'What I hae tint through lack o' wit,
I never, never, can recall;
I trust you'll be my friends as yet;
Gude night, and joy be wi' you all!'
He waved his plumed hat to us as we spurred round the margin of the lake, and in a direction opposite to that pursued by the deluded messengers of Cardinal Richelieu, galloped in safety down the moonlighted path that led towards the far-famed Rhine.
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If any of my readers are curious to see in stone and lime a corroboration of the foregoing narrative, let them come with me to the Grampians of Galloway—to that sequestered district so celebrated for the savage grandeur of its scenery, and the feudal exploits of the loyal house of Kenmure. If my inquiring friend is a sportsman, let him not forget his rod and gun (with sandwiches and a well-filled pocket-pistol), for there the spotted trout, the scaly salmon, the wild duck, the dusky coot and heron, enjoy a lonely world of their own; and if our wanderer be (as I would prefer) one of the fairer portion of our creation, let her not forget her sketch-book and the language of the flowers.
There, amid the wilds of Glenkens, we will find the ruined tower of Blanerne, above the arched door of which is a carved scutcheon of red stone, bearing the arms of the Scottish Blanes; to wit, in the half-obsolete slang of heraldry, argent, a fesse gules, with a mullet between two crescents of the first; in base, a rose of the second, quartered with the three winglets of Lorraine, the whole being collared by the order of St. Lazare, crested by a sword, and encircled by a motto, which the venerable 'muffs' of the Lyon Court have declared to be
'HE YAT GIVES QUICKLIE, GIVES TWYSE.'
From the quartering of this escutcheon, as well as from various entries in the parochial register of births, we may be assured that Arthur Blane and his bride lived here long in honour and happiness; but the reader may wish to know something more of those who have borne a prominent place in these pages.
A few lines will tell their story.
The Marquis of Gordon succeeded to the title of Huntly, and after a long career of brilliant service, returned to Scotland; where in 1649 he was cruelly executed for his loyalty to the house of Stuart—the common fate of loyalty and love of country in those days.
Patrick Gordon and Viscount Dundrennan both died for the King at Marston Moor; while Clara D'Ische ended her days in a convent, and was, we believe, the last favourite of Louis XIII.