oau aq^ punoi-B uiiq ;q^riBO a j j •saiCa siq q;oq papuijq iCp^ipatnuii sj^a; aq; 'ao«j aq; ui unq Suii{00| Suipu^s jbdsq ^bs aq uaqAv ;nq f 5p*>jq aq; jo' ;q§noq; ^aoi^os uaAa aq ;-Bq; pasoddns araos pu-B 'apu aq; jo pnoj sbav a j j *s;u^Aias aq; jo jo ion 'iaq;^j siq jo %ou iqSnoq; aq 'auioq aAi;-Bu siq ;ja^ u^ouiiq u a q ^ I z> 'HdqdiuvQ umun(j 7idqdwvQ uvounq 20 Duncan Campbell• Duncan Campbell. f & his arm, came up to the side of the bed, and listened if I were sleeping. He then stood long hesitating, looking wistfully at the door, and then to me alternately ; and I saw hint three or four times wipe his eyes. At length he shook me gently by the shoulder, and asked if I were awake. I feigned to start, and answered as if half asleep. ' I must bid you farewell,' said he, groping to get hold of my hand. 'Will you not breakfast with us, Duncan,' said I. ' No,' said he, ' I am thinking that it is best to steal away, for it will break my heart to take leave of your parents and—'. 'And who, Duncan?' said I. 'And you,' said he: 'indeed but it is best, Duncan !' said I, we will all breakfast together for the last time, and then take a formal and kind leave of each other.' We did breakfast together, and as the conversation turned on former days, it became highly interesting to us all.—When my father had returned thanks to Heaven for our meal, we knew what was coming, and began to look at each other. Duncan rose, and after we had all loaded him with our blessings and warmest wishes, he embraced my parents and me. He turned about. His eyes said plainly there was somebody still wanting, but his heart was so fullhe could not speak. ' Whatis become of Mary?' said my father :—Mary was gone. We searched the house, the garden, and the houses of all the cottagers, but Mary was nowhere to be found. Poor lovelorn, forsaken Mary ! She had hid herself in the ancient yew that grows in front of the old ruin, that she might see her lover depart, without Ijerself being seen, and might indulge in all the luxury of woe. I must pass over Duncan's journey to the north Highlands, for want of room; but on the evening of the sixth day after leaving my father's house, he reached the mansion-house of Glenellich, which stands in a little beautiful woody strath, command- order to ask what was t he matter, but he could only answer them by exclaiming, ' Oh dear ! Oh dear!' and struggling till he got free, held on his course, careless whither he went, provided he got far enough from the horrid scene he had so lately witnessed. Some have supposed, and I believe Duncan has been heard to confess, that he then imagined he ^was running for the Highlands, but mistook the direction. However that was, he continued his course until he came to a place where two roads met, a little south of Grange Toll. Here he sat down, and his frenzied passion subsided into a soft melancholy ;—he cried no more, but sobbing excessively, fixed his eyes on the ground, and made some strokes in the dust with his finger. A sight just then appeared, which somewhat cheered, or at least interested his heavy and forlorn heart-^-it was a large^ drove of Highland cattle. They were the only creatures like acquaintances that Duncan had seen for a twelvemonth, and a tender feeling of joy, mixed with regret, thrilled his heart at the sight of their white horns and broad dew-laps. As the van passed him, he thought their looks were particularly gruff and sullen; he soon perceived the cause, they were all in the hands of Englishmen; poor exiles like himself; going far away to be killed and eaten, and would never see the Highland hills again. When they were all gone by, Duncan looked after them, and wept anew ; but his attention was suddenly called away to something that softly touched his feet; he looked hastily about—it was a poor hungry lame dog, squatted on the ground, licking his feet and manifesting the most extravagant joy. Gracious Heaven! it was his own beloved and faithful Oscar ! starved, emaciated, and so crippled, that he was scarcely able to walk ! He was now doomed to be the slave of a Yorkshire peasant, (who, - uaS puts ;uids pa^n-gpun siq ajiqAV 'ajqipaiom ;soua -pa si passassod p u i i u ^ siq; qoiq^ ^io-bSbs aqj^ jo j a d i j aq; uodn um; o; paoiraqo u0i;issiaAii0D aq; u a q ^ *s;uids jo iBaj aq; I J uaaq ;6u O ;i ji 'XddBq Ip;afduioa uaaq aA^q pynoAS. pun 'piii^ Xub J uoi;BAud ou ; p j a v 'laqraaiuai j sre J J s y O A B •XpuBssaom sjrea s i q Sui3[«qs puts 'sapis 110 S m d d B u s ' S u i p a ^ A i ' s a a q pjiAi j o p n o p SUIAOUI - u i PAAJOAUI x'sasQ S u i a a s B 'auop aA-eq j S-B Aja^.iapouirai os Buiq^nraj 1 0 ' p a s s a u ; m iaAa j auaos £1112 I q p a ; i a A i p q o n m os 3 u i a q i a A a j o .iaquiama.1 ; o u op j -pjaig: a q ; uo i ; i « d m o j o ; u « -;Bquioo ;giq a q ; S&JAVJB s^Avaq ' s a j g a p jaA\.oj s i q u i ; u a u i § p o j « ap-BUi jCuiaua a q ; j o auou ; « q ; p a p i A o i d puB 'aouB;siss« mo o ; ara-BO I B D S Q 'sJuamaMkia a^.iadsap asaq; uj -iC-Bp i a ; j « Xtsp 'JJO sn P[UOA\ X a q ; 'aSi-BJ S A UIXBAVS a q ; n a q ^ BV XiaAa ui——q;i3A\.s i i a A a ui ^ s o m ^ aiaja X a q ; f 89Aiq q;iAv p a p u n o q e sAVopBaui s ^ i a q ^ j aautrnsys -a.i p a u i u u a ; a p ; s o u i a q ; Suiia^unooua ; n o q ; m ; o n q S n o q ; 's;aaAvs p a ^ n u m o o B l a q {['B p a p u p u * 'daq PJIAV a q ; j o u o i ^ i q - B Q a q ; pajress-B a ^ -aou^oupj ; n o q ; m f jaqiiinu m o o ; u i i q p a p p B q ; i A v q ; i o j pnts 'sapis iC^aap siq uo p a ; u i ^ d aiaAi sdoip p u « s a p ^ q s piji;w3aq a q ; paiiuip'B 'aAOO X i a ; m ® i q UIOJJ uiiq p a o i o j aAV suoi; , Buiqo'Bin m o a p n p %ou p p o o ';IB siq [ye q;IAV ';no.i; pa^OADS a q ; ; « q ; '^ISKI - x a os s i a q s y AvaiS a ^ •japuns'B aAi^ ; o u p[noc» oik — j pip os—lauiums aq; s^oo sfiiaq;^j Urn papiaq ireounQ -q^ap jo ;j^qs Koi ppo aq; Xq paoiaid ji S sn