e and lonely wilderness of Cumnock-moor,
those religious brethren coming towards us, moving in silence over the
heath, like the shadows of the slowly-sailing clouds of the summer sky.

As we were toiling through the deep heather on the eastern skirts of the
Mearns-moor, a mist hovered all the morning over the pad of Neilston,
covering like a snowy fleece the sides of the hills down almost to the
course of our route, in such a manner that we could see nothing on the
left beyond it. We were then within less than fourteen miles of Glasgow,
where General Dalziel lay with the King's forces, keeping in thraldom
the godly of that pious city and its neighbourhood. Captain Learmont,
well aware, from the eager character of the man, that he would be fain
to intercept us, and fearful of being drawn into jeopardy by the mist,
persuaded Wallace to halt us some time.

As November was far advanced, it was thought by the country folk that
the mist would clear away about noon. We accordingly made a pause, and
sat down on the ground; for many were weary, having over-fatigued
themselves in their zeal to come up with the main body, and we all stood
in need of rest.

Scarcely, however, had we cast ourselves in a desultory manner on the
heather, when some one heard the thud of a distant drum in the mist, and
gave the alarm; at which we all again suddenly started to our feet, and
listening, were not long left in doubt of the sound. Orders were
accordingly given to place ourselves in array for battle; and while we
were obeying the command in the best manner our little skill allowed,
the beating of the drum came louder and nearer, intermingled with the
shrill war-note of the spirity fife.

Every one naturally thought of the King's forces; and the Reverend Mr.
Semple, seeing that we were in some measure prepared to meet them,
stepped out in front with all his worthy brethren in the camp, and
having solemneezed us for worship, gave out a psalm.

By the time we had sung the first three verses the drum and fife sounded
so near, that I could discern they played the tune of "John, come kiss
me now," which left me in no doubt that the soldiers in the mist were my
own friends and neighbours; for it was the same tune which was played
when the men of our parish went to the raid of Dunse-hill, and which, in
memorial of that era, had been preserved as a sacred melody amongst us.

Being thus convinced, I stepped out from my place to the ministers, and