nciples of anti-monarchy and
assassination which polluted the period when they flourished.

The insurrection, commemorated and magnified in the following ballad, as
indeed it has been in some histories, was, in itself, no very important
affair. It began in Dumfries-shire where Sir James Turner, a soldier
of fortune, was employed to levy the arbitrary fines imposed for not
attending the episcopal churches. The people rose, seized his person,
disarmed his soldiers, and having continued together, resolved to march
towards Edinburgh, expecting to be joined by their friends in that
quarter. In this they were disappointed; and, being now diminished to
half their numbers, they drew up on the Pentland Hills, at a place
called Rullien Green. They were commanded by one Wallace; and here they
awaited the approach of General Dalziel, of Binns; who, having marched
to Calder, to meet them on the Lanark road, and finding, that, by
passing through Collington, they had got to the other side of the hills,
cut through the mountains, and approached them. Wallace shewed both
spirit and judgment: he drew his men up in a very strong situation, and
withstood two charges of Dalziel's cavalry; but, upon the third shock,
the insurgents were broken, and utterly dispersed. There was very little
slaughter, as the cavalry of Dalziel were chiefly gentlemen, who pitied
their oppressed and misguided countrymen. There were about fifty killed,
and as many made prisoners. The battle was fought on the 28th November,
1666; a day still observed by the scattered remnant of the Cameronian
sect, who regularly hear a field-preaching upon the field of battle.

I am obliged for a copy of the ballad to Mr Livingston of Airds, who
took it down from the recitation of an old woman residing on his estate.

The gallant Grahams, mentioned in the text, are Graham of Claverhouse's
horse.

THE BATTLE OF PENTLAND HILLS.

_This Ballad is copied verbatim from the Old Woman's recitation._

The gallant Grahams cum from the west,
Wi' their horses black as ony craw;
The Lothian lads they marched fast,
To be at the Rhyns o' Gallowa.

Betwixt Dumfries town and Argyle,
The lads they marched mony a mile;
Souters and taylors unto them drew,
Their covenants for to renew.

The whigs, they, wi' their merry cracks,
Gard the poor pedlars lay down their packs;
But aye sinsyne they do repent
The renewing o' their covenant.

A the Mauchline muir,