Paint Scotland greeting ower her thrissle,
     Her mutchkin stoup as toom’s a whistle,
     And d—­n’d excisemen in a bustle,
     Seizing a stell,
     Triumphant crushin’t like a mussel,
     Or lampit shell

          Burns.

During the period of Mr. Bertram’s active magistracy, he did not forget the affairs of the revenue.  Smuggling, for which the Isle of Man then afforded peculiar facilities, was general, or rather universal, all along the southwestern coast of Scotland.  Almost all the common people were engaged in these practices; the gentry connived at them, and the officers of the revenue were frequently discountenanced in the exercise of their duty by those who should have protected them.

There was at this period, employed as a riding-officer or supervisor, in that part of the country a certain Francis Kennedy, already named in our narrative—­a stout, resolute, and active man, who had made seizures to a great amount, and was proportionally hated by those who had an interest in the fair trade, as they called the pursuit of these contraband adventurers.  This person was natural son to a gentleman of good family, owing to which circumstance, and to his being of a jolly, convivial disposition, and singing a good song, he was admitted to the occasional society of the gentlemen of the country, and was a member of several of their clubs for practising athletic games, at which he was particularly expert.

At Ellangowan Kennedy was a frequent and always an acceptable guest.  His vivacity relieved Mr. Bertram of the trouble of thought, and the labour which it cost him to support a detailed communication of ideas; while the daring and dangerous exploits which he had undertaken in the discharge of his office formed excellent conversation.  To all these revenue adventures did the Laird of Ellangowan seriously incline, and the amusement which he derived from Kennedy’s society formed an excellent reason for countenancing and assisting the narrator in the execution of his invidious and hazardous duty.

‘Frank Kennedy,’ he said, ’was a gentleman, though on the wrang side of the blanket; he was connected with the family of Ellangowan through the house of Glengubble.  The last Laird of Glengubble would have brought the estate into the Ellangowan line; but, happening to go to Harrigate, he there met with Miss Jean Hadaway—­by the by, the Green Dragon at Harrigate is the best house of the twa—­but for Frank Kennedy, he’s in one sense a gentleman born, and it’s a shame not to support him against these blackguard smugglers.’