he got free, held on his course careless whither he went, providing he got far enough from the horrid scene he had so lately witnessed. Some have supposed, and I believe Duncan has been heard confess, that he then imagined he was running for the Highlands, but mistook the direction. However, he continued his course until he came to a place where two ways met, a little south of Grange Toll. Here he sat down, and his frenzied passion subsided into a soft melancholy:—he cried no more, but sobbed excessively: fixed his eyes on the ground, and made some strokes in the dust with his finger.
A sight just then appeared, which somewhat interested his heavy and forlorn heart—it was a large drove of Highland cattle. They were the only creatures like acquaintances that Duncan had seen for a year, and a tender feeling of joy, mixed with regret, thrilled his heart at the sight of their white horns and broad dew-laps. As the van passed him, he thought their looks were particularly gruff and sullen; he soon perceived the cause, they were all in the hands of Englishmen; poor exiles like himself; going far away to be killed and eaten, and would never see the Highland hills again.
When they were all gone by, Duncan looked after them, and wept anew; but his attention was suddenly called away to something that softly touched his feet;—ho looked hastily about—it was a poor hungry lame dog, squatted on the ground, licking his feet, and manifesting the most extravagant joy. Gracious Heaven! it was his own Oscar! starved, emaciated, and so crippled that he was scarcely able to walk. He was doomed to be the slave of a Yorkshire peasant, (who it seems, had bought or stolen him at Falkirk) the generosity and benevolence of whose feelings were as inferior to