uiq;m 5juns s;maq mo puB 'uoi;oxu;sap B jo |[au3( aq; aijij sma mo ui papunos 'uoi;ii«dd« 10 ';uids ';soqS aui-Bu aq; j pjp'Baip qo j ;soqS « ;nq uiiq jo piBij'B qonui ;ou aja^. a V ;nq 'ifp[;i«aq A ;soui iiAap aq; pa;i2q a ^ *S|ood auios;qSiij aq; UIOJJ joope ;da^[ siC-BMp puB 'saidp^-ia;^ aq; jo snoi-Baf ap;ij 1 aiaAv a V i sSuos Suiuirnqo pu'B i;n^aq 2 A Jiaq; jo ;unoooi2 uo 'spi-Buiiaui aq; iojiC;QBI;md ap;i| • * ; p j uaAa pu^ 'saiuAvoiq aq; pu'B saiii^j aq; paAOj B 'ps^oojjus Xjmau [i;un sp-Baq mo iaAO u ^ i p saq;op-paq aq; q;iAV UIBJ OAV aA^q ua;jo 'niW ou^s -apiqX jo J^ipaj aq; 10 'Bioy; jo pi«j\[ aq; 'a^AvaQ 81 'Hdqdiuwd IWDUUQ •I-BOSQ UB3 -uiiq q ; m puads j pip X^p pu-B ;qSiu M d i q v Xu^ui puis 'Avo^aj-paq siq aq o; pa;;iraiad 'aSm o; aui papBnsiad aq qoiq^v ';sanbai uavo iCui ;b 's^av J -aji[ uAio Am s^ uiiq paAOj j ioj ' u i a ; ; ^ 13 aiu o; s«a\ pip 10 piBS imounQ ;-Bq; 'paapuj *ara^s aq; jo auo ;oS j |i;un ao^ad aA'Bq uiaq; ;a{;ou ppum j ;^q; Suiuimqp os pa^ooj aq ssajp qoiqA\ ui i ;atiuoq puB^qSifj a^;;if ;muis -e unq ;qSnoq pu^ ';a^Sn.ip an(q ui ruiq paq;op 'uos imo itaq; uaaq p^q aq ji sb uiiq .ioj uiaouoa aui'BS aq; paj o; "pauiaas uoos oqAv 's;ua.it2d -aui o; pa;«adai tiaaq sam;uaAp« asaq; aA'Bq ua;jo ;nq < uoi;«iirapB puu .xapuoAi q;iAV paua;sq pu« 'l;md aq; jo s&mps j ^la -Aas ioj ubpuuq q;iAV asiaAuoo uisq; asp Suiq; Jim op XpaiBOs pjnoo 'm^noprnd ui fiaq;otu 'uiiq o; pui5[ os s;uamd £ui avbs j xiaiqAi Aot ioj ;daAv j puB ';qSis ;sig aq; ;i2 ubouuq o; ;in5[ s^At ;ieaq •uaas .iaAa aA'Bq j ^aypo pjt;n«aq;sotu aq; s-bai puB '^oau siq punoj mopo aui'BS aq; jo Sua ^ pu'B 'ao^j siq UAVop adn;s a;iqAV -b q;iAv 'xoj B jo mopo aq; ' pBq 'jpsuiiq s^ a&TB{ jCp^au s m mosQ *;*Baq Suipaj a^qisuas -b pu'B 'Xpoq iCq^aq 'B Sui^ads -aq/(nji;nBaq pue £ppm s a ao-Bj siq ;nq f ua;«aq -iaq;^aAi puB papna 'qSnoi s^av p^aq siq jo iiBq aq; i spaq siq o; Sunq cubui tmoiS-^nj b ioj apBtu uaaq SuiA-Bq qoiqA^ 'Xjuo ;bo0 ouo jo pa;sisuoo Suiq;op siq jo apqAV aqj^ ^Bp.ia;saiC jo suoip^sum; aq; s'B ^pAV s^ saou^;suinoip aq; j p iaq -uiamai j *asnoq s^iaqpj iCui o; auiBo ubouuq ;«q; ';saAiBq jo asop aq; ';qSiu Xurei -b uo s^av ; j •maq; q;m daap ppoqs Sop ' siq puis ^oq ;u«iBba -b ;Bq; asooqp sit2A\p ;ou pip s;uBAias aq; puis 'jpsuiiq iCq daap ;ou ;smp a j j "IpqdwoQ uvounQ �years 01 age, aner uemg uiiwen iscvwai uajo, he died one night below his master's bed. On the evening before, when Duncan came in from the plough, he came from his hiding-place, wagged his tail, licked Duncan's hand, and returned to his death-bed. Duncan and I lamented him with unfeigned sorrow, buried him below the old rowan tree at the back of my father's garden, placing a square stone at his head, which was still standing the last time I was there. With great labour we composed an epitaph between us, which was once carved on that stone : the metre was good, but the stone was so hard, and the engraving so faint, that the characters, like those of our early joys, are long ago defaced and extinct. Often have I heard my mother relate with enthusiasm, the manner in which she and my father first discovered the dawnings of goodness and facility of conception in Duncan's mind, though, I confess, dearly as I loved him, these circumstances escaped my observation. It was my father's invariable custom to pray with the family every night before they retired to rest, to thank the Almighty for his kind- Avopq ajpunq siq spo; aq <;:redap o; APBai sba aq 'daajSB ;SBJ aq o; papua;aid ;nq 'Suqquiai; puB 3ui;uBd £bj j -unq q ; m Aimo o; sapi;iB aj;;q auios du pa^oBd puB <;ras ;saq siq uo ;nd ^iBa asoi UBOUUQ f ;q£iu ssapsai B ia;JB 'Suiuiora ;xau aqj, •diqsioAV SuiuaAa J J iaq;a8 O o; payjBO aiaAV ^ j i u i b j aq; fi;un pansua aouaps puB 'UIOOI aq; ;ja[ UIBSB £IBJ\[ (-t\oA ;aSioj uoos os ;ou IJIAV OQAV sn SUOUIB auios aiB aiaq; ;nq i UBOUUQ fsn P S J O J uoos \\ija uo^, <piBS iaq;BJ Af^ -ua^us jp2 [H;s aiaAV a v fSuiuaAa aq; ui UIBSB ;am a V uaq^A A A •aouaps ui dn a^ojq £;iBd aj;;i[ .mo puB 'apBui Aimbui iaq;mj XUB IOU <pau.m;ai SBAV jaAvsuB OJSJ -uiooi —sa^Bd aq; jaAO paipoj puB fAvopuiA\ aq; uo £ J ;Bq; :spoq B dn }po;—AJQB; aq; jo ajppiui B aq; o;ui uiiq aiojaq raoij a;Bjd aq; ;smq; u b o u u q u .iaq;aSo;[B su aABaj ;ou JJIAV uoi adoq j ;uq tfa.iqj -aq no A 5[SB ;smp laAau j "UBOUUQ, 'saXa iaq uio.ij Suiddoip sxBa; aq; puB 'Suuajpj aoioA .iaq <aqs piBS / U B O U U Q y—-a;uuim B JO aoBds aq; JOJ aoBj aq; ui jCppBa;s unq paspoj aqs : puBq sc.iaq;ora £ra KXOJJ IPJ 9q,L 'UBOUUQ piBS / l l g fA\0II0Ul-0) fvVAW SuioS JO Sui^uiq; UIB J , J UBOUUQ "UOOS SU aABaj o; pua;ui ;ou op no A adoq j,—piBS jaq;BjiCm ' a s n B c I uajps puB 2uo\ B ja;jB caun; iauuip ;B ^BP axiQ •£rej\[ ia;sis Am jo asoq; ipiA\ paiBduioo uaqAV <£uiq;ou "iaAaA\oq faiaAv sSuiiaaj J O \iy U -;iBaq ;B 3pis ara apBui puauj .iBap Aui rao.ij pa;BiBdas Suiaq jo s;qSuoq; aq; .ioj atuoq ua\o iiaq; ;B piB;s pBq iaq; ;Bq; 10 "uioq uaaq .laAau pi?q $dijjdu aq; ;Bq; paqsm j <;iBd Jim 1 0 ^ •Sui;JBCI j o ^api aq; pauiB;.ia;ua aouo jaAau Xaq; "asuoq juo o; aiuBO sdindu ^uvjdou O V aq; qoiqAV uo ;Bq; o; tf;aui A; ;SIIJ i a q ; iBp aq; moij ;Bq; "aAaqaq ipuouas j piiB f UAVO iiaq; jo uos B SB auiooaq OSb Suo\ pBq aq" JOJ "uiiq q;iAV Sui;iBd ;B a;B{osuoosip aiaAV iaq; ;ai "aim; -jojpooS S 4 UBOUUQ UI paoiofai i^uiB;j:ao s;uaiBd i p j •uiiq jaAoosip ppioo ;Bq; uosiad A B O; paiaj|o uaaq U U81tA\ 61 J2 'ipqdwvj uvoiinQ in the dark, or any sudden noise, always deprives him of the power of speech for some time. After leaving Dewar, he went wandering about for a few weeks; and it appears that his youth, beauty, and peculiarly destitute situation, together with his friendship for his faithful Oscar, had interested the most part of the country people in his behalf, for he was generally treated with kindness. He knew his father's name, and the name of his house : but as none of the people