‘I have lived,’ said he in anguish, ‘to see a Prince, twice of his own choice, take the oath of the covenants to support religion, and the fundamental laws of the land. I have lived to see that Prince turn traitor to his country, and, with unblushing impiety order these covenants to be burned by the hands of the executioner. I have seen him subvert the liberty of my country, both civil and religious.--I have seen him erect a bloody inquisition. The priest imposed on us by tyranny, instead of wooing us over by the loveliness of religion, have thrown off the bowels of mercy. They occupy seats in the bloody Council. They stimulate the cruelties of Lauderdale, M’Kenzie and York. Their hands are dipt in blood to the wrests. This Council will not permit us to live in peace. Our property they confiscate. Our houses, they convert into barracks. They drag free men into chains. They bring no witnesses of our guilt.--They invent new tortures to convert us. They employ the thumb-screws and bootkins. If we are silent they condemn us. If we confess our Christian creed, they doom us to the gibbet. Not only our sentence, but the manner of our execution is fixed before our trial. Clavers is our judge; his dragoons are our executioners; and these savages do still continue to employ even the sagacity of blood hounds to hunt us down.--My soul turns away from these loathsome spectacles.’ At this moment his brother John entered, with looks which betrayed unusual anxiety. ‘My brother,’ said he, ‘a trooper advances at full speed, and he is followed by a dark column. We have not even time to fly.’--The mind of the laird like those of the rest of the wanderers, always brightened up at the approach of danger. ‘Let us reconnoiter,’ said he, ‘what do I see, but one trooper. And that motely crowd is but a rabble--not a troop. That trooper is not of Clavers’ band; nor does he belong to Douglas--nor to Ingles--nor to Strachan’s dragoons. He waves a small flag. I can discover the scarlet and blue colour of the Covenanters flag. Ha! welcome you, John Howie of Lochgoin.--But what news?--Lives our country? Lives the good old cause?’--‘Glorious news,’ exclaimed Howie, ‘Scotland for ever! She is free. The tyrant James has abdicated. The Stuarts are banished by an indignant nation, Orange triumphs, our wounds are binding up.--Huzza! Scotland, and King William and the Covenant for ever!’ The Laird made no reply. He laid his steel cap on the ground, and threw himself on his knees; he uttered a brief prayer, in which this was the close: ‘My bleeding country, and thy wailing kirk, and my brethren in the furnace, have come in remembrance before thee. For ever lauded be thy name.’--‘Hasten to the meeting at Lesmahagow. Our friends behind me, you see, have already set out,’ said Howie. And he set out with enthusiastic ardour to spread the news.