allowed to go down from the scaffold to gratify the curiosity of the people, and to receive their alms. It happened that there was among the crowd a gentleman of Fife, Robert Colville of Cleish,[467] who, from his romantic bravery, was usually called Squire Meldrum, in allusion to a person of that name who had been celebrated by Sir David Lindsay. He was of protestant principles, but his wife was a Roman catholic, and, being pregnant at this time, had sent a servant with a present to the chapel of Loretto, to procure the assistance of the Virgin in her labour. The squire was too gallant to hurt his lady’s feelings {323} by prohibiting the present from being sent off, but he resolved to prevent the superstitious offering, and with that view had come to Musselburgh. He witnessed the miracle of curing the blind man with the distrust natural to a protestant, and determined, if possible, to detect the imposition before he left the place. Wherefore, having sought out the young man from the crowd, he put a piece of money into his hand, and persuaded him to accompany him to his lodgings in Edinburgh. Taking him into a private room, and locking the door, he told him plainly that he was convinced he had engaged in a wicked conspiracy with the friars to impose on the credulity of the people, and at last drew from him the secret of the story. When a boy, he had been employed to tend the cattle belonging to the nuns of Sciennes, in the vicinity of Edinburgh, and had attracted their attention by a peculiar faculty which he had of turning up the white of his eyes, and of keeping them in this position, so as to appear quite blind. Certain friars in the city, having come to the knowledge of this fact, conceived the design of making it subservient to their purposes; and, having prevailed on the sisters of Sciennes to part with the poor boy, lodged him in one of their cells. By daily practice he became an adept in the art of counterfeiting blindness; and after he had remained so long in concealment as not to be recognised by his former acquaintance, he was sent forth to beg as a blind pauper; the friars having previously bound him, by a solemn vow, not to reveal the secret. To confirm his narrative, he {324} “played his pavie” before the squire, by “flypping up the lid of his eyes, and casting up the white,” so as to appear as blind as he did on the scaffold at Loretto. The gentleman laid before him the iniquity of his conduct, and told him that he must next day repeat the whole story publicly at the cross of Edinburgh; and, as this would expose him to the vengeance of the friars, he engaged to become his protector, and to retain him as a servant in his house. The young man complied with his directions, and Cleish, with his drawn sword in his hand, having stood by him till he had finished his confession, placed him on the same horse with himself, and carried him off to Fife. The detection of this imposture was quickly published through the country, and covered