The Fair Maid of Perth | Page 5

add to the elegant and forcible narrative of Robertson? So adieu
to my vision. I awake, like John Bunyan, 'and behold it is a dream.'
Well enough that I awake without a sciatica, which would have
probably rewarded my slumbers had I profaned Queen Mary's bed by
using it as a mechanical resource to awaken a torpid imagination."
"This will never do, cousin," answered Mrs. Baliol; "you must get over
all these scruples, if you would thrive in the character of a romantic
historian, which you have determined to embrace. What is the classic
Robertson to you? The light which he carried was that of a lamp to
illuminate the dark events of antiquity; yours is a magic lantern to raise
up wonders which never existed. No reader of sense wonders at your
historical inaccuracies, any more than he does to see Punch in the show
box seated on the same throne with King Solomon in his glory, or to
hear him hallooing out to the patriarch, amid the deluge, 'Mighty hazy
weather, Master Noah.'"
"Do not mistake me, my dear madam," said I; "I am quite conscious of
my own immunities as a tale teller. But even the mendacious Mr. Fag,
in Sheridan's Rivals, assures us that, though he never scruples to tell a
lie at his master's command, yet it hurts his conscience to be found out.
Now, this is the reason why I avoid in prudence all well known paths of
history, where every one can read the finger posts carefully set up to

advise them of the right turning; and the very boys and girls, who learn
the history of Britain by way of question and answer, hoot at a poor
author if he abandons the highway."
"Do not be discouraged, however, cousin Chrystal. There are plenty of
wildernesses in Scottish history, through which, unless I am greatly
misinformed, no certain paths have been laid down from actual survey,
but which are only described by imperfect tradition, which fills up with
wonders and with legends the periods in which no real events are
recognised to have taken place. Even thus, as Mat Prior says:
"Geographers on pathless downs Place elephants instead of towns."
"If such be your advice, my dear lady," said I, "the course of my story
shall take its rise upon this occasion at a remote period of history, and
in a province removed from my natural sphere of the Canongate."
It was under the influence of those feelings that I undertook the
following historical romance, which, often suspended and flung aside,
is now arrived at a size too important to be altogether thrown away,
although there may be little prudence in sending it to the press.
I have not placed in the mouth of the characters the Lowland Scotch
dialect now spoken, because unquestionably the Scottish of that day
resembled very closely the Anglo Saxon, with a sprinkling of French or
Norman to enrich it. Those who wish to investigate the subject may
consult the Chronicles of Winton and the History of Bruce by
Archdeacon Barbour. But supposing my own skill in the ancient
Scottish were sufficient to invest the dialogue with its peculiarities, a
translation must have been necessary for the benefit of the general
reader. The Scottish dialect may be therefore considered as laid aside,
unless where the use of peculiar words may add emphasis or vivacity to
the composition.
PREFACE.
In continuing the lucubrations of Chrystal Croftangry, it occurred that,
although the press had of late years teemed with works of various
descriptions concerning the Scottish Gad, no attempt had hitherto been
made to sketch their manners, as these might be supposed to have
existed at the period when the statute book, as well as the page of the
chronicler, begins to present constant evidence of the difficulties to
which the crown was exposed, while the haughty house of Douglas all
but overbalanced its authority on the Southern border, and the North

was at the same time torn in pieces by the yet untamed savageness of
the Highland races, and the daring loftiness to which some of the
remoter chieftains still carried their pretensions.
The well authenticated fact of two powerful clans having deputed each
thirty champions to fight out a quarrel of old standing, in presence of
King Robert III, his brother the Duke of Albany, and the whole court of
Scotland, at Perth, in the year of grace 1396, seemed to mark with
equal distinctness the rancour of these mountain feuds and the degraded
condition of the general government of the country; and it was fixed
upon accordingly as the point on which the main incidents of a
romantic narrative might be made to hinge. The characters of Robert III,
his ambitious brother, and his dissolute son seemed to offer