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FLUID DYNAMICS
 Fluid Dynamics
Part 4: Hydrodynamic Stability Theory

Anatoly I. Ruban
Imperial College London

Jitesh S. B. Gajjar
University of Manchester

Andrew G. Walton
Imperial College London
 Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, OX2 6DP,
United Kingdom
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The moral rights of the authors have been asserted
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in
a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the
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Dedicated to Prof. P. Hall, Prof. F.T. Smith FRS, Prof. J.T. Stuart FRS,
and also to Joseph and Isaac,
and Andrei.
Preface

This is Part 4 of a book series on fluid dynamics that is comprised of the following
four parts:
Part 1. Classical Fluid Dynamics
Part 2. Asymptotic Problems of Fluid Dynamics
Part 3. Boundary Layers
Part 4. Hydrodynamic Stability Theory
The series is designed to give a comprehensive and coherent description of fluid dynam-
ics, starting with chapters on classical theory suitable for an introductory undergrad-
uate lecture course, and then progressing through more advanced material up to the
level of modern research in the field. Our main attention is on high-Reynolds-number
flows, both incompressible and compressible. Correspondingly, the target reader groups
are undergraduate and masters students reading mathematics, aeronautical engineer-
ing, or physics, as well as doctoral students and established researchers working in the
field.
In Part 1, we started with a discussion of the fundamental concepts of fluid dy-
namics, based on the continuum hypothesis. We then analysed the forces acting inside
a fluid, and deduced the Navier–Stokes equations for incompressible and compress-
ible fluids in Cartesian and curvilinear coordinates. These were deployed to study the
properties of a number of flows that are represented by the so-called exact solutions
of the Navier–Stokes equations. This was followed by a detailed discussion of the the-
ory of inviscid flows for incompressible and compressible fluids. When dealing with
incompressible inviscid flows, particular attention was paid to two-dimensional poten-
tial flows. These can be described in terms of the complex potential, allowing for the
full power of the theory of functions of a complex variable to be employed. We demon-
strated how the method of conformal mapping can be used to study various flows of
interest, such as flows past Joukovskii aerofoils and separated flows. For the latter the
Kirchhoff model was adopted. The final chapter of Part 1 was devoted to compressible
flows of a perfect gas, including supersonic flows. Particular attention was given to the
theory of characteristics, which was used, for example, to analyse the Prandtl–Meyer
flow over a body surface with a bend or a corner. The properties of shock waves were
also discussed in detail for steady and unsteady flows.
In Part 2 we introduced the reader to asymptotic methods. Also termed perturbation
methods, they are now an inherent part of fluid dynamics. We started with a discussion
of the mathematical aspects of asymptotic theory. This was followed by an exposition
of the results of application of the theory to various fluid-dynamic problems. The first
of these was the thin aerofoil theory for incompressible and subsonic flows, both steady
and unsteady. In particular, it was shown that this theory allowed us to reduce the
task of calculating the lift force to the evaluation of a simple integral. We then turned
 Preface vii

our attention to supersonic flows. We first analysed the linear approximation to the
governing Euler equations, which led to a remarkably simple relationship between the
slope of the aerofoil surface and the pressure, known as the Ackeret formula. We then
considered the second-order Buzemann approximation, and performed the analysis of
a rather slow process of attenuation of the perturbations in the far-field. Part 2 also
contained a detailed discussion of the properties of inviscid transonic and hypersonic
flows. We concluded Part 2 with analysis of viscous low-Reynolds-number flows. Two
classical problems of the low-Reynolds-number flow theory were considered: the flow
past a sphere and the flow past a circular cylinder. In both cases the flow analysis
led to a difficulty, known as Stokes paradox. We showed how this paradox could be
resolved using the formalism of matched asymptotic expansions.
Part 3 was devoted to high-Reynolds-number flows. We began with the analysis
of the flows that could be described in the framework of the classical boundary-layer
theory put forward by Prandtl in 1904. To this category belong the Blasius boundary
layer on a flat plate and the Falkner–Skan solutions for the boundary layer on a wedge
surface. We also presented Schlichting’s solution for the laminar jet and Tollmien’s
solution for the viscous wake. These were followed by analysis of Chapman’s shear
layer that was performed with the help of Prandtl’s transposition theorem. We also
considered the boundary layer on the surface of a rapidly rotating cylinder with the
purpose of linking the circulation around the cylinder with the speed of its rotation. We
concluded the discussion of classical boundary-layer theory with analysis of compress-
ible boundary layers, including the interactive boundary layers in hypersonic flows.
We then turned our attention to separated flows. These could not be described in the
framework of classical boundary-layer theory. Instead the concept of viscous-inviscid
interaction should be used. We started with the so-called self-induced separation in
supersonic flow. The theory of self-induced separation was developed by Stewartson
and Williams (1969) and Neiland (1969), and led to the formulation of the triple-deck
model. We then presented Sychev’s (1972) theory of the boundary-layer separation in
an incompressible fluid flow past a circular cylinder. This was followed by a discussion
of the triple-deck flow near the trailing edge of a flat plate first investigated by Stewart-
son (1969) and Messiter (1970). Then the incipience of the separation at corner points
of the body surface was analysed based on triple-deck theory. Part 3 concludes with
analysis of the formation and bursting of short separation bubbles at the leading edge
of a thin aerofoil, for which purpose a special version of triple-deck theory, referred to
as marginal separation theory, was developed by Ruban (1981, 1982) and Stewartson
et al. (1982).
Part 4 is devoted to hydrodynamic stability theory which serves to predict the onset
of laminar-turbulent transition in fluid flows. We start with the classical results of the
theory. In Chapter 1 we introduce the concept of linear instability of fluid flows, and
formulate the Orr–Sommerfeld equation describing the stability properties of parallel
and quasi-parallel flows. In the latter category are two-dimensional boundary layers
where the Orr–Sommerfeld equation describes the instability in the form of Tollmien–
Schlichting waves. We then consider the stability of ‘inviscid flows’ governed by the
Rayleigh equation. In addition to describing the general properties of the Rayleigh
equation, we present a numerical solution of this equation for a laminar jet. This is
viii Preface

followed by a discussion of the Kelvin–Helmholtz instability of the shear layers that