he visited had ever before , heard of either the one or the other, they gave themselves no trouble about the matter. He staid nearly two years in a place he called Cowhaur, till a wretch, with whom he slept, struck and abused him one day. Duncan, in a rage, flew to the loft, and cut all his Sunday hat, shoes, and coat, in pieces ; and not daring to abide the consequences, decamped that night. He wandered about for some time longer among the farmers of Tweed and Yarrow ; but this life was now become exceedingly disagreeable to him. siq ; d a ^ ;uq (\\i%s poo;s i i b o u u q -uiiq o; SuixBp ;noq;m f ; u B i i ; siq jo s p a q a q ; ; b jCbavb pa.ia§&B;s puB 'paiaAooai j e l u i u b aqj^ •aussi aq; aq ppoAV ;i3qAV aas o; i[;uai;Bd pa;iBAV "Sop siq ;uoq;iA\. aj;;i| op ppoo aq ;Bq; S u m o i q 'iiBui aq; puB "q;Baiq siq laAooai ;q8iui aq ;Bq; pi2aq s(,a;ijnoA'Bj siq dn p p q a j j -uiiq ipiiB; ~.iao ppioAY aq u b u i Siq 12 AvaiS j p s r a i q aq iaAa ji ;Bq; puB *a;niq pnio « s b j a aq ;Bq; u b u i aq; S u q p ; f c p u B ipa;;iq SuidaaAV uoi;oB jo auaos aq; o; pa;sBq a | l j q p jo ;soui uiiq pa^ooqs i;iJBqiBq pa;iiaui -uu siq; ;uq ^ u b o u u q iood j o sifrnpaj aq; punoAS. o; pauiquioo pamaas aou«;sranoip a^qissod iiaAg •;aaj siq ; b ssapsuas aq f ^ b ; s ^oiq; -b q;m miq 5[om;s suoi;Boaidmi jCubui paxtj saia puiqaq ijooj S u u a ; ; n puB c iBa a q ; i q miq j o p p q ppq ;uBSBad aq; ;uq ^auu«ui Suuo^dmi puB aAissimqus ;sora aq; in q ; i B a aq; o; paiaiwoo j b o s q 'mi\{ ;aaui o; spBq Suiuuui amBo pu-B ^adBosa siq ;oajp o; pa;uBM aq paui^Buii c^OBq 5[oo^ puB iaSui^ o; raiq SuiAiasqo oq^ <ria;sBui Suipajun siq ia;jB ipuB;onpi Xbavb paduiq aq ^iaqosipo; Suii-Baj ; u q fpa^qmaiqriBOSQ qpo ipns puB pnoj - i q p^iuBduioooB tfpa;Bad b ~ai s b a v apsiqAV aqjQ /uBqjni u o i i u o j j am ;oa;oid ^ U B O U U Q O ^ 'SuiiBS Ji SB ^aoBj siq U I pa>[00^ puB f q S i q ; siq uodn pBaq siq pauBay ^mosoq s 6 ioq aq; o ; S u i S u i p puB 'punos a q ; Avau^; ibosq •pnops p a p s i q A V ;uBSBad aqj^ os ;ou u i b e*aiB u o i s b j ; u q c j p s i m ;Ba o; quinio -b ;ou aABq j , f a q piBS j,— 4 j . i b o s q -iood Am 'noA o a i S o; qmmo « ;ou aABq •aiojaq ; p j u n s S u i p a j q ; m ;iBaq siq paoiaid u i b S b qoiqAV ^s^oo]; s € puaiij siq ui pa;uiBd aiaA^ iiasira puB .laSunq ;Bq; paAiasqo uoos u b o u u q ;uq f s b a v slip uiiq; Supaara japua; aiora b aApouoo o; ajqissodini si ; j -jaAVod puB q;Suai;s ui uiiq o; loiiajui s b a v . i b o s q s b ^ i b o s q jo asoq; o; joiiajui s b aiaAV sSui -paj asoqAVjo aouapAauaq puB i;tsoiauaS aq; -jB^j ;b miq uap;s 10 ;qSnoq iaq;p pBq 'suiaas ;i *Hdqdhuvj w o y m q 9 Duncan Vampb elL you saw how my heart is sometimes wrung! Yes, I have had losses indeed." " You, losses!" said his spouse, " No ; you never had any losses that did not in the end turn out a vast profit." " Do you then count the loss of a loving wife and a son nothing ?" said he. " But have you not got a loving wife and daughter in their room ? " returned she ; "the one will not waste your fortune as a prodigal son would have done, and the other will take care of both you and that, when you can do neither —the loss of your son, indeed! it was the greatest blessing you could have." " Unfeeling woman ! " said he, " but Heaven may yet restore that son to protect the grey hairs of his old father, and lay his head in an honoured grave."—The old man cried like a child : his lady mimicked him—and, at this, his daughter and servants raised a laugh. " Inhuman wretches ! " said Duncan, starting up, and pushing them aside, " thus to mock the feelings ot an old man, even although he were not the lord and master of you all: but take notice, the individual among you all that dares to offer such another insult to him, I'll roast on that fire ! " The old man elung to him, and looked him ruefully in the face. " You impudent beggarly vagabond!" said the lady, " do you know to whom you speak ?—Servants, turn that wretch out of the house, and hunt him with all the dogs in the kennel." " Softly, good lady," said Duncan, " take care that I do not turn you out of the house." u Alas! good youth," said the old laird, " you little know what you are about; you are brewing vengeance both for yourself and me." " Fear not," said Duncan, " I will protect you with my life." " Pray, may I ask you what is your name ? " said the old man. " That you may," replied Duncan, " no man has so good a right to ask any thing of me as you have—I am Duncan Campbell, your own son !" " M«m-m-my DUNCAN CAMPBELL. ——^^o€xxg>og>o<i:i ! « • D u n c a n C a m p b e l l came from the Highlands, when six years of age, to live with an old maiden aunt in Edinburgh, and attend the school. His mother was dead ; but his father had supplied her place by marrying his house-keeper Duncan did not trouble himself about these matters, nor indeed about any other matters, save a black foal of his father's, and a large sagacious colley, named Oscar, which belonged to one of the shepherds. —With his garter tied round Oscar's neck, and a piece of deal tied to his big bushy tail, Duncan would often lead him about the green, pleased with the idea that he was conducting a horse and a cart. Oscar submitted to all this with gi^at cheerfulness, but whenever Duncan mounted to ride on him, he found means instantly to unhorse him, either by galloping, or rolling himself on the green. When Duncan threatened him, he looked submissive, and licked his face and hands ; when he corrected him with the whip, he cowered at his feet; —matters were soon made up. Oscar would lodge nowhere during the night but at the door of the room where his young friend slept, and woe befel the man or woman who ventured to enter in at untimely hours* �14 N Duncan Campbell. 