itself, is set down, as a matter of course, for
evidence of infirm adherence to the
presbyterian cause. "You see, my lord," he said
privately one day to Lord Hamilton, "you
see, my lord, how I am used, and have no
man in whom I may trust more than in
Huntly, &c.  If I receive him, the ministers
cry out that I am an apostate from the
religion; if not, I am left desolate."

"If he and the rest be not enemies to the
religion," said the Lord Hamilton, "ye may
receive them. Otherwise not."

"I cannot tell," saith the king, "what to
make of that; but the ministry hold them
for enemies. Always, I would think it good
that they enjoyed liberty of conscience."

Then the Lord Hamiliton crying aloud,
said, "Sir, then we are all gone! then
we are all gone! then we are all gone! If
there were no more to withstand, I will
withstand." When the king perceived
his servants to approach, he smiled and
said:

"My lord, I did this to try your mind."

Afterwards, his majesty found it advisable
to repel the slander of those who accused
him of the crime of religious tolerance
more publicly. Some acts of lenity towards
Romish clergymen begot a rumour to his
prejudice; and, in great indignation thereat, the
king wrote from Hitchinbrooke to his Scottish
councillors, as to the report of his intention
to "tolerate or grant liberty of conscience,"
that "the foolish apprehension thereof had
given occasion both to papist and puritan, to
take heart, and grow insolent; the one
vainly boasting of the said pretendit liberty,
and the other with a seeming fear thereof."
He said, "God knows that what proceed it in
that course concerning the papists here was
without any such intention," adding that he
"could not but marvel how any of our
subjects can be possest with so unjust an opinion
of us."

What disorder was not possible in the
half-civilised nation, whose king was
compelled to resent as injury the imputation of
a charitable temper? Here is a tale of Scotland
in the days of James the Sixth. In the
year fifteen hundred and fifty-seven, John
Innes, of Innes, being childless, entered into
a mutual bond of tailyie with his nearest
relation, Alexander Innes, of Cromy, conveying
the whole estate of either, failing heirs
male of his body, to the one who should
survive. A richer and more distant branch of
the family was represented by Robert Innes,
of Innermarky, who was violently displeased
at the preference that had been shown to
Innes of Cromy. Therefore, "Cromy, who
was the gallantest man of his time, found
himself obliged to make the proffer of meeting
him single in arms, and, laying the tailyie
upon the grass, see if he durst take it up: in
one word, to pass from all other pretensions,
and let the best fellow have it."

Innermarky, braver in the dark than in
the daylight, declined open combat, and
employed himself in poisoning the mind of
the laird of Innes against Cromy, whom he
accused of taking all upon himself, even to
the name of laird, and against whom there
was no longer any defence, but by putting
him out of the way.  So the laird consented
to the murder of the relative, who, but a few
months since, had been his nearest friend.
Three years after the signing of the bond, it
happened that Cromy, who had been called
on business to Aberdeen, was detained
there by reason that his only son, Robert, a
youth of sixteen years of age, had fallen sick
at the college, and his father could not leave
the place till he saw what became of him.
He had carried him to his lodgings in the
New Town, and sent several of his servants
home from time to time, to let his lady know
of the boy's state. In that domestic trial the
assassins saw their opportunity. From the
servants who arrived at Kinnairdy, they
learnt where and how Cromy was lodged at
Aberdeen, and how attended. Wherefore,
getting together a considerable number of
assistants, Robert of Innermarky, and the
laird, John, rode forth on their errand of
death, entered Aberdeen at night, and about
midnight came to Alexander's lodging. The
outer gate of the close they found open, but
the rest of the doors were shut. They were
afraid to break up the doors by violence, lest
the noise might alarm the neighbours. The
cry of feud between the families of Forbes
and Gordon, and the simulation of street
combat would, as a common incident, excite
less notice in the neighbourhood, and would
bring Cromy out, for he was deeply interested
in the Gordons. They raised a cry, therefore,
as if there had been an outfall of these
people—"Help a Gordon—a Gordon!" Cromy
started from his bed, took sword in hand,
and, opening a back-door that led to the
court below, stepped down three or four
steps, and cried to know what was the
matter. Innermarky, who, by his white
shirt, discerned him perfectly, then shot him
through the body, and in an instant as many
as could get about him fell upon him, and
butchered him barbarously.

Innermarky, perceiving that the laird
John stood by, as either relenting or terrified,
held to his throat the bloody dagger,
that he had newly taken out of the
murdered body, swearing dreadfully that he
would serve him in the same way if he did
not as he did, and so compelled him to draw
his dagger, and stab it up to the hilt in the
body of his nearest relation. All others
were bound to stain their weapons in like
manner; and even a boy of the family, then
at school, was raised out of bed, and
compelled by Innermarky to stab a dagger into
the dead body, that he might be under the
same condemnation. The sick youth, Robert,
scrambled away to the shelter of a neighbour's
house. His blood was eagerly sought;