form, for example, when the boundary layer separates from a rigid body surface.
We conclude Chapter 1 with a discussion of two other modes of instability, first,
the Cross-Flow instability that is known to dominate laminar-turbulent transition on
swept wings and, second, the centrifugal instability on a concave surface, taking the
form of Taylor–Görtler vortices.
In Chapter 2 we concentrate our attention on parallel shear flows. The linear stabil-
ity of such flows is governed by the Orr–Sommerfeld equation. Typically, computational
solutions of this equation, when plotted in the wave number–Reynolds number plane,
demonstrate the existence of two distinct branches along which disturbances neither
grow nor decay but remain in a so-called neutral state, with these branches bounding
a region of instability. In Chapter 2 we employ asymptotic analysis, and the method of
matched asymptotic expansions, to uncover the nature of these modes in the vicinity
of the two branches in the limit of large Reynolds number. The analysis, inspired by
the work of Lin (1946), is carried out specifically for boundary-layer flows under the
parallel flow assumption, and also for plane Poiseuille flow. For the lower branch we
recover the triple-deck flow model discussed in detail in Part 3 of this book series.
The mode structure in the vicinity of the upper branch is particularly complicated,
with viscous effects not simply confined to near-wall regions, but also playing a vital
role within an internal layer centred around the location where the disturbance phase
speed is equal to the basic flow under consideration. This layer is known as a critical
layer and its properties are studied in some detail, including the changes in the inter-
nal dynamics that arise as the disturbance size is increased, using ideas developed by
Benney and Bergeron (1969), Haberman (1972), and Smith and Bodonyi (1982b).
We then turn our attention to more recent developments in the field. In Chapter 3
we introduce the reader to the receptivity theory that has now become an integral part
of the theoretical predictions of laminar-turbulent transition in aerodynamic flows. The
theory studies the process of excitation of instability modes in the boundary layers by
various ‘external perturbations’, such as free-stream turbulence, acoustic noise, and
body surface roughness. In this presentation, we use the triple-deck theory to describe
the receptivity phenomena. We start with Terent’ev’s (1981, 1987) theoretical model of
earlier experiments of Schubauer and Skramstad (1948), where Tollmien–Schlichting
waves were generated by a vibrating ribbon. We first study harmonic oscillations of
the ribbon, and calculate the amplitude of the generated Tollmien–Schlichting wave.
Then, an initial-value problem is considered where the ribbon starts to oscillate at
a certain time, creating a wave packet in the boundary layer. Chapter 3 concludes
with an analysis of the receptivity of the boundary layer to acoustic perturbations.
When describing this form of receptivity we follow the papers by Ruban (1984) and
Goldstein (1985). These authors demonstrated that when an acoustic wave interacts
with an isolated roughness on the body surface, a Tollmien–Schlichting wave forms in
the boundary layer behind the roughness. The theory allows us to predict the initial
amplitude of the Tollmien–Schlichting wave.
In Chapter 4 we discuss the weakly nonlinear stability theory that is aimed at
predicting how the growth of the amplitude of the perturbations affects the critical
Reynolds number. The governing equation of weakly nonlinear theory was first for-
 Preface ix

mulated by Landau (1944) based on physical arguments. A formal derivation of this

equation was given by Stuart (1960) and Watson (1960) with the amplitude of the
perturbations assumed to be a small but non-zero parameter. Since then this equa-
tion is referred to as the Landau–Stuart equation. It appears that fluid flows can be
subdivided into two classes, subcritically unstable and supercritically unstable. To the
first category belongs, for example, plane Poiseuille flow. For this flow, an increase in
the amplitude of the perturbation leads to a decrease of the critical Reynolds number.
Contrary to that, the Blasius boundary layer shows a supercritical behaviour where
the critical Reynolds number increases with the amplitude of the perturbations. We
conclude Chapter 4 with numerical analysis of finite amplitude perturbations that
leads to the concept of a neutral surface.
Finally, in Chapter 5 we introduce the reader to the concept of a self-sustaining
process within a viscous fluid. This is a series of interactions by which certain distin-
guishable flow structures, which would usually decay due to the action of viscosity,
are maintained by a transfer of energy via long-scale/short-scale interplay from other
disturbances present in the flow. In turn, these disturbances are themselves supported
by the very structure they help to preserve. This type of process, which is inherently
nonlinear and typically three-dimensional in nature, is found to be responsible for
the generation of so-called exact coherent structures in shear flows. For moderate to
large Reynolds numbers, these equilibrium solutions correspond to certain coherent
states visited by turbulent flows and have been observed experimentally (e.g. see Hof
et al., 2004). We will investigate the mathematical nature of these equilibrium states
at both finite Reynolds number, where certain approximations need to be made, and
at asymptotically large Reynolds number, where the theory can be given a rigorous
mathematical foundation. We concentrate in the main on applications to channel flow,
while indicating how the analysis can be applied more broadly.
The material presented in this book is based on lecture courses given by the authors
at Imperial College London, the University of Manchester, and Moscow Institute of
Physics and Technology.
Contents

Introduction 1
1 Classical Hydrodynamic Stability Theory 5
1.1 Linear Stability Theory 5
1.1.1 Global stability analysis 9
1.2 Stability of Parallel Flows 14
1.2.1 Poiseuille flow 14
1.2.2 Analysis of two-dimensional perturbations 20
Exercises 1 21
1.3 Stability of Boundary Layers 24
1.3.1 Basic flow 24
1.3.2 The parallel flow approximation 27
1.3.3 Stability analysis 28
1.3.4 Temporal and spatial instabilities 31
Exercises 2 33
1.4 Inviscid Stability Theory 34
1.4.1 Properties of the Rayleigh equation 34
1.4.2 Inviscid instability of a laminar jet 40
Exercises 3 43
1.5 Kelvin–Helmholtz Instability 46
Exercises 4 52
1.6 Cross-Flow Vortices 54
1.6.1 Basic flow 58
1.6.2 Linear stability analysis 59
Exercises 5 64
1.7 Centrifugal Instability 66
1.7.1 Taylor vortices 69
1.7.2 Görtler vortices 79
Exercises 6 87
2 High-Reynolds-Number Analysis of Parallel and Shear Flow
Instabilities 89
2.1 Problem Formulation 90
2.2 Asymptotic Analysis of the Orr–Sommerfeld Equation for Blasius
Flow 91
2.2.1 Outer region 91
2.2.2 Main part of the boundary layer 92
2.3 Critical Layer and Stokes Layer Coincident: Lower Branch 99
2.3.1 The viscous sublayer 99
2.3.2 Canonical form of the dispersion equation 102
xii Contents

2.3.3 Numerical solution of the dispersion equation 105

Exercises 7 109
2.4 Critical Layer and Stokes Layer Distinct: Upper Branch 112
2.4.1 Contribution of the critical layer 114
2.4.2 Analysis of the Stokes layer 116
2.4.3 The dispersion relations for the upper branch 117
2.5 Asymptotic Analysis of the Orr–Sommerfeld Equation for Plane
Poiseuille Flow 120
2.5.1 Derivation of the lower branch eigenrelation 123
2.5.2 Derivation of the upper branch eigenrelation 125
Exercises 8 129
2.6 Critical Layer Theory 132
2.6.1 Linear critical layer theory 135
2.6.2 Nonlinear critical layer theory 140
Exercises 9 146
3 Boundary-Layer Receptivity 153
3.1 Terent’ev’s Problem 154
3.1.1 Problem formulation 156
3.1.2 Boundary layer before the vibrating ribbon 157
3.1.3 Triple-deck region 158
3.1.4 Viscous-inviscid interaction problem 166
3.1.5 Linear problem 167
3.1.6 Receptivity coefficient 173
Exercises 10 176
3.2 Initial-Value Problem 178
3.2.1 Problem formulation 179
3.2.2 Numerical solution of the linear problem 181
3.2.3 Analysis of the wave packet 187
3.2.4 Convective and absolute instabilities 195
3.2.5 Centre of the wave packet 195
Exercises 11 196
3.3 Generation of Tollmien–Schlichting Waves by Sound 198
3.3.1 Problem formulation 199
3.3.2 Unperturbed flow 201
3.3.3 Acoustic noise 203
3.3.4 Triple-deck region 210
3.3.5 Viscous-inviscid interaction problem 217
3.3.6 Linear receptivity 219
3.3.7 Receptivity coefficient 228
Exercises 12 234
3.4 Further Advances in Receptivity Theory 241
4 Weakly Nonlinear Stability Theory 243
4.1 Landau’s Concept of Laminar-Turbulent Transition 243
4.2 Landau–Stuart Equation 244
 Contents xiii

