“The relations of the two officers that were killed went to Drumclog next day after the skirmish, to bury them; but the country people had cut and mangled the bodies of the slain in such a manner that only one of the officers could be recognised. The coffin intended for the other was left at High Drumclog, where it remained many years in a cart-shed, till it was used in burying a vagrant beggar that died at the Mount, in that neighbourhood. This fact has been well attested to the writer of this account from sources of information on which he can rely.” FOOTNOTES: [21] The chapel was built in the fourteenth century, by Sir William St. Clair of Roslin, in consequence of a vow which he made in a curious emergency. One day, hunting with King Robert I., he wagered his head that his hounds, _Help_ and _Hold_, would kill a certain beautiful white deer before it crossed the March burn. On approaching the boundary, there seemed little chance of his hounds being successful; but he went aside, and vowed a new chapel to St. Catherine if she would intercede in his behalf; and she, graciously accepting of his offer, inspired the hounds with supernatural vigour, so that they caught the deer just as she was approaching the other side of the burn. [22] This spirited article is copied (by express permission of the Publishers,) from “The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.” [23] Among other ridiculous occurrences, it is said that some of Charles’s gallantries were discovered by a prying neighbour. A wily old minister was deputed by his brethren to rebuke the King for his heinous scandal. Being introduced into the royal presence, he limited his commission to a serious admonition, that, upon such occasions, his Majesty should always shut the windows. The King is said to have recompensed this unexpected lenity after the Restoration. He probably remembered the joke, though he might have forgotten the service. [24] See the life of this booted apostle of prelacy, written by Swift, who had collected all his anecdotes of persecution, and appears to have enjoyed them accordingly. [25] “They raved,” says Peden’s historian, “like fleshly devils, when the mist shrouded from their pursuit the wandering Whigs. One gentleman closed a declaration of vengeance against the conventicles with this strange imprecation, ‘or may the devil make my ribs a gridiron to my soul.’”—MS. Account of the Presbytery of Penpont. Our armies swore terribly in Flanders, but nothing of this. [26] Peden complained bitterly that, after a heavy struggle with the devil, he had got above him, spur-galled him hard, and obtained a wind to carry him from Ireland to Scotland—when, behold! another person had set sail, and reaped the advantage of his prayer-wind, before he could embark.