have naught to say, except that there must be some warlockwork in the matter to tempt even a squaw to frisk round a Maypole with such as you." Morton, sullen, silent, and disarmed, was meantime led to the boat between Alden and Howland, the other men after, and last of all Standish, muttering, "Better if there had been a garrison strong enough to hold the position. Then we might have burned the house and haply slain the traitor in hot blood." THE AULD STUARTS BACK AGAIN. THE auld Stuarts back again, The auld Stuarts back again; Let howlet Whig do what they can, We'll wauk their hides and file their fuds, Give ear unto my loyal sang, There ye might see the noble Mar, Anonymous. 743 WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN. AYTOUN, WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE. A Scottish humorist; born in Edinburgh, June 21, 1813; died at Blackhills, near Elgin, August 4, 1865. He joined the editorial staff of "Blackwood's Magazine" in 1844, and to his death continued an unwearying and fertile contributor to its pages. Professor of literature in the University of Edinburgh, 1845-64. After John Wilson's death (1854), he was considered the most important man of letters in Scotland during his life, famous for his humor, satire, and criticism. His most celebrated work is "Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers " (1848, 29th ed. 1883), a series of ballads replete with genuine poetry, glorifying the champions of the Stuart cause. Noteworthy is his critical and annotated collection of the "Ballads of Scotland" (1858, 4th ed. 1870). With Theodore Martin he wrote the famous "Bon Gaultier Ballads" (1844, 13th ed. 1877), and translated "Poems and Ballads of Goethe " (1858). THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE. (From "Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers.") COME hither, Evan Cameron ! I hear the river roaring down There's shouting on the mountain-side, There's war within the blast Old faces look upon me, Old forms go trooping past. I hear the pibroch wailing "T was I that led the Highland host I've told thee how the Southrons fell And how we smote the Campbell clan I've told thee how we swept Dundee, And tamed the Lindsays' pride: A traitor sold him to his foes: Stand he in martial gear alone, Or backed by armèd men, Face him, as thou wouldst face the man They brought him to the Watergate, They set him high upon a cart,— The hangman rode below, They drew his hands behind his back Then, as a hound is slipped from leash, It would have made a brave man's heart To watch the keen malignant eyes There stood the Whig West-country lords In balcony and bow; There sat their gaunt and withered dames, And their daughters all arow. And every open window Was full as full might be ith black-robed Covenanting carles, hat goodly sport to see! But when he came, though pale and wan, And each man held his breath, Through all the people crept, And some that came to scoff at him But onwards always onwards, In silence and in gloom, The dreary pageant labored, Till it reached the house of doom. Then first a woman's voice was heard In jeer and laughter loud, And an angry cry and hiss arose From the heart of the tossing crowd; Then, as the Græme looked upwards, He saw the ugly smile Of him who sold his king for gold - The Marquis gazed a moment, And nothing did he say, But the cheek of Argyle grew ghastly pale, And he turned his eyes away. The painted harlot by his side, For a roar like thunder swept the street, For seven long years thou hast not dared Had I been there with sword in hand, That day through high Dunedin's streets Not all their troops of trampling horse, Had borne us backward then! Once more his foot on Highland heath Or I, and all who bore my name, Been laid around him there! It might not be. They placed him next Where once the Scottish kings were throned But there was dust of vulgar feet And perjured traitors filled the place "Now, by my faith as belted knight, And by the bright Saint Andrew's cross I have not sought in battle-field A wreath of such renown, "There is a chamber far away Where sleep the good and brave, But a better place ye have named for me For truth and right, 'gainst treason's might, And ye raise it up for a witness still In the eye of earth and heaven. Then nail my head on yonder tower Give every town a limb --- And God who made shall gather them: The morning dawned full darkly, And the jagged streak of the levin-bolt |