4.2.1 Problem formulation 244

4.2.2 Asymptotic procedure 247
4.2.3 Linear perturbations 248
4.2.4 Quadratic approximation 249
4.2.5 Cubic approximation 251
4.2.6 Properties of the Landau–Stuart equation 253
Exercises 13 258
4.3 Finite-Amplitude Nonlinear Travelling Wave Solutions 262
Exercises 14 265
5 Coherent Structures and Self-Sustaining Processes in Shear
Flows 268
5.1 The Fundamental Building Blocks of a Self-Sustaining Process 271
5.2 The Self-Sustaining Process (SSP) at Finite Reynolds Number 273
5.2.1 The roll flow 273
5.2.2 The streamwise streak 276
5.2.3 The three-dimensional travelling wave 280
5.2.4 The nonlinear feedback on the rolls 283
5.2.5 Full numerical solutions for plane Couette flow 286
Exercises 15 288
5.3 Self-Sustaining Processes at High Reynolds Number: Vortex-Inviscid
Wave Interaction 292
5.3.1 The core flow 293
5.3.2 Asymptotic behaviour near the critical curve 295
5.3.3 Inside the critical layer 298
5.3.4 The full nonlinear interaction 303
Exercises 16 306
5.4 Self-Sustaining Processes at High Reynolds Number: Vortex-Viscous
Wave Interaction 309
5.4.1 The unforced roll/streak flow 310
5.4.2 The viscous wall layers 311
5.4.3 Wave feedback on the roll/streak core flow 315
5.4.4 Solution for small amplitude: weakly nonlinear theory 319
5.4.5 Full solution of the nonlinear interaction equations 324
Exercises 17 325
5.5 More Recent Developments 330
References 331
Index 337
Figure Acknowledgements 339
Introduction

Hydrodynamic stability theory is concerned with the important question of how (and
why) a laminar flow undergoes a transition to a turbulent state. Reynolds (1883)
was the first to perform a careful experimental investigation of the laminar-turbulent
transition process in the Hagen–Poiseuille flow through a circular tube. His apparatus
is shown in Figure I.1. The tube was placed horizontally inside a large glass tank filled
with water. One end of the tube was connected through a tap to a sink; the tap was
used to regulate the amount of water passing through the tube. The other end of the
tube was open to the surrounding water, allowing the water to enter the tube once the
tap was opened. In order to reduce the disturbances in the flow through the tube, the
open end of the tube was fitted with a trumpet mouthpiece. The flow visualization
was performed with highly coloured water added to the flow in front of the trumpet.
It was supplied through a thin tube connected to a reservoir on the top of the water
tank (see Figure I.1).

Fig. I.1: Reynolds’ apparatus (see Reynolds, 1883).

2 Introduction

(a) Laminar flow.

(b) Turbulent flow.

Fig. I.2: Laminar-turbulent transition in the Hagen–Poiseuille flow through a circular

tube. These photographs were taken by N. H. Johanneses and C. Lowe using the
original Reynolds’ pipe.

As a result of his observations Reynolds (1883) arrived at the following conclusions:

1. When the fluid velocity was sufficiently small, the coloured dye streak extended
in a perfectly straight line through the tube; see Figure I.2(a). This means that
the flow was steady with the trajectories of the fluid particles being straight lines
parallel to the tube axis.
2. As the velocity was increased in small steps, the flow would suddenly develop
unsteadiness; see Figure I.2(b). Reynolds (1883) reported that this happens when
the dimensionless parameter
ûmax a
Re = ,
ν
now called the Reynolds number, reaches the critical value Rec ≃ 13 000. Here
ûmax is the fluid velocity along the tube axis, a denotes the tube radius and ν the
kinematic viscosity of water.
As the transition from the laminar flow regime (Figure I.2a) to the turbulent one
(Figure I.2b) takes place, the fluid motion becomes significantly more complicated.
In addition to the primary flow parallel to the tube axis, the fluid particles are now
involved in secondary motions in planes perpendicular to the axis; the secondary flow
is unsteady and rather irregular. This leads to a mixing of the fluid and enhances the
exchange of momentum between the fluid particles. As a consequence, instead of the
parabolic velocity profile1
 
û r̂2
=2 1− 2 ,
ûmax a

1 See Section 2.1.3 in Part 1 of this book series.

 Introduction 3

(a) Laminar flow. (b) Turbulent flow.

Fig. I.3: Velocity distribution across the tube for laminar and turbulent flow regimes;
in (b) the dashed line reproduces the laminar velocity profile.

characteristic of the laminar flow (see Figure I.3a), a more uniform distribution of the
velocity is observed in the core of flow near the tube axis (see Figure I.3b). Assuming
that the fluid flux through the tube remains unchanged, the velocity then exhibits a
steeper rise from zero near the tube wall. This explains why the resistance of the tube
to the flow appears to increase in the turbulent flow regime. It is known that the shear
stress produced by the flow on the tube wall may be calculated as2

∂ û
τw = µ .
∂r̂ r̂=a

Here µ is the dynamic viscosity coefficient, û is the axial velocity component, and r̂ is
the radial coordinate measured from the tube axis; in this presentation we use ‘hat’
to denote dimensional variables. Comparing the velocity distributions in the laminar
and turbulent flows (see Figure I.3) it is easy to see that τw is, indeed, larger in the
turbulent flow.
Of course, Hagen–Poiseuille flow is not the only form of fluid motion that is subject
to laminar-turbulent transition. Following Reynolds’ (1883) discovery, various other
flows were investigated. In particular, the transition in the boundary-layer flow on a flat
plate was first observed by Burgers (1924) and later studied in more detail by Dryden
(1947) and Klebanoff and Tidstrom (1959). They found that near the leading edge the
flow is always laminar, and may be described by the Blasius solution.3 However, at a

Fig. I.4: Tollmien–Schlichting waves in the boundary layer on a flat plate. Flow visu-
alization by Werlé (1980).

2 See the fifth equation in (1.8.65) on page 92 in Part 1 of this book series.
3 See Section 1.1 in Part 3 of this book series.
4 Introduction

x̂c x̂t
Fig. I.5: Laminar-turbulent transition in the boundary layer on a flat plate.

certain distance x̂c from the leading edge the unsteadiness starts to develop in the
flow in the form of so-called Tollmien–Schlichting waves that are superimposed on
the steady Blasius flow (Figure I.4). Typically the initial amplitude of these waves is
too small to cause noticeable changes in the velocity field, but they grow downstream,
and there exists a second critical point x̂t near which laminar-turbulent transition
takes place. As a result of the transition the thickness of the boundary layer increases
significantly, and the velocity profiles becomes ‘fuller’ which leads to an increase in
the shear stress on the plate surface; see Figure I.5.
If we now define the Reynolds number as
V∞ x̂t
Re = ,
ν
where V∞ is the velocity at the outer edge of the boundary layer, then transition is
typically observed when Re reaches a value of ≃ 5 · 105 .
1
Classical Hydrodynamic Stability
Theory

