ell acquainted with the spot, had never seen or heard.

"You may still return," said his guide, looking ominously back upon him;
but Dick scorned to show the white feather, and on they went. They
entered a very long range of stables; in every stall stood a coal-black
horse; by every horse lay a knight in coal-black armour, with a drawn
sword in his hand; but all were as silent, hoof and limb, as if they had
been cut out of marble. A great number of torches lent a gloomy lustre to
the hall, which, like those of the Caliph Vathek, was of large
dimensions. At the upper end, however, they at length arrived, where a
sword and horn lay on an antique table.

"He that shall sound that horn and draw that sword," said the stranger,
who now intimated that he was the famous Thomas of Hersildoune, "shall,
if his heart fail him not, be king over all broad Britain. So speaks the
tongue that cannot lie. But all depends on courage, and much on your
taking the sword or the horn first." Dick was much disposed to take the
sword; but his bold spirit was quailed by the supernatural terrors of the
hall, and he thought to unsheathe the sword first, might be construed
into defiance, and give offence to the powers of the Mountain. He took
the bugle with a trembling hand, and a feeble note, but loud enough to
produce a terrible answer. Thunder rolled in stunning peals through the
immense hall; horses and men started to life; the steeds snorted,
stamped, grinned their bits, and tossed on high their heads; the warriors
sprung to their feet, clashed their armour, and brandished their swords.
Dick's terror was extreme at seeing the whole army, which had been so
lately silent as the grave, in uproar, and about to rush on him. He
dropped the horn, and made a feeble attempt to seize the enchanted sword;
but at the same moment a voice pronounced aloud the mysterious words,--

"Woe to the coward, that ever he was born,
Who did not draw the sword before he blew the horn!"

At the same time a whirlwind of irresistible fury howled through the long
hall, bore the unfortunate horse-jockey clear out of the mouth of the
cavern, and precipitated him over a steep bank of loose stones, where the
shepherds found him the next morning with just breath sufficient to tell
his fearful tale, after concluding which he expired.

This legend, with several variations, is found in many parts of Scotland
and England. The scene is sometimes laid in some favourite glen of the