In descending to the street they found an unusual stir and bustle, and a flowing of the multitude towards the Palace. The halberdiers, in their Sunday suits, with Johnnie Gaff at their head, were standing at the door of the Clerk's chamber, waiting to attend the Provost, Bailies, and Council, who were going in state to the Reception. Many of the shops were shut, and the people were in their best attire. It was a cheerful and lively sight. But when Father Jerome appeared, leaning on the arm of Baldy, the good-humour of the crowd became a little harsh. At first, passage was freely afforded to the old man. His papistical garb was, however, displeasing to many of the spectators, and before he reached the Abbot's door, there was both shouts and yells raised against him, and more than one handful of mire had sullied his robe. This Father Jerome himself endured with patience. He merely pitied the misled and erring multitude, and spoke, as it were prophetically, of the time being at hand when they would return to their old pastors and folds.

Baldy had less of the spirit of martyrdom. His temper was naturally brittle; and the profound reverence in which he held the Romish religion made him feel with indignation the revilings with which the venerable chaplain was assailed. He, however, said nothing, but walked as briskly as the old man could go with him to the house wherein the Abbot resided. Here, when the door was opened, and Father Jerome safe within, Baldy halted on the steps, before entering, and addressed the crowd.

"Ye hae had," said he, "for some time the power in your ain hands, but I trow misrule is coming to an end."

At these words a huge clash of mire was thrown from the crowd, and shut Baldy's mouth. It would have been as well, both for himself and others, had the matter ended here; but the bravery with which he had spoken struck some of the most observant of his auditors, and they made their own comments upon that circumstance.

For some time previous the unreformed priesthood had moved with humility and moderation. They saw that the tides of the time were against them, and conducted themselves, under the reproaches of the Protestants, in such a manner as to save themselves from any particular disparagement or obloquy. This, however, applied only to those who frequented the great towns. In the neighbourhood of their own abbeys and monasteries they still exercised their wonted arrogance, even perhaps more decidedly than when they were in less danger;

and Baldy being bred up in the country, and favourable to the papistical cause, was little prepared to brook the rough treatment he had received. The effect of his bold attempt to harangue the mob, raised an opinion in the crowd that the Catholics were encouraged to make a stand. This notion spreading, the zealots began to think it would be expedient to let them know how little this would be permitted. Thus it came to pass, when it was known that many of the ancient churchmen were assembling at the lodgings of the Bishop of Glasgow to go with him to Court, that the multitude went off in the same direction, to give them some taste of their temper.

Father Jerome was conducted into the Abbot's room, a dark, lofty chamber, wainscoted with oak, richly carved with mitres, armorial shields, and other ensigns and emblems of ecclesiastical dignity. A massy table stood in the middle of the room with implements for writing, and a huge chased brazen inkstand in the centre. Around the room were several large chairs, covered with black leather, each of them capaciously formed for the reception of no ordinary corpulency.

The abbot himself was not in the room when Father Jerome was shown in, but one of his chaplains, a little dried sallow-visaged friar, received him, and requested him to be seated, while he went to make his arrival known.

Father Jerome was not allowed to remain long by himself; a shrill bell was rung in an inner apartment, and presently two tall elderly friars came out, and stood at each side of the door. Then came a third, bearing a silver mace, on the top of which, an emblem of the Abbey, sat a figure of the Virgin and Child. Then came the Abbot himself, a capacious, tall, majestical person, with a hoary flowing beard, dressed in his pontifical, wearing the mitre of his order.

Father Jerome, still tingling with the humiliation to which he had been subjected, beheld the gorgeous appearance of the Abbot with mingled awe and dread. He approached him, however, and lifting the hem of his garment, kissed it with profound veneration, while the Abbot laid his hand upon his head and pronounced a brief benediction.

"I have sent for you," the Abbot then said, "to accompany me to the house of the Bishop of Glasgow. I expect certain others of our west country clergy; for the time has come when we should show the reprobates, that they are not always to domineer over us in the way they have of late done."

Father Jerome, with great humility, expressed his apprehen

sion, that in the present temper of the people, it might be as well to postpone any outward demonstration of their confidence in the religion of the Queen's Majesty, until the councils of the kingdom had time to set the realm more in order.

"Ah!" cried the Abbot, "it is such timeserving that has proved our ruin; unless we now show that we have courage and confidence in our ability, to meet our adversaries face to face, there will be but little amendment in our condition. The Queen is a woman young in years, and will, no doubt, be ruled by those that 'get nearest about her. But, father, it is in your power at this time to be a great instrument in the restoration of the rights of the Church. It has been observed, that Southennan has, in a very surprising manner, speedily become acquainted with some of those who have the private ear of the Queen, and we look to your instrumentality to turn this blessed accident to an efficacious account."