1.1 Linear Stability Theory

The theory of Hydrodynamic Stability is aimed at predicting if, and when, the tran-
sition from a laminar to a turbulent state should be expected for a particular flow,
and how the flow changes through the transition region. To outline the mathematical
approach used in the stability theory, we shall start with a fairly general flow past a
rigid body as depicted in Figure 1.1. We use a Cartesian coordinate system (x̂, ŷ, ẑ)
and denote the corresponding components of the velocity vector as (û, v̂, ŵ). We fur-
ther denote the time by t̂, the pressure by p̂, the fluid density by ρ and the kinematic
viscosity by ν. Assuming the flow incompressible and disregarding the body force, we
can write the Navier–Stokes equations that describe the fluid motion as1
 2 
∂ û ∂ û ∂ û ∂ û 1 ∂ p̂ ∂ û ∂ 2 û ∂ 2 û
+ û + v̂ + ŵ =− +ν + 2 + 2 , (1.1.1a)
∂ t̂ ∂ x̂ ∂ ŷ ∂ ẑ ρ ∂ x̂ ∂ x̂2 ∂ ŷ ∂ ẑ
 2 
∂v̂ ∂v̂ ∂v̂ ∂v̂ 1 ∂ p̂ ∂ v̂ ∂ 2 v̂ ∂ 2 v̂
+ û + v̂ + ŵ =− +ν + + , (1.1.1b)
∂ t̂ ∂ x̂ ∂ ŷ ∂ ẑ ρ ∂ ŷ ∂ x̂2 ∂ ŷ 2 ∂ ẑ 2
 2 
∂ ŵ ∂ ŵ ∂ ŵ ∂ ŵ 1 ∂ p̂ ∂ ŵ ∂ 2 ŵ ∂ 2 ŵ
+ û + v̂ + ŵ =− +ν + + , (1.1.1c)
∂ t̂ ∂ x̂ ∂ ŷ ∂ ẑ ρ ∂ ẑ ∂ x̂2 ∂ ŷ 2 ∂ ẑ 2
∂ û ∂v̂ ∂ ŵ
+ + = 0. (1.1.1d)
∂ x̂ ∂ ŷ ∂ ẑ

These have to be solved with the no-slip condition on the body surface S
û = v̂ = ŵ = 0 on S, (1.1.2a)

and the following conditions in the free-stream flow far from the body:

û → u∞ , 


v̂ → v , 
∞
as x̂2 + ŷ 2 + ẑ 2 → ∞. (1.1.2b)
ŵ → w∞ ,



p̂ → p∞
1 See equations (1.7.6) on page 62 in Part 1 of this book series. Here we shall denote the dimensional
variables by ‘hat’.
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 THE CRIMES OF RICHARD HAWKINS.

By Thomas Aird.

