pusillanimity, and decline of trade. If there be any truth
in this observation, what caitiffs must the inhabitants of Berwick be! No
town in the world has been so often exposed to the "ills that wait on the
red chariot of war;" for Picts, Romans, Danes, Saxons, English, and Scotch
have, in their turn, wasted their rage and their strength upon her broken
ribs. Her boasted "barre," (barrier,) from which her name, Barrewick, is
derived, has never been able to save her effectually, either from her
enemies of land or water. From the reign of Osbert, the king of
Northumberland, down to the time when Lord Sidmouth saw treason in her big
guns, she has been devoted to the harpies of foreign and intestine war and
discord. Yet who shall say, that the hearts or spirits of the inhabitants
of this extraordinary town lost either blood or buoyancy from their
misfortunes? No sooner were her bulwarks raised than they appeared
renascent; the inhabitants defended the new fortifications with a spirit
that received a salient power from the depression produced by the
demolition of the old; and her ships, that one day were shattered by
engines of war, sailed in a state of repair with the next fair wind, to
fetch from distant ports articles of merchandise, not seldom for those who
were fighting or had fought against her liberties. Such was Berwick; and
her sons of to-day inherit too much of the nobility and generosity of her
old children, to find fault with us for telling them a tale which, while it
exhibits some shades of the warlike spirit of their ancestors, shews also
that war and citizen warriors have their foibles, and are not always exempt
from the harmless laugh that does the heart more good than the touch of an
old spear.

The Lord Hume of the latter period of the seventeenth century, had a
natural son, Patrick, an arch rogue, inheriting the fire of the blood of
the Humes, along with that which burnt in the black eyes of the gipsies of
Yetholm. He was brought up by his father; and, true to the principles of
his education, would acknowledge no patrons of the heart, save the three
ruling powers of love, laughter, and war--Cupid, Momus, and Mars--a trio
chosen from all the gods, (the remainder being sent to Hades,) as being
alone worthy of the worship of a gentleman. How Patrick got acquainted,
and, far less, how he got in love with the Mayor of Berwick's daughter,
Isabella, we cannot say, nor need antiquarians try to discover; for where