5 a i erosity it would do honour to every servant of our own species to copy. Twice did he save his master's life : at one time when attacked by a furious bulj, and at another time when he fell from behind my father, off a horse into a flooded river. Oscar had just swimmed across, but instantly plunged in a second time to his master's rescue. He first got hold of his bonnet, but that coming off, he quitted it, and again catching him by the coat, brought him to the side, where my father reached him. He waked Duncan at a certain hour every morning, and would frequently turn the cows of his own will, when he observed them wrong. If Duncan dropped his knife, or any other small article, he would fetch it along in his mouth, and if sent back for a lost thing, would infallibly find it. When sixteen years of age, after being unwell for several days, he died one night below his master's bed. On the evening before, when Duncan came in from the plough, he came from his hiding-place, wagged his tail, licked Duncan's hand, and returned to his death-bed. Duncan and I lamented him with unfeigned sorrow, buried him below the old rowan tree at the back of my father's garden, placing a square stone at his head, which was still standing the last time I was there. With great labour we composed an epitaph between us, which was once carved on that stone : the metre was good, but the stone was so hard, and the engraving so faint, that the characters, like those of our early joys, are long ago defaced and extinct. Often have I heard my mother relate with enthusiasm, the manner in which she and my father first discovered the dawnings of goodness and facility of conception in Duncan's mind, though, I confess, dearly as I loved him, these circumstances escaped my observation. It was my father's invariable custom to pray with the family every night before they retired to rest, to thank the Almighty for his kind- Avopq ajpunq siq spo; aq <;iBdap o; XpBai SBAS. aq u a q ^ 'daajsB ;SBJ aq o; papua;aid ;nq 'Suqqiuai; puB Sui;uBd XBJ j -unq q;IAY £ U B O o; sapi;IB ap;q auios dn paspBd puB ^ras ;saq siq uo ;nd 'ipea asoi UBOUUQ c;q£iu ssapsai B ia;JB 'Suiuioui ;xau aqj, •diqsiOAY BuraaAa J J iaq;aS O o; pajpaa aiaAV XJIUIBJ aq; p;un pansua aauaps puB 'raooi aq; ;ja[ UIBSB JCIBJ\[ e-no£ ;aSioj uoos os ;ou jjm oqjw sn SUOUIB auios aIB aiaq; ;nq f uBaunQ csn pSioj uoos JJIAV no^, 'piBS iaq;Bj *ua{ps jp2 [ji;s aiaAv a v ^uiuaAa aq; ui UIBSB ;am a v uaq M A A •aauajis ui dn a^ojq £;.red ap;i[ ino puB 'apBui Xiinbui iaq;mj XUB JOU tfpaum;ai SBAY jaAVsuB OJSJ -uiooi aq; ;jaj —saB^d aq; iaAO pa^ooj puB fAVopuiA\ aq; uo X J ;Bq; ^ooq B dn ^00;—ajqB; aq; jo ajppiui B 9q; o;ui raiq aiojaq raoij a;Bjd aq; ;sniq; iiBaunQ d *iaq;ago;jB sn aABaj ;ou noi adoq j ;nq 'a.ioj -aq no£ ^SB ;sjnp laAau J 'uBamiQ, <sa£a iaq TIIO.IJ Buiddojp siBa; aq; pire <Sui.ia;p3j aoxoA .iaq <aqs piBS /UBOUUQ.,—*a;nuiui B J aa^'ds aq; I J aaBj aq; ui O O £ppBa;s raiq paspoj aqs : puBq sc.iaq;ora lux moij j p j ajimj aq£ *UBDUUQ pres / i i g fMonoui-o; £BA\B SUIOS jo Sui^uiq; UIB J , ^ UBOUUQ 'uoos sn ZAVM{ o; pua;ui ;ou op noX adoq j,—piBS iaq;BJ Xra 'astvBd uajps puB Suoj B ia;jB carai; lauuip ;B ^ p aiiQ •LIUJFT ia;sis Xra jo asoq; q;TAV, paiBdraoa uaqAV <£uiq;ou <iaAaA\oq faiaAV sBuiiaej jno \\y -;iBaq ^ais aui ap^ui puaiij .reap lui rao.ij pa;BiBdas Bupq jo s;qBnoq; aq; IOJ f amoq ua\O Jiaq; YJIB;S p^q ^aq; ;^q; JO f moq uaaq jaAan pt?q $9t)jdu aq; ;^q; paqsm j Xui 10^ -Bui;.rad jo Bapi aq; paure;ia;ua aauo jaAau iCaq; fasnoq jtio o; aiu^a sdindu 6uvpou O V aq; qaiqm uo ;i2q; o; c;aus A; ;SIT^ Xaq; X^p aq; moij ;^q; 'aAaipq ijsnouas j pue F UMO i p q ; jo uos B S auioaaq OSU Buo{ p^q aq ioj B 'unq q;iAV Bui;iBd ;B a;Bpsuoasip aiaAV jCaq; ;aI 'aim; -lojpooS S 4 UBOUUQ UI paoiofai i|uiB;.[aa s;ua.red XT^ •uiiq jaAoasip ppioa ;«q; uosiad A B O; paiayo uaaq U 61 11 The superstitious ideas impressed upon Duncan's mind by this unfortunate encounter with the ghost of the piper, seem never to have been eradicated,* a strong instance of the power of early impressions, and a warning how much caution is necessary in modelling the conceptions of the young and tender mind ; for of all men I ever knew, he is the most afraid of meeting with apparitions. So deeply is his imagination minted with this startling illusion, that even the calm disquisitions of reason have proved quite inadequate to the task of dispelling it. Whenever it wears late, he is always on the look out for these ideal beings, keeping a jealous eye upon every bush and brake, in case they should be lurking behind them, ready to fly out and surprise him every moment; and the approach of a person in the dark, or any sudden noise, always deprives him of the power of speech for some time. After leaving Dewar, he went wandering about for a few weeks; and it appears that his youth, beauty, and peculiarly destitute situation, together with his friendship for his faithful Oscar, had interested the most part of the country people in his behalf, for he was generally treated with kindness. He knew his father's name, and the name of his house : but as none of the people he visited had ever before , heard of either the one or the other, they gave themselves no trouble about the matter. He staid nearly two years in a place he called Cowhaur, till a wretch, with whom he slept, struck and abused him one day. Duncan, in a rage, flew to the loft, and cut all his Sunday hat, shoes, and coat, in pieces ; and not daring to abide the consequences, decamped that night. He wandered about for some time longer among the farmers of Tweed and Yarrow ; but this life was now become exceedingly disagreeable to him. paxij saXa siq ;da^ ;nq poo;s uBoun(j *unq puiqaq ^ooj o; BuiiBp ;noq;m f;uBiiC; siq jo spaq AQ^ ; B JCBAYB paia£BB;s puB cpaiaAoaai JBUIIUB aqj^ •anssi aq; aq ppoAV ;BqAi aas o; £[;uai;Bd pa;iBAV '.