The Abbot then waved with his hand to his attendants to retire, and seating himself, desired Father Jerome to take a chair beside him. He then began to explain to the old man in what way he should exert his influence over Southennan. The consternation of the Abbot was, however, extreme, when Father Jerome replied:

"I doubt, my Lord Abbot, if what you advise is within the compass of any power of mine. In sooth to say, I have within the hour had great cause to fear that Southennan has received an infection of the new heresies, that will mar the hope I had in him. Prudent and judicious he is for so young a man, and I do not say he has lent himself to the sedition of our enemies but if it be, my Lord Abbot, as you say, that he has formed intimacies with' courtiers in the confidence of the Queen's Majesty, I doubt it is not to be the fashion at Court to take up our cause in any determined manner."

;

The Abbot told him, that certainly it had been the intention of the Queen's Majesty to act an even part between the old and the new clergy; but that she had been that morning greatly insulted by the reformed ministers, and it was thought if the matter were well handled, she would be brought, in consequence, to make a braver demonstration towards the right cause. Some farther discourse took place on the same subject, and ultimately the interview ended by the Abbot consenting, on the earnest exhortation of Father Jerome, to go without the ostentation of his pontificals to the Bishop of Glasgow. VOL. I.--11

CHAPTER XXXVI.

"Oh, ye mitred heads Preserve the church!"

COWPER.

AT this interesting epoch many of the nobles and great characters of the state were in Edinburgh, and, according to the custom of the age, they had all numerous trains of armed men in attendance. This circumstance, considering the religious controversies among them, might have endangered the tranquillity of the city, but with a forbearance rare in the history of Scottish contentions, they simultaneously, without any compact, agreed, in deference to the festival of the Queen's arrival, to lay the strictest injunctions on their retainers to preserve the public peace.

Thus it happened, that when the crowd ran from the Abbot of Kilwinning's house, yelling and shouting, towards the lodg ings of the Bishop of Glasgow, an accident occurred which, at any other time, would have been the cause of riot and bloodshed. The Earl of Glencairn, one of the most distinguished leaders among the champions of the Reformation, was then proceeding towards Holyrood House with a numerous retinue of armed followers, and immediately behind him came the Lord Torphican, a Catholic, also in the same manner numerously attended. The two noblemen, and their respective principles and characters, were well known to the crowd, who, observing them quietly proceeding together, were daunted in their riotous intentions, and still more awed when the Lord Glencairn, seeing the disposition to tumult that was in the multitude assembled before the Bishop's gate, directed his men to halt there, and to repress every symptom of insubordination. By this well-timed decision on the part of that eminent Protestant, the peace of the city was preserved, the Abbot of Kilwinning with Father Jerome were quietly without ostentation allowed to join the Bishop's party, and the whole assemblage of the clergy convened there, were suffered to proceed with their customary paraphernalia to the Palace.

Nevertheless, it was plain to them all, that, as they owed

their protection to Glencairn, the hearts of the people had deserted them for ever. Instead, therefore, of the arrogant anticipations with which they had formed the design of their procession, they advanced with lowly countenances and mortified feelings. It was observed, that many of them had a look of dejection, even of grief, and that, although a few of the prelates and higher clergy still held themselves with a proud port and an undaunted eye, yet the whole presented something of discomfiture and a consciousness of being only tolerated by some forbearance of their adversaries.

The hazard of disturbance to the festivity of the Reception being thus prevented, the Queen had no cause to regret that evening any seeming want of unanimity among the people.

In the mean time, Baldy, having left Father Jerome with the Abbot, safe in the lodgings of the Bishop of Glasgow, returned to Mrs. Marjory's, for Hughoc, in order that they might together attend their master to the Palace.

On knocking at the door he was surprised to be admitted by the old gentlewoman herself, still in full dress. Hughoc, she informed him, had been restless and camstarie, and would not be counselled by her.

"He's gane," said she, "in despite o' my counsel, to seek for Southennan; wha, to tell the truth, Mr. Archibald, is no the gentleman ye said he was. He's a prejinct upsetter, and if he's o' the right faith, he has an ill way o' showing it. I'm sure, had my cousin Auchenbrae no been under a cloud, and he has the double o' a' the estate of Southennan, he would hae treated me in a very different manner. But, Mr. Archibald, what can he want wi' you and the laddie Hughoc thegither? It's just a vanity. Let the laddie gang till him, and mak a kirk and a mill o' what they would be at; but I'll lay my commands baith as a gentlewoman and as an auld acquaintance frae the time o' your former maister, that ye gang wi' me for a protection."

Baldy had been so little satisfied with his master's conduct all day, that he was very much inclined to let him know that the man could do without the master, and, accordingly, he said to Mistress Marjory, if she thought she needed his protection, he would stretch a point to attend her. The offer was gladly accepted; and with her towering toupees, short petticoats, and tall red morocco leather high-heeled shoes, she soon sallied forth (followed by Baldy), carrying her feather fan in the one hand, and her sack (as the reticule was called in those days), hanging by a red ribbon from her wrist.