g width of green grass spotted with white flowers, an
upland where sheep browsed on a carpet of purple and gold and green,
a tall rock on a hill where birds perched and fluttered, a blue sky
arching over all. There, sprawling in a garden, a child pulled at long
blades of grass, as he watched the birds flitting about the rocks, and
heard a low voice coming down the wind. Here in my dungeon I can hear
the voice as I have not heard it since that day in the year 1730--that
voice stilled so long ago. The air and the words come floating down (for
the words I knew years afterwards):

'Did ye see the white cloud in the glint o' the sun?
That's the brow and the eye o' my bairnie.
Did ye ken the red bloom at the bend o' the crag?
That's the rose in the cheek o' my bairnie.
Did ye hear the gay lilt o' the lark by the burn?
That's the voice of my bairnie, my dearie.
Did ye smell the wild scent in the green o' the wood?
That's the breath o' my ain, o' my bairnie.
Sae I'll gang awa' hame, to the shine o' the fire,
To the cot where I lie wi' my bairnie.'

"These words came crooning over the grass of that little garden at
Balmore which was by my mother's home. There I was born one day in June,
though I was reared in the busy streets of Glasgow, where my father was
a prosperous merchant and famous for his parts and honesty.

"I see myself, a little child of no great strength, for I was, indeed,
the only one of my family who lived past infancy, and my mother feared
she should never bring me up. She, too, is in that picture, tall,
delicate, kind yet firm of face, but with a strong brow, under which
shone grave gray eyes, and a manner so distinguished that none might
dispute her kinship to the renowned Montrose, who was lifted so high in
dying, though his gallows was but thirty feet, that all the world has
seen him there. There was one other in that picture, standing near
my mother, and looking at me, who often used to speak of our great
ancestor--my grandfather, John Mitchell, the Gentleman of Balmore, as he
was called, out of regard for his ancestry and his rare merits.

"I have him well in mind: his black silk breeches and white stockings
and gold seals, and two eyes that twinkled with great humour when, as he
stooped over me, I ran my head between his calves and held him tight. I
recall how my mother said, 'I doubt that I shall ever bring him up,' and
how he replied (the words seem to come through gre