When a young man, Richard Hawkins was guilty of the heinous

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stay a week or a fortnight before going southward to his native
county, in which also Emily Robson resided.
During his stay in the metropolis, having been one evening invited
to sup at the house of a gentleman, originally from the same county
with himself, scarcely had he taken his seat in his host’s parlour,
when Emily’s brother entered, and, instantly recognizing him,
advanced with a face of grim wrath, denounced him as a villain,
declared he would not sit a moment in his company, and to make
good his declaration, instantly turned on his heel and left the house.
The violent spirit of Hawkins was in a moment stung to madness by
this rash and unseasonable insolence, which was offered him,
moreover, before a number of gentlemen; he rose, craved their leave
for a moment, that he might follow, and show Mr Robson his
mistake; and sallying out of the house, without his hat, he overtook
his aggressor on the street, tapped him on the shoulder, and thus
bespoke him, with a grim smile:—“Why, sir, give me leave to
propound to you that this same word and exit of yours are most
preciously insolent. With your leave, now, I must have you back,
gently to unsay me a word or two; or, by heaven! this night your
blood shall wash out the imputation!”
“This hour—this hour!” replied Robson, in a hoarse compressed
whisper; “my soul craves to grapple with you, and put our mutual
affair to a mortal arbitrament. Hark ye, Hawkins, you are a stranger
in this city, I presume, and cannot reasonably be expected easily to
provide yourself with a second; moreover, no one would back such a
villain;—now, will you follow me this moment to my lodgings, accept
from my hand one of a pair of pistols, and let us, without farther
formality, retire to a convenient place, and do ourselves a pleasure
and a justice. I am weary of living under the same sun with you, and
if I can shed your foul blood beneath yon chaste stars of God, I would
willingly die for it. Dare you follow me?—and, quickly, before those
fellows think of looking after us?”
To Hawkins’ boiling heart of indignation ’twas no hard task so to
follow, and the above proposal of Robson was strictly and instantly
followed up. We must notice here particularly, that, as the parties
were about to leave the house, a letter was put into Robson’s hand,
who, seeing that it was from his mother, and bore the outward
notification of mourning, craved Hawkins’ permission to read it,
which he did with a twinkling in his eye, and a working, as of deep
grief, in the muscles of his face; but in a minute he violently crushed
the letter, put it into his pocket, and, turning anew to his foe with
glaring eyes of anger, told him that all was ready. And now we shall
only state generally, that within an hour from the first provocation of
the evening, this mortal and irregular duel was settled, and left
Robson shot through the body by his antagonist.
No sooner did Hawkins see him fall, than horror and remorse for
his deed rushed upon him; he ran to the prostrate youth, attempted
to raise him up, but dared not offer pity or ask forgiveness, for which
his soul yet panted. The wounded man rejected his assistance—
waved him off, and thus faintly but fearfully spoke:—“Now, mine
enemy! I will tell you, that you may sooner know the curse of God,
which shall for ever cling and warp itself round all the red cords of
your heart. That letter from my mother, which you saw me read, told
me of the death of that sister Emily whom I so loved; whom you—oh,
God!—who never recovered from your villany. And my father, too!—
Off, fiend, nor mock me! You shall not so triumph—you shall not see
me die!” So saying, the wounded youth, who was lying on his back,
with his pale writhen features upturned, and dimly seen in the
twilight, with a convulsive effort now threw himself round, with his
face upon the grass.
In a fearful agony stood Hawkins, twisting his hands, not knowing
whether again to attempt raising his victim, or to run to the city for a
surgeon. The former he at length did, and found no resistance; for,
alas! the unhappy youth was dead. The appearance of two or three
individuals now making towards the bloody spot, which was near the
suburbs of the town, and to which, in all probability, they had been
drawn by the report of the pistols, roused Hawkins, for the first time,
to a sense of his own danger. He quickly left the ground, dashed
through the fields, and, without distinctly calculating his route,
instinctively turned towards his native district.
As he proceeded onwards, he began to consider the bearings of his
difficult situation, and at last resolved to hasten on through the
country, to lay his case before his excellent friend Frank Dillon, who
was the only son of a gentleman in the western parts of Galloway,
and who, he knew, was at present residing with his father. Full of the
most riotous glee, and nimble-witted as Mercutio, Frank, he was
aware, could be no less gravely wise as an adviser in a difficult
emergency, and he determined, in the present case, to be wholly
ruled by his opinion. Invigorated from thus having settled for himself
a definite course, he walked swiftly forward through the night, which
shone with the finest beauty of the moon. Yet what peace to the
murderer, whose red title not the fairest duellist, who has slain a
human being, can to his own conscience reduce? The cold glittering
leaves on the trees, struck with a quick, momentary gust, made him
start as he passed; and the shadowy foot and figure of the lover,
coming round from the back window of the lone cottage, was to his
startled apprehension the avenger of blood at hand. As he looked
afar along the glittering road, the black fir trees upon the edge of the
moor seemed men coming running down to meet him; and the long
howl of some houseless cur, and the distant hoof of the traveller,
which struck his listening ear with two or three beatings, seemed all
in the track of pursuit and vengeance.
Morning came, and to the weary fugitive was agreeably cloudy; but
the sun rose upon him in the forenoon, shining from between the
glassy, glistering clouds with far greater heat than it does from a pure
blue sky. Hawkins had now crossed many a broad acre of the weary
moorlands, fatigued and thirsty, his heart beating in his ears, and not
a drop of water that he could see to sprinkle the dry pulses of his
bosom, when he came to a long morass, which barred his
straightforward path. His first business was to quench his thirst from
a dull stank, overgrown with paddowpipe, and black with myriads of
tadpoles. There, finding himself so faint from fatigue that he could
not brook the idea of going round by the end of the moss, and being
far less able to make his way through the middle of it, by leaping
from hagg to hagg, he threw himself down on the sunny side of
some long reeds, and fell fast asleep.
He was waked by the screaming of lapwings, and the noise of a
neighbouring bittern, to a feeling of violent throbbing, headache, and
nausea, which were probably owing to the sun’s having beat upon
him whilst he lay asleep, aggravated by the reflection from the reeds.
He arose, but finding himself quite unable to pursue his journey,
again threw himself down on a small airy brow of land, to get what
breeze might be stirring abroad. There were several companies of
people at work digging peats in the moss, and one party now sat
down very near him to their dinner. One of them, a young woman,
had passed so near him, as to be able to guess, from his countenance,
that he was unwell; and in a few minutes, with the fine charity of
womanhood, she came to him with some food, of which, to satisfy
her kindness, rather than his own hunger, he ate a little. The air
changed in the afternoon, and streaming clouds of hail crossed over
that wild country, yet he lay still. Party after party left the moss, and
yet he was there. He made, indeed, a show of leaving the place at a
quick rate, to disappoint the fears of the people who had seen him at
noon, and who, as they again came near to gather up their
supernumerary clothes, were evidently perplexed on his account,
which they showed by looking first towards him and then at each
other. It was all he could do to get quite out of their sight beyond a
little eminence; and there, once more, he lay down in utter
prostration of mind and body.
Twilight began to darken upon the pools of that desolate place.
The wild birds were gone to their heathy nests, all save the curlew,
whose bravura was still sung over the fells, and borne far away into
the dim and silent night. At length a tall, powerful-looking man came
stepping through the moss, and as he passed near the poor youth,
asked, in slow speech, who he was. In the reaction of nature,
Hawkins was, in a moment, anxious about his situation, and replied
to him that he had fallen sick on his way, and was unable to go in
quest of a resting-place for the night. Approaching and turning
himself round to the youth as he arose, the genius of the place had
him on his back in a moment, and went off with him carelessly and
in silence over the heath. In about half an hour they came to a lonely
cottage, which the kind creature entered; and, setting the young man
down, without the least appearance of fatigue on his part, “Here,
gudewife,” said he, “is a bairn t’ye, that I hae foun’ i’ the moss: now,
let us see ye be gude to him.” Either this injunction was very
effective, or it was not at all necessary; for, had the youth been her
own son, come from a far country to see her, this hostess of the
cottage could not have treated him more kindly. From his little
conversation during the evening, her husband, like most very bulky
men, appeared to be of dull intellect; but there was a third personage
in the composition of his household, a younger brother, a very little
man,—the flower of the flock,—who made ample amends for his
senior brother’s deficiencies as a talker. A smattering of Church-
history had filled his soul with a thousand stories of persecution and
martyrdom, and, from some old history of America, he had gained a
little knowledge of Upper Canada, for which, Hawkins was during
the night repeatedly given to understand, he was once on the very
point of setting out, an abiding embryo of bold travel, which, in his
own eye, seemed to invest him with all the honours and privileges of
bona fide voyagers. His guest had a thousand questions put to him
on these interesting topics, less for his answers, it was evident, than
for an opportunity to the little man of setting forth his own
information. All this was tolerably fair; but it was truly disgusting
when the little oracle took the Bible after supper, and, in place of his
elder brother, who was otherwise also the head of the family,
performed the religious services of the evening, presuming to add a
comment to the chapter which he read; to enforce which, his elbow
was drawn back to the sharpest angle of edification, from which, ever
and anon unslinging itself like a shifting rhomboid, it forced forward
the stiff information in many a pompous instalment. The
pertinacious forefinger was at work too; and before it trembled the
mystic Babylon, which, in a side argument, that digit was uplifted to
denounce. Moreover, the whole lecture was given in a squeaking,
pragmatic voice, which sounded like the sharping of thatchers’
knives.
Next morning the duellist renewed his journey, hoping against
eveningtide to reach Dillon’s house, which he guessed could not now
be more than forty miles distant. About mid-afternoon, as he was
going through a small hamlet of five or six cottages, he stepped into
one of them, and requested a little water to drink. There was a
hushed solemnity, he could see in a moment, throughout the little
apartment into which, rather too unceremoniously, he had entered;
and a kind-looking matron, in a dark robe, whispered in his ear, as
she gave him a porringer of sweet water, with a little oatmeal
sprinkled upon it, that an only daughter of the house, a fine young
woman, was lying “a corpse.” Without noticing his presence, and
indeed with her face hid, sat the mother doubtless of the maiden,
heedless of the whispered consolations of two or three officious
matrons, and racking in that full and intense sorrow with which
strangers cannot intermeddle. The sloping beams of the declining
sun shone beautifully in through a small lattice, illumining a half-
decayed nosegay of flowers which stood on the sunny whitewashed
sill—emblem of a more sorrowful decay!—and after traversing the
middle of the apartment, with a thin deep bar of light, peopled by a
maze of dancing motes, struck into the white bed, where lay
something covered up and awfully indistinct, like sanctified thing not
to be gazed at, which the fugitive’s fascinated eye yet tried to shape
into the elegant body of the maiden, as she lay before her virgin
sheets purer than they, with the salt above her still and unvexed
bosom. The restricted din of boys at play—for that buoyant age is yet
truly reverential, and feels most deeply the solemn occasion of death
—was heard faint and aloof from the house of mourning. This, and
the lonely chirrup of a single sparrow from the thatch; the soft
purring of the cat at the sunny pane; the muffled tread of the
mourners over the threshold; and the audible grief of that poor
mother, seemed, instead of interruption, rather parts of the solemn
stillness.
As Hawkins was going out, after lingering a minute in this sacred
interior, he met, in the narrow passage which led to the door, a man
with the coffin, on the lid of which he read, as it was pushed up to his
very face, “Emily Robson, aged 22.” The heart of the murderer—the
seducer—was in a moment as if steeped in the benumbing waters of
petrifaction; he was horrified; he would fain have passed, but could
not for want of room; and as the coffin was not to be withdrawn in
accommodation to him, he was pushed again into the interior of the
cottage to encounter a look of piercing recognition from Emily’s
afflicted mother, who had started up on hearing the hollow grating of
the coffin as it struck occasionally on the walls of the narrow
entrance. “Take him away—take him away—take him away!” she
screamed, when she saw Hawkins, and pressed her face down on the
white bed of death. As for the youth, who was fearfully conscious of
another bloody woe which had not yet reached her heart, and of
which he was still the author, and who saw, moreover, that this poor
mother was now come to poverty, probably from his own first injury
against the peace of her family, he needed not to be told to depart.
With conscience, that truest conducting-rod, flashing its moral
electricities of shame and fear, and with knees knocking against each
other, he stumbled out of the house, and making his way by chance
to an idle quarry, overgrown with weeds, he there threw himself
down, with his face on the ground. In this situation he lay the whole
night and all next forenoon; and in the afternoon—for he had
occasionally risen to look for the assembling of the funeral train—he
joined the small group who carried his Emily to the churchyard, and
saw her young body laid in the grave. Oh! who can cast away
carelessly, like a useless thing, the finely-moulded clay, perfumed
with the lingering beauty of warm motions, sweet graces, and young
charities! But had not the young man, think ye, tenfold reason to
weep for her whom he now saw laid down within the dark shadow of
the grave?
In the evening, he found his way to Frank Dillon’s; met his friend
by chance at a little distance from his father’s house, and told him at
once his unhappy situation. “My father,” replied Frank, “cannot be
an adviser here, because he is a Justice of the Peace. But he has been
at London for some time, and I do not expect him home till to-
morrow; so you can go with me to our house for this night, where we
shall deliberate what next must be done in this truly sad affair of
yours. Come on.”
It is unnecessary for us to explain at length the circumstances
which frustrated the friendly intentions of Dillon, and which enabled
the officers of justice to trace Hawkins to his place of concealment.
They arrived that very evening; and, notwithstanding the efforts of
Frank to save his friend, secured the unhappy duellist, who, within
two days afterwards, found himself in Edinburgh, securely lodged in
jail.
The issue of Hawkins’ trial was that he was condemned to death as
a murderer. This severe sentence of the law was, however, commuted
into that of banishment for seven years. But he never again returned
to his native country. And it must be told of him also, that no
happiness ever shone upon this after-life of his. Independent of his
first crime, which brought a beautiful young woman prematurely to
the grave, he had broken rashly “into the bloody house of life,” and,
in the language of Holy Writ, “slain a young man to his hurt.”
Oh! for that still and quiet conscience—those third heavens within
a man—wherein he can soar within himself and be at peace, where
the image of God shines down, never dislimned nor long hid by those
wild racks and deep continents of gloom which come over the soul of
the blood-guilty man!
 THE HEADSTONE.

