The family of Harkness has been upwards of four hundred years tenants on the farm of Queensberry, occupying the farm-house and steading situated upon the banks of the Caple, and known by the name of Mitchelslacks.  The district is wild and mountainous, and, at the period to which I refer, in particular, almost inaccessible through any regularly constructed road.  The hearts, however, of these mountain residents were deeply attuned to religious and civil liberty, and revolted with loathing from the cold doctrines and compulsory ministrations of the curate of Closeburn.  They were, therefore, marked birds for the myrmidons of oppression, led on by Claverhouse, and “Red Rob,” the scarlet-cloaked leader of his band.

It was about five o’clock of the afternoon, in the month of August, that a troop of horse was seen crossing the Glassrig—­a flat and heathy muir—­and bearing down with great speed upon Mitchelslacks.  Mrs. Harkness had been very recently delivered of a child, and still occupied her bed, in what was denominated the chamber, or cha’mer—­an apartment separated from the rest of the house, and set apart for more particular occasions.  Her husband, the object of pursuit, having had previous intimation, by the singing or whistling of a bird (as was generally reported on such occasions), had betaken himself, some hours before, to the mountain and the cave—­his wonted retreat on similar visits.  From this position, on the brow of a precipice, inaccessible by any save a practised foot, he could see his own dwelling, and mark the movements which were going on outside.  The troop, having immediately surrounded the houses, and set a guard upon every door and window, as well as an outpost, or spy, upon an adjoining eminence, immediately proceeded with the search—­a search conducted with the most brutal incivility, and even indelicacy; subjecting every child and servant to apprehensions of the most horrid and revolting character.  It would be every way improper to mention even a tithe of the oaths and blasphemy which were not only permitted, but sanctioned and encouraged, by their impious and regardless leader.  Suffice it to say, that after every other corner and crevice was searched in vain, the cha’mer was invaded, and the privacy of a female, in very interesting and delicate circumstances, rudely and suddenly entered.

“The old fox is here,” said Clavers, passing his sword up to the hilt betwixt the mother and her infant, sleeping unconsciously on her arm, and thrusting it home with such violence that the point perforated the bed, and even penetrated the floor beneath.

“Toss out the whelp,” vociferated Red Rob—­always forward on such occasions; “and the b—­ch will follow.”  And, suiting the action to the word, he rolled the sleeping, and happily well-wrapped, infant on the floor.