§op siq ;noq;m aj;;i| op ppoo aq ;Bq; SUIAYOU^ 'UBUI aq; puB 'q;Baiq siq laAoaai ;qSiui aq ;Bq; pi?aq s4a;unoABj siq dn p p q a j j -unq jjpi XpiiB; ~.iaa ppoAY aq UBUI Siq B AvaiS jpsuiiq aq iaAa ji ;Bq; puB 'a;niq p-nia B SBAI aq ;Bq; UBUI aq; Suijp; puB cXpa;;iq BuidaaAV tfuoi;aBjo auaas aq; o; pa;sBq Q¥l 'IF J° isora unq pa^poqs i;iiBq.iBq pa;iiaui -un siq; ;nq 'UBDUUQ iood jo sBuipaj aq; punoA\. o; pauiqmoa pamaas aouB;sumaip a^qissod IiaAg JTB}S •;aaj siq ;B ssapsuas XBJ aq 5{aiq; B q;iA\. miq 5pm;s f suoi;Baaidrai XUBIH Buiia;;n puB <iBa aq; Xq raiq jo p p q piBj ;uBSBad aq; ;nq fjauuBui SuTiojdrai puB aAissimqns ;soui aq; ui q;iBa aq; o; paiaAVoa JBOSQ 'tutq ;9Qui o; ^aBq Buiuuni amBO puB ^adBasa siq ; a a j p o; pa;uBiW aq paui^Biui f5[0Bq puB i a S u i | o; miq SuiAiasqo oqAV fja;sBm S u i p a j u n siq ia;jB Xy;uB;anpi XBAYB padraq aq 'Xaqosipo; SuiiBaj ;nq ^pa^qmaJt^iBasQ qp3a R\m& puB pno]; B Xq p^iuBduioaaB cpa;Bad -ao: S A apsiqAV aqjQ c *uBignj uoX uioij am ; a a ; o i d BV uBaunQ O * 'SUIXBS JI SB ^aaBj siq ui pa^oo^ puB f q S i q ; siq uodn pBaq siq pauBa^ 'raosoq s4iCoq aq; o; SuiSuqa puB 'punos a q ; Avau^[ {PAV IBOSQ -pnop PAPSIQAN. ;uBSBad aqj^ c*aiB noX SB \\I os ;ou UIB J ;nq tfjpsiui ;Ba o; qmnia B ;OU aABq J, f aq PIBS 6\ .IBASQ lood Xm 'r\ol 9AiS O ; qmnia B ;OU aABq j , — -aiojaq ; p j u n s S u i p a j q ; m ;iBaq siq paaiaid UIBSB qoiqAV 's^oo^ s c p u a u j siq ui pa;uiBd aiaA\ Xiasirn puB .laSunq ;Bq; paAiasqo uoos uBaunQ ;nq f S A siq; BV uuq; Supaam lapua; aiora B aApauoa o; a[qissoduii si ; j -jaAiod puB q;Suaj;s ui unq o; l o u a j u i SBAI s .i^asQ SB 'IBOSO jo asoq; o; loiiajui SB aiaAV sSui -paj asoqAV jo aauapAauaq puB l;tsoiauaS aq; ( ^ i i ^ ;B miq uap;s 10 ;qSnoq jaq;p P Q 'suiaas ;I B *Hdqdmvj WDdunQ 'Hdqduivj umun(j J2 Duncan Campbell. 9 Duncan Vampfr elL you saw how my heart is sometimes wrung! Yes, I have had losses indeed." " You, losses!" said his spouse, " N o ; you never had any losses that did not in the end turn out a vast profit." " Do you then count the loss of a loving wife and a son nothing ?" said he. " But have you not got a loving wife and daughter in their room ? " returned she ; "the one will not waste your fortune as a prodigal son would have done, and the other will take care of both you and that, when you can do neither —the loss of your son, indeed! it was the greatest blessing you could have." " Unfeeling woman ! " said he, " but Heaven may yet restore that son to protect the grey hairs of his old father, and lay his head in an honoured grave."—The old man cried like a child : his lady mimicked him—and, at this, his daughter and servants raised a laugh. " Inhuman wretches ! " said Duncan, starting up, and pushing them aside, " thus to mock the feelings ot an old man, even although he were not the lord and master of vou all: but take notice, the individual DUNCAN CAMPBELL. • wg o> > ><K <I •• w g^€ < ( o £ > Ii • 5 D U N C A N C A M P B E L L came from the Highlands, when six years of age, to live with an old maiden aunt in Edinburgh, and attend the school. His mother was dead ; but his father had supplied her place by marrying his house-keeper Duncan did not trouble himself about these matters, nor indeed about any other matters, save a black foal of his father's, and a large sagacious colley, named V • I. J _/» - �sbav '41—raooi aq; o;tit padda;s pue loop aq; pauado aq—sn uiq;iAY pa;uii2j s;maq mo 'Xi;ua aq; Suop 8uiqoi2oiddi2 sda;s;ooj siq pmaq a Y u a q ^ -asnoq ^ aq; o;ui pa;si2q puB 'asioq siq UIOJJ % q % padranf 'adBosa siq a^pra ppoqs io;qap siq ;saj piBijE 'laoqjb aqj, loop aq; ;i2 sasioq i p q ; j o asioa aq; pmaq a V q;£uaj ; y A -daaAY pui2 UAvop ;is ;nq $uiq;ou op ppoo aAv 'UI-ba sai^a^ua m o Suipuij os : ;uasuoo asiAVou ui ppoAY aq ;uq 'uAY0jqiaA0 ;SIIJ siq; ji;un jpsuiiq apiq o; jaq;^j Am pa;^ai;ua iaq;oui ... Maoqjo sfiJJiiaqs « Xq paiu^duioooB £auio;;e auios u-Bq; iaq;o ou aiaAv Xaq; ;eq; pauiaosip-uoos puB 'AYopum aq; o; paiimq « i °P eAV ll^s ;BqA\. „ 'iaq;ora A in p p s Jiaou aoi;snf j o siaoigo aq; am lapuoj^ „ -asnoq poqos SBja raiojs p p aq; j o sp-Bq aq; £ q dn ^qdrnqs Suipii auiB'j uara oAY; uaqAVtfauopaq o; ;saq SBAY ;BqA\. £ u i ; p s u o o '^Bp auo uiooi aj;;q mo ui £ui;;is |p aiaAY a ^ •aunjioj pauma-piBq siq j o ; m d ia;BaiS aq; aouo ; b ;so| 'paqsm; aAV uioqAV ' p u a i i j B JO apn;i;BiSui snoi;s -uoui aq; A(\ 'iaq;BJ <sn ipo;iaAO aun;iojsira a j q i n a ; aiora 12 uaqAY 'UBOUUQ JO S O a q ; I q paAiao S J - a i £ a q ; qoiqAY 'spoqs a q ; auiooiaAo s S u i p a j m o p«q X p o m o g 'asnoq s 4 iaq;«j Aui ;B OS ;OU SB S ; J - A. •ssaupBjS pu-B Ao[ 'Sui^s-Baj q ; m pajnj ~ n 8 I O J ° saS«;;oo p u B s j p q a q ^ ^unouro ;BaiS B o; spunj p u o s i a d p'Bq iaq;Bj siq 'a;B;sa m a p pooS B sapisaq ;Bq; 'paiaAoosip uoos aq puB 'UBOUUQ j o }iiauia#BUBui a q ; o; pa;;iraraoa S A S u i q ; <CiaAg[ BY cc j uos £[uo puB map Am | uos Aui punoj aA'Bq J IOJ 'I|t;iBaq aaq; ^u-Bq; 'aq piBS (6] uaA-Baq j o po£) q » -T0J uiosoq siq uo ;daAV u a q ; pu« ctfunq p a s s i ^ — ; q S u siq uo s a p u i OAV; a q ; Sui^oo|—-suopsanb ;uaiaqooui IXIBUI paifs-B pu'B 'paiaAooai uoos aq—SIUIB siq ui uiiq p p q uBOunQ -UBOUI aAispAuoo « q;iAV 12 uo ^OBq ipms pu« <ubui p p aq; pauirepxa w j uos £Z 'ipqdiavj uvjun(j 18 Duncan Campbell> amounted to the same thing. W e often compared the other girls in the parish with one another, as to their beauty and accomplishments, but to think of comparing any of them with Mary, was entirely out of the question. She was, indeed, the emblem of truth, simplicity, and innocence, and if there were few more beautiful, there were still fewer so good and amiable; but still, as she advanced in years, she grew fonder and fonder of being near Duncan ; and by the time she was nineteen* was so deeply in love, that it affected her manner, her spirits, and her health. At one time she was gay and frisky as a kitten: she would dance, sing, and laugh violently at the most trivial incidents. At other times she was silent and sad, while a