By Professor Wilson.

The coffin was let down to the bottom of the grave, the planks were
removed from the heaped-up brink, the first rattling clods had struck
their knell, the quick shovelling was over, and the long, broad,
skilfully cut pieces of turf were aptly joined together, and trimly laid
by the beating spade, so that the newest mound in the churchyard
was scarcely distinguishable from those that were grown over by the
undisturbed grass and daisies of a luxuriant spring. The burial was
soon over; and the party, with one consenting motion, having
uncovered their heads in decent reverence of the place and occasion,
were beginning to separate, and about to leave the churchyard. Here
some acquaintances, from distant parts of the parish, who had not
had an opportunity of addressing each other in the house that had
belonged to the deceased, nor in the course of the few hundred yards
that the little procession had to move over from his bed to his grave,
were shaking hands, quietly but cheerfully, and inquiring after the
welfare of each other’s families. There, a small knot of neighbours
were speaking, without exaggeration, of the respectable character
which the deceased had borne, and mentioning to one another little
incidents of his life, some of them so remote as to be known only to
the grayheaded persons of the group; while a few yards farther
removed from the spot, were standing together parties who
discussed ordinary concerns, altogether unconnected with the
funeral, such as the state of the markets, the promise of the season,
or change of tenants; but still with a sobriety of manner and voice
that was insensibly produced by the influence of the simple
ceremony now closed, by the quiet graves around, and the shadow of
the spire and gray walls of the house of God.
 Two men yet stood together at the head of the grave, with
countenances of sincere but unimpassioned grief. They were
brothers, the only sons of him who had been buried. And there was
something in their situation that naturally kept the eyes of many
directed upon them for a longer time, and more intently, than would
have been the case had there been nothing more observable about
them than the common symptoms of a common sorrow. But these
two brothers, who were now standing at the head of their father’s
grave, had for some years been totally estranged from each other,
and the only words that had passed between them, during all that
time, had been uttered within a few days past, during the necessary
preparations for the old man’s funeral.
No deep and deadly quarrel was between these brothers, and
neither of them could distinctly tell the cause of this unnatural
estrangement. Perhaps dim jealousies of their father’s favour—selfish
thoughts that will sometimes force themselves into poor men’s
hearts respecting temporal expectations—unaccommodating
manners on both sides—taunting words that mean little when
uttered, but which rankle and fester in remembrance—imagined
opposition of interests, that, duly considered, would have been found
one and the same—these, and many other causes, slight when single,
but strong when rising up together in one baneful band, had
gradually but fatally infected their hearts, till at last they who in
youth had been seldom separate, and truly attached, now met at
market, and, miserable to say, at church, with dark and averted faces,
like different clansmen during a feud.
Surely if anything could have softened their hearts towards each
other, it must have been to stand silently, side by side, while the
earth, stones, and clods, were falling down upon their father’s coffin.
And, doubtless, their hearts were so softened. But pride, though it
cannot prevent the holy affections of nature from being felt, may
prevent them from being shown; and these two brothers stood there
together, determined not to let each other know the mutual
tenderness that, in spite of them, was gushing up in their hearts, and
teaching them the unconfessed folly and wickedness of their
causeless quarrel.
A headstone had been prepared, and a person came forward to
plant it. The elder brother directed him how to place it—a plain
stone, with a sand-glass, skull, and cross-bones, chiselled not rudely,
and a few words inscribed. The younger brother regarded the
operation with a troubled eye, and said, loudly enough to be heard by
several of the bystanders, “William, this was not kind in you;—you
should have told me of this. I loved my father as well as you could
love him. You were the elder, and, it may be, the favourite son; but I
had a right in nature to have joined you in ordering this headstone,
had I not?”
During these words, the stone was sinking into the earth, and
many persons who were on their way from the grave returned. For a
while the elder brother said nothing, for he had a consciousness in
his heart that he ought to have consulted his father’s son in designing
this last becoming mark of affection and respect to his memory; so
the stone was planted in silence, and now stood erect, decently and
simply among the other unostentatious memorials of the humble
dead.
The inscription merely gave the name and age of the deceased, and
told that the stone had been erected “by his affectionate sons.” The
sight of these words seemed to soften the displeasure of the angry
man, and he said, somewhat more mildly, “Yes, we were his
affectionate sons, and since my name is on the stone, I am satisfied,
brother. We have not drawn together kindly of late years, and
perhaps never may; but I acknowledge and respect your worth; and
here, before our own friends, and before the friends of our father,
with my foot above his head, I express my willingness to be on better
and other terms with you, and if we cannot command love in our
hearts, let us, at least, brother, bar out all unkindness.”
The minister, who had attended the funeral, and had something
intrusted to him to say publicly before he left the churchyard, now
came forward, and asked the elder brother why he spake not
regarding this matter. He saw that there was something of a cold and
sullen pride rising up in his heart—for not easily may any man hope
to dismiss from the chamber of his heart even the vilest guest, if once
cherished there. With a solemn and almost severe air, he looked
upon the relenting man, and then, changing his countenance into
serenity, said gently,—
Behold how good a thing it is,
And how becoming well,
Together such as brethren are
In unity to dwell.

