nly pardoned, but rewarded, a monarch has little right to expect
gratitude for benefits, which all the world, as well as the receiver,
must attribute to fear. Yet something is due to decency; and the best
apology for Lesly, is his zeal for propagating presbyterianism in
England, the bait which had caught the whole parliament of Scotland.
But, although the Earl of Leven was commander in chief, David Lesly, a
yet more renowned and active soldier than himself, was major-general of
the cavalry, and, in truth, bore away the laurels of the expedition.

The words of the following march, which was played in the van of this
presbyterian crusade, were first published by Allan Ramsay, in his
_Evergreen_; and they breathe the very spirit we might expect. Mr
Ritson, in his collection of Scottish songs, has favoured the public
with the music, which seems to have been adapted to the bagpipes.

The hatred of the old presbyterians to the organ was, apparently,
invincible. It is here vilified with the name of a "_chest-full of
whistles_," as the episcopal chapel at Glasgow was, by the vulgar,
opprobriously termed the _Whistling Kirk_. Yet, such is the revolution
of sentiment upon this, as upon more important points, that reports have
lately been current, of a plan to introduce this noble instrument into
presbyterian congregations.

The share, which Lesly's army bore in the action of Marston Moor, has
been exalted, or depressed, as writers were attached to the English or
Scottish nations, to the presbyterian or independent factions. Mr Laing
concludes, with laudable impartiality, that the victory was equally due
to "Cromwell's iron brigade of disciplined independents, and to three
regiments of Lesly's horse."--Vol I. p. 244.

LESLEY'S MARCH.

March! march!
Why the devil do ye na march?
Stand to your arms, my lads,
Fight in good order;
Front about, ye musketeers all,
Till ye come to the English border:
Stand til't, and fight like men,
True gospel to maintain.
The parliament's blythe to see us a' coming.
When to the kirk we come,
We'll purge it ilka room,
Frae popish reliques, and a' sic innovation,
That a' the warld may see,
There's nane in the right but we,
Of the auld Scottish nation.
_Jenny_ shall wear the hood,
_Jocky_ the sark of God;
And the kist-fou of whistles,
That mak sic a cleiro,
Our piper's braw
Shall hae them a',
Whate'er come on it:
Busk