ing. Remember, my
fair Valentine, that my ambition of distinction in arms, and my love
of strife, if it can be called such, do not fight even handed with my
reason and my milder dispositions, but have their patrons and sticklers
to egg them on. Is there a quarrel, and suppose that I, thinking on your
counsels, am something loth to engage in it, believe you I am left to
decide between peace or war at my own choosing? Not so, by St. Mary!
there are a hundred round me to stir me on. 'Why, how now, Smith, is thy
mainspring rusted?' says one. 'Jolly Henry is deaf on the quarrelling
ear this morning!' says another. 'Stand to it, for the honour of Perth,'
says my lord the Provost. 'Harry against them for a gold noble,' cries
your father, perhaps. Now, what can a poor fellow do, Catharine, when
all are hallooing him on in the devil's name, and not a soul putting in
a word on the other side?"

"Nay, I know the devil has factors enough to utter his wares," said
Catharine; "but it is our duty to despise such idle arguments, though
they may be pleaded even by those to whom we owe much love and honour."

"Then there are the minstrels, with their romaunts and ballads, which
place all a man's praise in receiving and repaying hard blows. It is sad
to tell, Catharine, how many of my sins that Blind Harry the Minstrel
hath to answer for. When I hit a downright blow, it is not--so save
me--to do any man injury, but only to strike as William Wallace struck."

The minstrel's namesake spoke this in such a tone of rueful seriousness,
that Catharine could scarce forbear smiling; but nevertheless she
assured him that the danger of his own and other men's lives ought not
for a moment to be weighed against such simple toys.

"Ay, but," replied Henry, emboldened by her smiles, "methinks now
the good cause of peace would thrive all the better for an advocate.
Suppose, for example, that, when I am pressed and urged to lay hand on
my weapon, I could have cause to recollect that there was a gentle and
guardian angel at home, whose image would seem to whisper, 'Henry, do no
violence; it is my hand which you crimson with blood. Henry, rush
upon no idle danger; it is my breast which you expose to injury;' such
thoughts would do more to restrain my mood than if every monk in Perth
should cry, 'Hold thy hand, on pain of bell, book, and candle.'"

"If such a warning as could be given by the voice of sisterly affection
can have weight in the debate," sai