The time, the place, and this beautiful expression of a natural

sentiment, quite overcame a heart in which many kind, if not warm,
affections dwelt; and the man thus appealed to bowed down his head
and wept.
“Give me your hand, brother;” and it was given, while a murmur of
satisfaction arose from all present, and all hearts felt kindlier and
more humanely towards each other.
As the brothers stood fervently, but composedly, grasping each
other’s hands, in the little hollow that lay between the grave of their
mother, long since dead, and that of their father, whose shroud was
haply not yet still from the fall of dust to dust, the minister stood
beside them with a pleasant countenance, and said, “I must fulfil the
promise I made to your father on his deathbed. I must read to you a
few words which his hand wrote at an hour when his tongue denied
its office. I must not say that you did your duty to your old father; for
did he not often beseech you, apart from one another, to be
reconciled, for your own sakes as Christians, for his sake, and for the
sake of the mother who bare you, and, Stephen, who died that you
might be born? When the palsy struck him for the last time, you were
both absent, nor was it your fault that you were not beside the old
man when he died. As long as sense continued with him here, did he
think of you two, and of you two alone. Tears were in his eyes; I saw
them there, and on his cheek too, when no breath came from his lips.
But of this no more. He died with this paper in his hand; and he
made me know that I was to read it to you over his grave. I now obey
him:
“‘My sons, if you will let my bones lie quiet in the grave, near the
dust of your mother, depart not from my burial till, in the name of
God and Christ, you promise to love one another as you used to do.
Dear boys, receive my blessing.’”
Some turned their heads away to hide the tears that needed not to
be hidden; and when the brothers had released each other from a
long and sobbing embrace, many went up to them, and in a single
word or two expressed their joy at this perfect reconcilement. The
brothers themselves walked away from the churchyard, arm in arm
with the minister, to the manse. On the following Sabbath they were
seen sitting with their families in the same pew; and it was observed
that they read together off the same Bible when the minister gave out
the text, and that they sang together, taking hold of the same psalm-
book. The same psalm was sung (given out at their own request), of
which one verse had been repeated at their father’s grave; and a
larger sum than usual was on that Sabbath found in the plate for the
poor, for Love and Charity are sisters. And ever after, both during the
peace and the troubles of this life, the hearts of the brothers were as
one, and in nothing were they divided.
 THE WIDOW’S PREDICTION:
A TALE OF THE SIEGE OF NAMUR.

