“O’ my saul, that meikle stane would build a bra’ chappin-block for my Lord Provost,” said royalty, its head again stationed at the window, surveying with solemn curiosity an egg-shaped stone of the boulder sort, which, sure enough, was of a remarkable bigness, though not of that rarity or infrequence that should have drawn forth the wonder of a king.  His native dialect he generally employed on jocose and familiar subjects.  In affairs of importance he affected the use of the English tongue, which he spoke with great formality and pomp.

“Stop,” said he.  “There be literae or letters thereon.  Unto what purport?”

But no one could resolve him as to the use of the stone, or the purport of the writing.  His worthy host protested that the wonder had never before been observed.  It was doubtless some miracle worked for the occasion.

“But the scriptum or writing will set forth the motive or argument thereto.  The letters be goodly and well-shapen.”

Many voices recited the inscription, forming the following ill-spelled line.

    “Torne me o’re, an I’le tel thee plaine.”

The well-known childish curiosity of the monarch would not permit him to go away unsatisfied.  The day was hot, and the stone was heavy; but a long and laborious toil brought to light the following satisfactory intelligence,—­

    “Hot porritch softens hard butter-cakes,
    So torne me o’er again"[31]

“And o’ my saul,” said the king, “ye shall gang roun’ to yere place again; for sa meikle as these country gowks mauna ken the riddle without the labour.”

So the “muckle stane” was replaced for the next comer who had strength and curiosity enough to unriddle the sphinx.

But James did not relish fooleries wherein he was the butt.  Whether it was devised by some wicked rhymester and contemner of royalty in the neighbourhood, or placed there by some of the wits of his own company, was never ascertained, though he challenged them at random, and swore lustily that he would know the originator of this piece of folly and impertinence.

As the king drew nigh to the avenue, there presently issued forth a goodly flourish of trumpets, which made the women caper and the horses prance.  Sir Richard Hoghton rode with the king; but his son Sir Gilbert met his Majesty with a great retinue, clad mostly after the same fashion; many of the neighbouring gentry, as we have before observed, not disdaining to put on Sir Richard’s gowns and liveries, to swell the pomp and magnificence of that memorable occasion.

The javelin-bearers rode two and two:  halting at his Majesty’s approach, they formed an avenue, through which Sir Gilbert, sumptuously attired, went forth to salute the king.  His cloak and hose were all glistening and spangled with embroidery; his vest was cloth of gold, enriched with rare and costly stones; his shirt-bands and ruffles were worked in silver; and his gloves, Spanish, breathing out the choicest perfume; his hat was of French murrey, the brims thick set with gold twist and spangles; round it was a band of goldsmith’s work, looped with a crystal button.