CHAPTER XII .-- VOLUNTEERING.
Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing, Come from the glen of the buck and the roe; Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing, Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow: Many a banner spread Flutters above your herd, Many a crest that is famous in story; Mount and make ready then, Sons of the mountain glen, Fight for the _King_, and our old Scottish glory.
SIR WALTER SCOTT'S _Monastery_.
The sough of war and invasion flew over the face of the land, at this time, like a great whirlwind; and the hearts of men died within their persons with fear and trembling.

The accounts that came from abroad were just dreadful beyond all power of description.

Death stalked about from place to place, like a lawless tyrant, and human blood was spilt like water; while the heads of crowned kings were cut off; and great dukes and lords were thrown into dark dungeons, or obligated to flee for their lives into foreign lands, and to seek out hiding-places of safety beyond the waves of the sea.

What was worst of all, our trouble seemed a smittal one; the infection spread around; and even our own land, which all thought hale and healthy, began to show symptoms of the plague-spot.
Losh me! that men, in their seven senses, could have ever shown themselves so infatuated.

Johnny Wilkes and liberty was but a joke to what was hanging over the head of the nation, brewing like a dark tempest which was to swallow it up.