On the morning of the 30th August 1695, just as the sun began to
tinge the dark and blood-stained battlements of Namur, a
detachment of Mackay’s Scottish regiment made their rounds,
relieving the last night-sentinels, and placing those of the morning.
As soon as the party returned to their quarters, and relaxed from the
formalities of military discipline, their leader, a tall, muscular man,
of about middle age, with a keen eye and manly features, though
swarthy and embrowned with toil, and wearing an expression but
little akin to the gentle or the amiable, moved to an angle of the
bastion, and, leaning on his spontoon, fixed an anxious gaze on the
rising sun. While he remained in this position, he was approached by
another officer, who, slapping him roughly on the shoulder, accosted
him in these words—
“What, Monteith! are you in a musing mood? Pray, let me have the
benefit of your morning meditations.”
“Sir!” said Monteith, turning hastily round. “Oh! ’tis you, Keppel.
What think you of this morning?”
“Why, that it will be a glorious day for some; and for you and me, I
hope, among others. Do you know that the Elector of Bavaria
purposes a general assault to-day?”
“I might guess as much, from the preparations going on. Well,
would it were to-morrow!”
“Sure you are not afraid, Monteith?”
“Afraid! It is not worth while to quarrel at present; but methinks
you, Keppel, might have spared that word. There are not many men
who might utter it and live.”
 “Nay, I meant no offence; yet permit me to say, that your words
and manner are strangely at variance with your usual bearing on a
battle-morn.”
“Perhaps so,” replied Monteith; “and, but that your English
prejudices will refuse assent, it might be accounted for. That sun will
rise to-morrow with equal power and splendour, gilding this earth’s
murky vapours, but I shall not behold his glory.”
“Now, do tell me some soothful narrative of a second-sighted seer,”
said Keppel. “I promise to do my best to believe it. At any rate, I will
not laugh outright, I assure you.”
“I fear not that. It is no matter to excite mirth; and, in truth, I feel
at present strangely inclined to be communicative. Besides, I have a
request to make; and I may as well do something to induce you to
grant it.”
“That I readily will, if in my power,” replied Keppel. “So, proceed
with your story, if you please.”
“Listen attentively, then—and be at once my first and my last
confidant.
“Shortly after the battle of Bothwell Bridge, I joined the troop
commanded by Irvine of Bonshaw; and gloriously did we scour the
country, hunting the rebel Covenanters, and acting our pleasure
upon man, woman, and child, person and property. I was then but
young, and, for a time, rather witnessed than acted in the wild and
exciting commission which we so amply discharged. But use is all in
all. Ere half-a-dozen years had sped their round, I was one of the
prettiest men in the troop at everything. It was in the autumn of
1684, as I too well remember, that we were engaged in beating up the
haunts of the Covenanters on the skirts of Galloway and Ayrshire. A
deep mist, which covered the moors thick as a shroud—friendly at
times to the Whigs, but, in the present instance, their foe—concealed
our approach, till we were close upon a numerous conventicle. We
hailed, and bade them stand; but, trusting to their mosses and glens,
they scattered and fled. We pursued in various directions, pressing
hard upon the fugitives. In spite of several morasses which I had to
skirt, and difficult glens to thread, being well mounted, I gained
rapidly on a young mountaineer, who, finding escape by flight
impossible, bent his course to a house at a short distance, as hoping
for shelter there, like a hare to her form. I shouted to him to stand;
he ran on. Again I hailed him; but he heeded not; when, dreading to
lose all trace of him, should he gain the house, I fired. The bullet took
effect. He fell, and his heart’s blood gushed on his father’s threshold.
Just at that instant an aged woman, alarmed by the gallop of my
horse, and the report of the pistol, rushed to the door, and
stumbling, fell upon the body of her dying son. She raised his
drooping head upon her knee, kissed his bloody brow, and screamed
aloud, ‘Oh, God of the widow and the fatherless, have mercy on me!’
One ghastly convulsive shudder shook all her nerves, and the next
moment they were calm as the steel of my sword; then raising her
pale and shrivelled countenance, every feature of which was fixed in
the calm, unearthly earnestness of utter despair, or perfect
resignation, she addressed me, every word falling distinct and
piercing on my ear like dropping musketry.
“‘And hast thou this day made me a widowed, childless mother?
Hast thou shed the precious blood of this young servant of Jehovah?
And canst thou hope that thy lot will be one of unmingled happiness?
Go, red-handed persecutor! Follow thine evil way! But hear one
message of truth from a feeble and unworthy tongue. Remorse, like a
bloodhound, shall dog thy steps; and the serpent of an evil
conscience shall coil around thy heart. From this hour thou shalt
never know peace. Thou shalt seek death, and long to meet it as a
friend; but it shall flee thee. And when thou shalt begin to love life,
and dread death, then shall thine enemy come upon thee; and thou
shalt not escape. Hence to thy bloody comrades, thou second Cain!
Thou accursed and banished from the face of Heaven and of mercy!
—
“‘Foul hag!’ I exclaimed, it would take little to make me send thee
to join thy psalm-singing offspring!’
“‘Well do I know that thou wouldst if thou wert permitted!’ replied
she. ‘But go thy way, and bethink thee how thou wilt answer to thy
Creator for this morning’s work!’
“And, ceasing to regard me, she stooped her head over the dead
body of her son. I could endure no more, but wheeled around, and
galloped off to join my companions.
“From that hour, I felt myself a doomed and miserable man. In
vain did I attempt to banish from my mind the deed I had done, and
the words I had heard. In the midst of mirth and revelry, the dying
groan of the youth, and the words of doom spoken by his mother,
rung for ever in my ears, converting the festal board to a scene of
carnage and horror, till the very wine-cup seemed to foam over with
hot bubbling gore. Once I tried—laugh, if you will—I tried to pray;
but the clotted locks of the dying man, and the earnest gaze of the
soul-stricken mother, came betwixt me and Heaven,—my lip faltered
—my breath stopped—my very soul stood still, for I knew that my
victims were in Paradise, and how could I think of happiness—I,
their murderer—in one common home with them? Despair took
possession of my whole being. I rushed voluntarily to the centre of
every deadly peril, in hopes to find an end to my misery. Yourself can
bear me witness that I have ever been the first to meet, the last to
retire from, danger. Often, when I heard the battle-signal given, and
when I passed the trench, or stormed the breach, in front of my
troop, it was less to gain applause and promotion than to provoke the
encounter of death. ’Twas all in vain. I was doomed not to die, while I
longed for death. And now—”
“Well, by your own account, you run no manner of risk, and at the
same time are proceeding on a rapid career of military success,” said
Keppel; “and, for my life, I cannot see why that should affect you,
supposing it all perfectly true.”
“Because you have not yet heard the whole. But listen a few
minutes longer. During last winter, our division, as you know, was
quartered in Brussels, and was very kindly entertained by the
wealthy and good-natured Flemings. Utterly tired of the heartless
dissipation of life in a camp, I endeavoured to make myself agreeable
to my landlord, that I might obtain a more intimate admission into
his family circle. To this I was the more incited, that I expected some
pleasure in the society of his daughter. In all I succeeded to my wish.
I became quite a favourite with the old man, and procured ready
access to the company of his child. But I was sufficiently piqued to
find, that in spite of all my gallantry, I could not learn whether I had
made any impression upon the heart of the laughing Fanchon. What
peace and playful toying could not accomplish, war and sorrow did.
We were called out of winter quarters, to commence what was
anticipated to be a bloody campaign. I obtained an interview to take
a long and doubtful farewell. In my arms the weeping girl owned her
love, and pledged her hand, should I survive to return once more to
Brussels. Keppel, I am a doomed man; and my doom is about to be
accomplished! Formerly I wished to die; but death fled me. Now I
wish to live; and death will come upon me! I know I shall never more
see Brussels, nor my lovely little Fleming. Wilt thou carry her my last
farewell; and tell her to forget a man who was unworthy of her love—
whose destiny drove him to love, and be beloved, that he might
experience the worst of human wretchedness? You’ll do this for me,
Keppel?”
“If I myself survive, I will. But this is some delusion—some strong
dream. I trust it will not unnerve your arm in the moment of the
storm.”
“No! I may die—must die; but it shall be in front of my troop, or in
the middle of the breach. Yet how I long to escape this doom! I have
won enough of glory; I despise pillage and wealth; but I feel my very
heartstrings shrink from the now terrible idea of final dissolution.
Oh! that the fatal hour were past, or that I had still my former
eagerness to die! Keppel, if I dared, I would to-day own myself a
coward.”
“Come with me,” said Keppel, “to my quarters. The night air has
made you aguish. The cold fit will yield to a cup of as generous Rhine
wine as ever was drunk on the banks of the Sambre.” Monteith
consented, and the two moved off to partake of the stimulating and
substantial comforts of a soldier’s breakfast in the Netherlands.
It was between one and two in the afternoon. An unusual stillness
reigned in the lines of the besiegers. The garrison remained equally
silent, as watching in deep suspense on what point the storm
portended by this terrible calm would burst. A single piece of
artillery was discharged. Instantly a body of grenadiers rushed from
the intrenchments, struggled over masses of ruins, and mounted the
breach. The shock was dreadful. Man strove with man, and blow
succeeded to blow, with fierce and breathless energy. The English
reached the summit, but were almost immediately beaten back,
leaving numbers of their bravest grovelling among the blackened
fragments. Their leader, Lord Cutts, had himself received a
dangerous wound in the head; but disregarding it, he selected two
hundred men from Mackay’s regiment, and putting them under the
command of Lieutenants Cockle and Monteith, sent them to restore
the fortunes of the assault. Their charge was irresistible. Led on by
Monteith, who displayed a wild and frantic desperation, rather than
bravery, they broke through all impediments, drove the French from
the covered way, seized on one of the batteries, and turned the
cannon against the enemy. To enable them to maintain this
advantage, they were reinforced by parties from other divisions.
Keppel, advancing in one of those parties, discovered the mangled
form of his friend Monteith, lying on heaps of the enemy on the very
summit of the captured battery. He attempted to raise the seemingly
lifeless body. Monteith opened his eyes,—“Save me!” he cried; “save
me! I will not die! I dare not—I must not die!”
It were too horrid to specify the ghastly nature of the mortal
wounds which had torn and disfigured his frame. To live was
impossible. Yet Keppel strove to render him some assistance, were it
but to soothe his parting spirit. Again he opened his glazing eyes,—“I
will resist thee to the last!” he cried, in a raving delirium. “I killed
him but in the discharge of my duty. What worse was I than others?
Poor consolation now! The doom—the doom! I cannot—dare not—
must not—will not die!” And while the vain words were gurgling in
his throat, his head sunk back on the body of a slaughtered foe, and
his unwilling spirit forsook his shattered body.—Edinburgh Literary
Journal.
 THE LADY OF WARISTOUN.

The estate of Waristoun, near Edinburgh, now partly covered by

the extended streets of the metropolis on its northern side, is
remarkable in local history for having belonged to a gentleman, who
in the year 1600, was cruelly murdered at the instigation of his wife.
This unfortunate lady, whose name was Jean Livingstone, was
descended from a respectable ancestry, being the daughter of
Livingstone, the laird of Dunipace, in Stirlingshire, and at an early
age was married to John Kincaid, the laird of Waristoun, who, it is
believed, was considerably more advanced in years than herself. It is
probable that this disparity of age laid the foundation of much
domestic strife, and led to the tragical event now to be noticed. The
ill-fated marriage and its results form the subject of an old Scottish
ballad, in which the proximate cause of the murder is said to have
been a quarrel at the dinner-table:
It was at dinner as they sat,
And when they drank the wine,
How happy were the laird and lady
Of bonny Waristoun!

But he has spoken a word in jest;

Her answer was not good;
And he has thrown a plate at her,
Made her mouth gush with blude.

Whether owing to such a circumstance as is here alluded to, or a bite

which the laird is said to have inflicted upon her arm, is immaterial;
the lady, who appeared to have been unable to restrain her
malignant passions, conceived the diabolical design of having her
husband assassinated. There was something extraordinary in the
deliberation with which this wretched woman approached the awful