id of the original
topic. "Don't you know, Maudge, that my grandsire was a dabbler in
prophetic visions; and, think ye, he would have been fool enough to
plant and water, as he is said to have done, his descendant's wuddy? But
I have a good mind to cut down the tree, and make Lailoken's prophecy a
physical impossibility."

As Cockburn spoke, he cast his eye wistfully to the sky, as if he felt
an anxiety as to the state of the weather, an act which did not escape
the observation of his wife, on whom the allusion to Merlin's prophecy,
generally current at that time, had produced an effect not remarkable at
a period when this species of soothsaying still retained the credit it
had acquired by the success of the poet of Ercildoun. At another time,
her strong mind would not have acknowledged the power of the rhythmic
ravings of a wandering maniac; but she had got some obscure hints of the
wrath of the young King James V. against the Border chiefs; and the
tender solicitude of a doting wife traced, by a process perhaps unknown
to herself, some connection between Merlin's saying and the proof she
now had of a concealed intention, on the part of Cockburn, to disregard
all her efforts to reclaim him, by imbuing his mind with a perception of
the pleasures of domestic happiness, from his old habits of rieving and
fighting with his neighbours.

"It is--it is, Parys," she exclaimed, with a trembling voice--"It is too
true that you are bent on the execution of your old threat against
Tushielaw. I have an accumulation of proofs against you, and can read it
even in your countenance. Do you love me, Parys?--say if you have any
love for your Marjory--say if your affection is changed towards those
dear pledges of our happiness, who, enjoying the sports of their age,
are unconscious that their father is meditating that which may, ere the
morn's sun gild those woods, render them fatherless, and bring sorrow
o'er the house of Henderland? There are two dangers awaiting you:
Tushielaw's arm, that has incarnadined the waters of Ettrick with the
blood of many a proud foe; and the vengeance of King James, whose
youthful fire his nobles, they say, cannot quell."

"This is not the cry of 'houghs in the pot,' Marjory," replied he,
still laughing--"the hint of the Border chieftains' wives, when they
want more beef for the larder. But calm ye, love. Young James will not
travel hither to fulfil old Lailoken's rhyme, and Tushielaw's arm hath
no power