languishing softness overspread her features, and added greatly to her charms. The passion was undoubtedly mutual between them ; but Duncan, either from a sense of honour, or some other cause, never declared himself farther on the subject, than by the most respectful attention, and tender assiduities. About forty years ago the flocks of southern sheep, which have since that period inundated the Highlands, had not found their way over the Grampian mountains, and the native flocks of that sequestrated country were so scanty, that it was found necessary to transport small quantities of wool annually to the north, to furnish materials for clothing the inhabitants. During two months of each summer, the hilly countries of the Lowlands were inundated by hundreds of women from the Highlands, who gartered small articles of dress, and of domestic import, for wool; these were known by the appellation oinorlari' nettles ; and few nights passed, during the wool season, that some of them were not lodged at my father's house. It was from tw.o of these that Duncan learned one day that he was the laird of Glenellich's only son and heir, and that a large sum had ey aq; f am;^ia;i{ j o qou^iq ^n^uiBp Ira ;nq f 3 -unj puB ;uB;ioduii ;soui;Bq; jo ipn;s aq; O ; ; U B ; S U I ara-Bs aq; ;i2 ireSaq pu'B 'poqos qsimd aq; o; ;uas J puB UBOUUQ 4SuiAuqpj ^aaAV aq; ';i2q; 'SEAV qoiqAV jo 9ouanbasuoo aq; i uoi;Bonpa jo £;qi;n pui2 sasuadxa aq; uo s;ua.n2d ^ui uaaAv;aq uoi^siaAuoo is paonpoid ;uappui siqj, -UIBSB P U « UIB8I2 unq o; ;i pBai o; Xpoq ^iaAa j o SuiSSaq 'mm siq A\opq ajqig aq; q ; m ;noqB Sui^pAV svm U^OUUQ jfep ;xa^j •q;Sua{ ;BaiS s;i j o Suipu«;sq;m;ou ';noqSnoiq; ia;di2qo q;og aqi p^a-i puB 'a^qig aq; pauado UIBSB aq 'pioAi ^ Suua;;n ;noq;iAV 'Xouaoap jo qa^aiq i;s^q siq jo ;UUOOOB uo paqsBq-B miq Supas ;nq 'aot?j S c U^OUUQ X|uia;s pa^oo^ iaq;Bj Ajfo ;;i ;noq-B pi^s jCaq; ;^qAv maq sn ;aj pu^ 'uo 08 'UBOUUQ piBS 'iig 'as-Ba^d x\oA JI 'uo 08 'uo o g -5{ooq aq; pasop puB 'iaq;Bj Aui pii2s 'puiui moA ^isads 'aoiAp-B a ';i j o .iapisuo3 -Aioqp s ^ a q ^ j Xui o; asop dn uap;s pBq aq 'auop j p q S'BAV ; I aia ;nq 'asnoq aq; j o apis iaq;o aq; uo pa;^as SBAV UBOUUQ ' ; I Suip'Bai mB§aq aq uaqAV f saSpn£ j o :spoq aq; j o ia;dBqo q;gx Duncan Campbell. 7 eagerly upon Oscar, and the farther he went from him, the more strong his desire grew to follow him. He looked the other way, but all there was to him a blank—he had no desire to stand where he was, so he followed Oscar and the drove of cattle. The cattle were weary, and went slowly; and Duncan, getting a little rod in his hand, assisted the man greatly in driving them. One of the drivers gave him a penny, and another gave him * twopence ; and the lad who had the charge of the drove, observing how active and pliable he was, and how far he had accompanied him on the way, gave him sixpence : this was a treasure to Duncan, who, being extremely hungry, bought three penny rolls, as he passed through a town , one of these he ate * himself, another he gave to Oscar, and the third he carried below his arm, in casp of farther necessity. He drove all the day, and at night the cattle rested upon a height, which, by his description, seems to have been that between Gala Water and Middleton. Duncan went off at side in company with Oscar, to eat his roll; and taking shelter behind an old earthen wall, they shared their dry meat most lovingly between them. Ere it was quite finished, Duncan, being fatigued, dropped into a profound slumber, out of which he did not awake until the next morning was far advanced. Englishnten, cattle, and Oscar, all were gone. Duncan found himself alone on a wild height, in what country or kingdom he knew not. He sat for some time in a callous stupor, rubbing his eyes and scratching his head, but quite irresolute what was further necessary for him to do, until he was agreeably surprised by the arrival of Oscar, who (though he had gone at his master's call in the morning) had found means to escape and seek the retreat of his young friend and benefactor. Duncan, without reflecting on the consequence, rejoiced in the event, and thought of c*auii;-£i2p aq; m jpsXui IOU ';qSiu aq; Suimp auop daapt iaq;pu ;smp ami; SuofB lojpire 'mAvaQ ;jaj j O ; ajqB S-BAV J S12 uoos s y 'iaq;o aq; 10 apis auo aq; uo ara IAAO SuipuB;s aq o; ladid aq; SUIUIS-BUII B^BAvp ';q8iu£q saiuo£I2 pjpBaip ;sora aq; paiajpis I ami; qoiqAV Suimp 's&gp AuBUI ssaujji I q pauij -uoa SBAV j qoiqAV o; 'uaqo;pj aq; ui paq aj;;q B aui apBUi s;uBAias aq; : iaAaj qSiq « ui SBAY J jfep ;xajsj •sarai; paipunq 1 j o spmAvdn j p j j ams UB \ pu'B 2 I 'asnoq aq; raoij spm£ paipunq « ;ou SBAV J 'sda;s OAI; £iaAa punoiS aq; o ; j p j ;nq 'uni o; pamoA-Bap -ua puB dn ;o8 j 'jps^ui o; aurBD j uaqAV i Suoj Aioq AVOU^ ;ou op j 'uiBaip j o pui^ 12 ui Au\ puB 'q;ma aq; o; ssajiaAiod 5[uns ;nq 'uni o; paii; J ; ;id - S B B ^mp AvaiS aui punoiB j p ;uaraora ;^q; IOJ f uiiq jo i\aiA ; i o q s tj ;oS J ;nq f £poq p^ap e aijq s^Ai a p j , 8 M UBOunQ 'a^q aq SBAV > pa5[oo| aq 'punoi paum; j uaqAV puB 'sp-Bq Am piBq Suipu«;s SBAY oqAY 'iadid aq; AYBS J a i a q ; pu« ';qSq aq; ;B t\oo\ O; ;noqB paum; puB 'piBij'B Suiq;ou SBAY J F ara puiqaq umq puB ';ooj ;qSii Am Xq �10 Duncan Campbell. Duncan Campbell. like a man dying, or a cow that was chocked in the band; but at length he saw him at his side one night, which so discomposed him that he was obliged to leave the place, after being ill for many days. I shall give this story in Duncan's own words, which I have often heard him repeat without any variation. ' I had been driving some young cattle to the heights of Willensfie—it grew late before I got home. I was thinking, and thinking, how cruel it was to kill the poor piper ! to cut out his tongue, and stab him in the back. I thought it was no wonder that his ghost took it extremely ill; when, all on a sudden, I