beggary. There is a record in the church books
of their native parish of various payments of
small sums for the maintenance of "Mr. Ross,
late of Craigy, brother of Maister Thomas,
late execute in Edinburgh."

But these criminal trials are not all of such
a melancholy character as those we have
selected as illustrations of the inherent
cruelty of King James's nature. Some of
them are ludicrous— but it is only the
laughable side of a thoroughly hateful disposition,
for in all of them we find traces, wherever
the chief actor appears, of a meanness, a
vanity, and a paltry cunning, which make us
turn almost for consolation to the gloomier
pages we have left. It is better to be torn
by a tiger than mangled and worried, with
ridiculous contortions, by a ferocious baboon.
Here is a delightful story, under date of
January the thirteenth, sixteen hundred
and one.

There was a young widow, buxom and
free, of the name of Isabel Hutchinson, who
was living, a rich and honoured guest, with
John Johnstone, baillie of the small village
near Edinburgh called the Water of Leith.
At kirk and market the widow was much
admired; her fortune was probably well
known, and it was all in her own power.
Now, about four miles from the Water of
Leith was the mansion of Craighouse,
belonging to the Kincaids, and, of course, it was
not long before the rumour of the widow's
charms, personal and pecuniary, reached the
somewhat impoverished laird. On went his
best boots, out came his best horse, and,
with sword and spurs to show his gentle
blood, he cantered gaily over to the Water
of Leith, and called on his friend the
bailiff.

John Kincaid of Craighouse was of higher
rank than the lady; but love and money
level all distinctions of this sort. To be
Leddy Kincaid of Craighouse, with immense
expanses of the Braid Hills as part of her
domain— compensating by quantity of acres
for poverty of soil— was a great elevation to
the wealthy widow Hutchinson. So there is
every reason to suppose that the laird
prospered in his wooing. Day after day he
mounted his fine brown horse— it was one of
the best trotters in the county— and he trotted,
full of blissful anticipations, to the residence
of the ladie of his love. But a hitch arose
somewhere; whether the relations of the
defunct Hutchinson did not like the match,
or the widow was not yet out of the guardianship
ship of mother and aunts, no one can tell;
but it struck John Kincaid one day as he
travelled to the Water of Leith on his noble
brown, that its back was long enough for
two; and that if by any chance he could get
the widow behind him, they would need fleet
steeds to catch them before they got into the
stout walls of Craighouse. Then he would
send for " Mess John," have the indissoluble
knot tied, and snap their fingers at the
deceased George Hutchinson and all his kin.
Wicked John Kincaid to imagine such a
device! But in those days it was far from
uncommon, and was scarcely counted a misdemeanour,
especially if the other party made
no objection to the ride. The baillie of the
Water of Leith appears to have been a gentleman
that knew the world. He could wink
when duty or friendship called for it; and, on
extraordinary occasions, could shut his eyes
altogether. On the seventeenth of December,
sixteen hundred, accordingly, John Kincaid
left his mansion of Craighouse; and, attended
for honour and safe escort by six or seven
friends and followers— among whom we are
pleased to see the name of David Watson,
sister's son (nephew) of John Johnstone,
baillie of the Water of Leith— proceeded to
the house where the lady was, no doubt,
waiting his arrival. But modesty is great in
widows about to be married again, and it
took some time, and perhaps a little gentle
assistance, to get her into the saddle. Can
there have been treason in the camp? Has
anybody told the king what game was afoot?
or was it chance and misadventure altogether?
It so happened that his majesty was hunting
that day in the fields that lay between the
Water of Leith and Braid. A cavalcade such
as the elopement presented was not likely to
escape the crowned Paul Pry; who besides
had, in all likelihood, been forewarned of
what was going on. The bridal party turned
off to one side, galloped might and main to
get out of view; and, skulking through valleys
and getting behind rocks, they reached the
house, dismounted the terrified bride, helped
her into the hall, and barred the great door.
Is that all you knew of the king, John Kincaid?
Don't you know that he is defender
of the law, and allows no man to tyrannise
over the subject but himself? Where is the
marriage license? Where are the banns?
Is the widow your wife?

Suddenly a great knock shakes the door of
Craighouse, a face pale with anticipation of
evil is presented at the side window of the
flanking tower, and the bridegroom sees half
a dozen lords, and knights, and gentlemen,
who demand admission in the king's name, to
arrest him for the high crime of forcible abduction,
duction, one of the highest offences known to
the law. The main door of Craighouse was
of stout oak, and the walls six feet thick.
The widow was very beautiful (and also
rich), and John Kincaid declined to admit
the Earl of Mar, Sir John Ramsay, and
divers others, who clamour greatly for the
release of Mistress Hutchinson out of her
involuntary duresse. The contest lasts some
time, till the assailants threaten to bring the
king himself to the rescue, and set fire to the
house. The heart of the laird sinks at this,
and he opens the door. He is instantly seized
as a wrong-doer, hurried into Edinburgh, and
treated in prison with such rigorous harshness,
and scantiness of food, and dampness of