Wallace stood on the cliff, like the newly-aroused genius of his country; his long plaid floated afar, and his glittering hair streaming on the blast, seemed to mingle with the golden fires which shot from the heavens.

Wallace raised his eyes--a clash as of the tumult of contending armies filled the sky, and flames, and flashing steel, and the horrid red of battle, streamed from the clouds upon the hills.** **The late Duke of Gordon exhibited a similar scene to Prince Leopold, when his royal highness visited Gordon Castle, his "hills reeming with life."-( 1830.) "Scotsmen!" cried Wallace, waving the fatal sword, which blazed in the glare of these northern lights like a flaming brand, "behold how the heavens cry aloud to you! I come, in the midst of their fires, to call you to vengeance.

I come in the name of all ye hold dear, of the wives of you bosoms, and the children in their arms, to tell you the poniard of England is unsheathed-innocence and age and infancy fall before it.
With this sword, last night, did Heselrigge, the English tyrant of Lanark, break into my house, and murder my wife!" The shriek of horror that burst from every mouth, interrupted Wallace.
"Vengeance! vengeance!" was the cry of the men, while tumultuous lamentations for the "sweet Lady of Ellerslie," filled the air from the women.
Wallace sprung from the cliff into the midst of his brave countrymen.
"Follow me, then, to strike the mortal blow!" "Lead on!" cried a vigorous old man.

"I drew this stout claymore last in the battle of Largs.** Life and Alexander was then the word of victory: now, ye accursed Southrons, ye shall meet the slogan* [* Slogan, (so the war-word was termed.-( 1809.)] of Death and Lady Marion." **In the battle of Largs, Sir Malcolm Wallace, the father of Wallace, fell gloriously fighting against the Danes.-( 1830.) "Death and Lady Marion!" was echoed with shouts from mouth to mouth.
Every sword was drawn; and those hardy peasants who owned none, seizing the instruments of pasturage, armed themselves with wolf-spears, pickaxes, forks, and scythes.
Sixty resolute men now ranged themselves around their chief.

Wallace, whose widowed heart turned icy cold at the dreadful slogan of his Marion's name, more fiercely grasped his sword, and murmured to himself.