perceived a light before me :— I thought the wand in my hand was all on fire, and threw it away, but I perceived the light glide slowly by my right foot, and burn behind me; I was nothing afraid, and turned about to look at the light, and there I saw the piper, who was standing hard at my back, and when I turned round, he looked me in the face.' ' What was he like, Duncan V 4 He was like a dead body; but I got a short view of him ; for that moment all around me grew dark as a pit! I tried to run, but sunk powerless to the earth, and lay in a kind of dream, I do not know how long; when I came to myself, I got up and endeavoured to run, but fell to the ground every two steps. I was not a hundred yards from the house, and 1 am sure I fell upwards of a hundred times. Next day I was in a high fever : the servants made me a little bed in the kitchen, to which I was coilfined by illness many days, during which time I suffered the most dreadful agonies by night, always imagining the piper to be standing over me on the one side or the other. As soon as I was able to walk, I left Dewar, and for along time durst neither ileep alone during the night, nor stay by myself m the day-time.' ness to them during the bygone day, and to beg his protection through the dark and silent watches of the night. I need not inform any of my readers that that amiable duty consisted in singing a few stanzas of a psalm, in which all the family joined their voices with my father's, so that the double octaves of the various ages and sexes swelled to the simple concert. He then read a chapter from the Bible, going straight on from beginning to end of the Scriptures. The prayer concluded the devotions of each evening, in which the downfall of Antichrist was always strenuously urged, the ministers of the gospel remembered, nor was any friend or neighbour in distress forgot. At one time, the year following, my father, in th@ course of his evening devotions, had reached the 19th chapter of the book of Judges; when he began reading it, Duncan was seated on the other side of the house, but ere it was half done, he had stolen up close to my father's elbow. Consider of it, take advice, speak your mind, said my father, and closed the book. Go on, go on, if you please, Sir, said Duncan, go on, and let us hear what they said about it. My father looked sternly at Duncan's face, but seeing him abashed on account of his hasty breach of decency, without uttering a word, he again opened the Bible, and read the 20th chapter throughout, notwithstanding of its great length. Next day Duncan was walking about with the Bible below his arm, begging of every body to read it to him again and again. This incident produced a conversation between my parents on the expenses and utility of education; the consequent of which was, that, the week following, Duncan and I were sent to the parish school, and began at the same instant to the study of that most important and fundamental branch of literature, the A, B, C ; but my jo ;qSuoq; puB ';UOAO oq; ui poopfoi 'oououbosuoD oq; uo Sui;oo]joi ;noq;iAV 'UBOUUQ • io;oBjouoq put? puoiij SUUOIC siq jo ;i30i;0i oq; >pos puB odBoso o; SUB9UI puuoj pBq (SUIUIOUI oq; ui {JBO SCIO;SBUI siq ; B auoS pBq 9q qSnoq;) oqAV 'IBOSQ JO JBAIIIB oq; £q posiidms ICJQBQBISB SBAV oq ji;un 'op o; uiiq IOJ XIBS -SOOOU i9q;iuj SBAV ;BqAv 9;npsoni o;mb ;uq -pBoq siq Suiqo;Bios puB so£o siq Suiqqm 'iodn;s SUOJJBO B ui oun; ouios IOJ ;BS OJJ -;OU AVOU^ 9q uiopSupi IO XI;uuoo ;BqA\ ui ';q£pq pjiAv B UO OUOJB jpsunq puuoj UBOUUQ *OUOS 910AS. 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SB I^siij puB JCBS SBAV 9qs 9uii; 9uo ; y -q;[B9q i9q puB 's;iiids i9q 'I9UUBUI i9q p9;o9jfB ;i ;Bq; '9A0| III X[d99p OS SBAV *U99;9UIU SBAV 9qs 9uii; 9q; Iq puB F UBOUUQ IB9U S U P Q JO I9pUOJ puB I9pUOJ AV9iS 9qS 'SIB9JC ui poouBApB 9qs SB '^i;S ;nq i 9|QBIUIB puB pooS OS I9AV9J j[i;s 9I9AV 9I9q; '^UJi;UB9q 9 I 0 U I AV9J 9I9AV 9i9q; JI puB ' 9 0 U 9 0 0 U U { puB '^;pi"[drais 'q;ui; jo rao^quio 9q; 'p99pui 'SBAV 9qg *uoi;s9nb 9q; jo ;uo Xpii;u9 SBAV '^IBJ\[ q;iAV ui9q; jo ^UB SuiiBdraoo jo >[uiq; o; ;uq 's;u9iuqsi]:duioooB puB iC;uBoq i p q ; o; SB 'iaq;ouB ouo q;iAV qsiiBd oq; ui SJIIS ioq;o oq; poiBduioo uo;jo o ^ -Suiq; OUIBS oq; o; po;uuouiB I 'jpqdwvQ uvdunq IS •HdqdiuvQ ui)dun(j Duncan Campbell. 81 23 son!" exclaimed the old man, and sunk back on a seat with a convulsive moan. Duncan held him in his arms—he soon recovered, and asked many incoherent questions-—looking at the two moles on his right leg—kissed him* and then wept on his bosom for joy. " O God of heaven !" said he, " I thank thee heartily, for I have found my son ! my dear and only son ! " Every thing was committed to the management of Duncan, and he soon discovered, that besides a good clear estate, his father had personal funds to a great amount. The halls and cottages of Glenellich were filled with feasting, joy and gladness. It was not so at my father's house. Scarcely had our feelings overcome the shock, which they received by the loss of Duncan, when a more terrible misfortune overtook us. My father, by the monstrous ingratitude of a friend, whom we trusted, lost, at once the greater part of his hard-earned fortune. We were all sittiner in our little room one dav. � Document A resource containing textual data. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The History of Duncan Campbell, and his dog Oscar, and the Courtship of Duncan and Mary; An interesting Scottish Tale. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9923332033505154">s0384b17</a> Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. Courtship of Duncan and Mary; An interesting Scottish Tale. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Hogg, James, 1770-1835; Ettrick shepherd Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [ca. 1840] per National Library of Scotland Extent The size or duration of the resource. 