south bank of the Ettrick, a
little above its junction with the Tweed. At the period we speak of,
the talented and ambitious Marquis of Montrose, who had long been an
apostate to the cause of the Covenant--and not only an apostate, but
its most powerful enemy--having, as he thought, completely crushed its
adherents in Scotland, in the pride of his heart led his followers
towards England, to support the tottering cause of Charles in the south,
and was now with his cavalry quartered at Selkirk, while his infantry
were encamped at Philiphaugh, on the opposite side of the river.

Every reader has heard of Melrose Abbey--which is still venerated
in its decay, majestic in its ruins--and they have read, too, of the
abode of the northern wizard, who shed the halo of his genius over
the surrounding scenery. But many have heard of Melrose, of Scott,
and of Abbotsford, to whom the existence of Philiphaugh is unknown.
It, however, is one of those places where our forefathers laid the
foundation of our freedom with the bones of its enemies, and cemented it
with their own blood. If the stranger who visits Melrose and Abbotsford
pursue his journey a few miles farther, he may imagine that he is still
following the source of the Tweed, until he arrive at Selkirk, when he
finds that for some miles he has been upon the banks of the Ettrick, and
that the Tweed is lost among the wooded hills to the north. Immediately
below Selkirk, and where the forked river forms a sort of island, on the
opposite side of the stream, he will see a spacious haugh, surrounded by
wooded hills, and forming, if we may so speak, an amphitheatre bounded
by the Ettrick, between the Yarrow and the Tweed. Such is Philiphaugh;
where the arms of the Covenant triumphed, and where the sword of
Montrose was blunted for ever.

Now, the sun had not yet risen, and a thick, dark mist covered the face
of the earth, when, as we have said, John Brydone went out into his
fields, and found that a quantity of his oats had been carried away. He
doubted not but they had been taken for the use of Montrose's cavalry;
and it was not for the loss of his substance that he grieved, and that
his spirit was wroth, but because it was taken to assist the enemies of
his country, and the persecutors of the truth; for than John Brydone,
humble as he was, there was not a more dauntless or a more determined
supporter of the Covenant in all Scotland. While he yet stood by the
side of his field, and