18 Antiquities of Eskdalemuir. 



Glendiiming has tauld me, and so has Tarn Beattie of Muckledale. 

 " These wights, to add to a' their crimes, have shot at them a hunner 

 times." Another legend tells of a man Biggar, a staunch sup- 

 porter of the Covenanting cause, who concealed on his farm and 

 fed from his kitchen the persecuted Covenanters — how he was 

 found out, became a marked man, and narrowly escaped being 

 shot. The troopers were after him, led by Claverhouse in person, 

 but when overtaken Biggar was equal to the occasion, nor for a 

 moment lost his self-possession. Claverhouse laid on him with the 

 handle of his whip. Biggar, turning round, looked him straight 

 in the face, and said, " The devil is in the man ; what are you 

 striking at ?" This satisfied the man of blood — riding back to his 

 band he said, " There's an honest fellow that can swear ; none of 

 your canting rogues." We have yet another legend, of a dis- 

 tinctly dramatic order, in which a member of the old Blake family 

 is promoted to the role of hero, although the manner in which he 

 played his part can scarcely be described as heroic. This Blake 

 legend is to me strongly reminiscent of Burns's immortal poem, 

 " Tam o' Shanter." You all doubtless recollect that particular 

 portion of Tam o' Shanter's ride where he is represented as 

 followed by a " Hellish legion " of witches and warlocks in full 

 cry at his tail, or rather " Maggie's " — and is, in consequence, so 

 panic-stricken that he addresses his old and faithful mare in the 

 following terms : — 



" Now do thy speedy utmost Meg, 



And win the key stane o' the brig ; 



There at them, thou thy tail may toss, 



A runnin' stream they dar'na cross." 

 In Tam o' Shanter's case there was a horse — in our Blake's case 

 there was a horse too. Tam had a water to cross, so had 

 Blake, for the legend tells us that he was leading a cart load 

 of lar on the opposite side of the river from his home, when 

 he heard a witch or warlock in the guise of a moor-fowl 

 roaring in his very lug, " Blake and the tar ! Blake and the 

 tai' !" With one wild exclamation from the terrified man, " Ye'll 

 no' get baith Bleak and the terr," he left horse and cart behind, 

 plunged madly into mid-stream and drowned his terrors in the 

 consolation that witches and evil spirits have no power to fol- 

 low a poor wight any further than the middle of the nearest 

 running stream. At this point it may be well for me to 