24 pages 17 cm Subject The topic of the resource Chapbooks - Scotland - Oatley Highlands Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Is Referenced By A related resource that references, cites, or otherwise points to the described resource. <a title="National Library of Scotland" href="http://www.nls.uk/">National Library of Scotland&nbsp;</a> Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/2db72fcd63bd6724b344d6e4032ae009.jpg 3832a2a499ac6f8e505fb41518db77f1 Omeka Image File The metadata element set that was included in the `files_images` table in previous versions of Omeka. These elements are common to all image files. Bit Depth 8 Channels 3 Height 3267 Width 1937 https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/e70fa1acd19b693d55bfb9dc9ea6af5e.pdf e608444a6f13ded101373f65847d57c7 Document A resource containing textual data. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The History of Duncan Campbell, and his dog Oscar. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9953134493505154">s0231b06</a> <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9923332013505154">s0384b16</a> Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1840-1850 per National Library of Scotland Extent The size or duration of the resource. 24 pages 15 cm Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. Chapbook #11 in a bound collection of 20 chapbooks Description An account of the resource Woodcut image of a dog among grass and flowers on the title-page. 10 is printed at the bottom of the title-page. Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Edinburgh, Scotland Is Referenced By A related resource that references, cites, or otherwise points to the described resource. National Library of Scotland <a title="National Library of Scotland" href="http://www.nls.uk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">http://www.nls.uk</a>/ Type The nature or genre of the resource fiction Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For higher quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/ccea24808da2b5ecad1d533128254bb4.jpg a158c069b3c2fc1b5c1a6847dc59d73b Omeka Image File The metadata element set that was included in the `files_images` table in previous versions of Omeka. These elements are common to all image files. Bit Depth 8 Channels 3 Height 3604 Width 2127 https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/ae68989fa45d9e19d552d7e8831496f3.pdf 0f83381353191cd729fcfd2b38532cab Document A resource containing textual data. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The History of Duncan Campbell, and his dog Oscar. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9923332043505154">s0384b15</a> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Hogg, James, 1770-1835; Ettrick shepherd Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [1840-1850?] per National Library of Scotland Extent The size or duration of the resource. 24 pages 17 cm Description An account of the resource 10 is printed at the bottom of the title-page. Subject The topic of the resource Highlands Chapbooks - Scotland - Glasgow Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Is Referenced By A related resource that references, cites, or otherwise points to the described resource. <a title="National Library of Scotland" href="http://www.nls.uk/">National Library of Scotland&nbsp;</a> Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/32b64dc3b82351351619c4d9a3a50a99.pdf 8cfe9427710be3cdf829906097ae77fb https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/3146a39628d4129945fdc9d68f45b5fa.jpg 79afab12e95410ee9fa5f253879cb637 https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/170f183eedaaff3aafe63110ce746767.jpg c778ac43c4350a003d998793a1ff0c25 https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/d01c8f64c80da1e5eddd04e441fcc6ca.jpg b0081297fcb7277d62898a6c9b1c2b1d https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/349d480049c21fa46b02fc8eb93f1055.jpg 005b08b25aedcac2607809ae63dae83f https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/0b33123319e0c82e767532a7f0b4dada.jpg fba88a266fed836fd56e4b7bdc15abe5 https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/23c4e98e2a7bf53a9d4a7ef58e568cd9.jpg b609be75dfe7140ea7cc450adf1e81f5 https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/693f9407dc95fea85147282acadfcdf6.jpg a7f119f2a6275c524e076f77d454989f https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/52ae121d1738ac73768962a4f5a79b63.jpg 28d54648e044f159c1832f9fd9022d84 Document A resource containing textual data. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The history of Elizabeth Stewart. An authentic narrative. Subject The topic of the resource Crime Religion and Morals Chapbooks - Scotland - Glasgow Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9923332113505154">s0030Gb50</a> Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Glasgow, Scotland Extent The size or duration of the resource. 8 pages 17 cm Abstract A summary of the resource. This chapbook is presented as a short biography of a young woman who encounters a series of unfortunate events that lead her into sin, but is rescued from a complete degredation and prostitution by the intervention of a young man on the street. She ends up in an Asylum for reformed prostitutes, where she is saved by religious instruction just in time for her to shortly die of an unspecified illness. The tone of the publication is religious and moral and meant to teach the readers of the benefit of religious instruction and faith, even in adversity. Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1830? Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca Ext 53413 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Glasgow: Printed by A. Young for George Gallie Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario