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gyll is a fine bit of work. He presents him as a statesman who had the welfare of his country and his clan at heart; a bookish man who, had it not been for an uncomfortable ambition, would have preferred the study to the Senate or the field; and finally, as the disciple of Master Gordon could not fail to be, a sincerely religious man. At the same time, he is represented as ambitious, crafty, selfish, flattered out of all true knowledge of himself, and probably a coward. On this last point Mr Munro is a trifle ambiguous. He seems to admit all that can be said in proof of Argyll's pusillanimity, and yet maintain that the man was not a coward but vacillating to a degree. You are confronted with his cowardice, and yet asked to believe that when put to the test Argyll was as bold of heart as any. The excuses which he himself gives for his flight from Inverlochy and Inverary are those of a man driven hard in self-defence, who would fain keep his self-esteem, and yet knows that he has lost the esteem of his fellows. He claims boldly enough that he is no poltroon; and would even have you believe that his irresolution in the face of danger is due to some dubiety as to whether he has really right on his side. Did the same Marquis know the same irresolution when he plotted in safety? In any case, Archibald Marquis of Argyll cuts but a sorry figure in Mr Munro's pages. And yet you have a kindlier notion of Argyll after reading 'John

Splendid' than ever you had before. The man is revealed to you in his weakness, and an appeal with great skill is made direct to your pity. This is certainly true of the last scene in which Argyll figures. After the flight from Inverlochy you are introduced to the unhappy man lying ill of a fever in his bed at Inverary, with the faithful Master Gordon at his side, rubbing in the truth, you may be sure, where the skin was tenderest. Mr Munro in this scene-and for vivid realisation it is a powerful piece of writing-lets the dignity of Argyll go by the board. You are confronted with a soul in agony, who in the very attitude he assumes would make himself ridiculous, were it not for his painful earnestness. Mr Munro is quite conscious of this; for John Splendid afterwards remarks that "the man was in his bed, and his position as he cocked up there on his knees was not the most dignified I have seen." With his dignity gone, his pride broken, his heart bitter to sickness with its own shame, Argyll disarms you of resentment, and you must be very hard of heart if you do not leave his bed-chamber with a more tender notion of the man.

Of Montrose Mr Munro gives you only a glimpse, and that anything but flattering to the Great Marquis. And here this article would necessarily end, were it not that Mr MacLaren Cobban in 'The Angel of the Covenant'1 has essayed to do for

1 The Angel of the Covenant. By J. MacLaren Cobban, Methuen,

Montrose what Mr Munro has achieved in the case of Argyll. Here, for the first time in fiction, have Montrose and Argyll been confronted with each other -a big undertaking, but accomplished with success. The story covers a period of twelve years, from 1629 to 1641, and consequently does not touch upon those events in the lives of Montrose and Argyll which have most largely contributed to render them famous in history. The Covenant is the theme; and to right and left of it stand these two, at first in apparent amity, which in due time gives place to unconcealed hatred. In order that the reader might clearly understand the true purport of the Covenant, that remarkable event in Scottish history, and the different attitudes adopted towards it by Montrose and Argyll, it was necessary that the condition of Scotland at that period should be adequately set forth. It is the background of the romance, and the danger was that the author should give it undue prominence. Mr Cobban has steered clear of this pitfall, into which so many conscientious historical romancists have fallen to their own hurt. The story and the history are so interwoven that you are never impressed with the difference. Nor does the author take any violent liberties with history, in order that the gentle reader may not be unduly perturbed in spirit, as did Sir Walter, for example, when he made young Kilpont recover from the fatal blow dealt him by Allan M'Aulay,

in order that he might wed Annot Lyle. Into a firm and accurate framework of history Mr Cobban has worked his romance, and the result is an admirable picture of Scotland and her most famous sons during that seething period of discontent and bigotry which heralded the civil war. Montrose is the hero, in all the vigour of his splendid youth. You are introduced to him at the age of seventeen on his way to visit Jameson, the Scottish Vandyck, and have his portrait painted-the portrait that shows even at that early age all the sweetness and strength that were as noticeable in the great Marquis of Montrose as in the boy James Grahame.

The opening chapters of the tale introduce to each other, to their ultimate sorrow, Montrose and Alec Burnet, and Mistress Magdalen Keith afterwards the Angel of the Covenant, but then little more than a child. Maudlin is a frank, daring, beautiful child, worshipful of heroes, and even then unconsciously challenging them to love: she grows into a brilliant, unhappy woman, whose heart must have broken but for her beauty and her pride. Montrose in these early scenes bears himself with all the dignity and affability which seemed to come naturally to one who, as a boy, believed himself born to do great deeds. But it is not until Argyll comes on the scene that he shows himself in his real strength. Ten years older than Montrose, he is a much abler diplomatist than the young Earl, and in these first months

of their intimacy gives you almost the impression of having the finer brain of the two. Argyll helps Montrose to know himself, to realise himself and his own gifts of mind and body. No sooner is that accomplished than he takes the first place, and Argyll falls into the second. The greatness of his fate seems only to dawn upon Montrose when he is confronted with the man who, beginning as his rival, soon became his foe, and was in the end his murderer. There is humour in the scene in which Argyll first figures. His craftiness, no less than the power of the man, is admirably presented. He has the most perfect control of himself, and there is a patient watchfulness in his manner that holds your attention. Admirers of Argyle, and even those who insist that there are good qualities in all men, will not admit that Mr Cobban has done Gillespie Gruamach justice. Certainly, if he had any kindly virtues in his disposition-as to which there is undoubtedly some scepticism-they are sternly repressed in Mr Cobban's portrayal of him. And yet he is not described as altogether mean, cowardly, and treacherous. Until he discloses his settled enmity to Montrose, he is cheerful and even winning, a soother of strife. And although, of course, all this but serves to convince you of his guile, yet it wins your admiration. The contest between Montrose and Argyll, though not apparent at first, becomes gradually inevitable; and when at last they face each other with nothing to veil the issue between them, the

climax is reached and sustained. Although Argyll is foiled, he covers his retreat so skilfully as to shield Mr Cobban from the charge of injustice. There is only one scene where King Campbell completely gives himself away, and then he is not confronted with Montrose, but with the Angel of the Covenant. This is where Argyll is caught in a trap, and is in imminent danger of his life if he refuses to purchase it by signing the release of Montrose from prison. The passionate anger of Maudlin at Argyll's taunt, the terror and rage of Argyll, the resentment of a quick wit in thrall to brute force,—it is all very natural. But somehow it leaves a doubt in the mind whether the constitutional timidity of Argyll would degenerate into such abject terror at the touch of the cold muzzle of a pistol, which his quick brain might have told him would discharge no bullet at his head.

Montrose triumphs over Argyll by force of character, not by superior wit. It seems to have been Mr Cobban's intention to vindicate his hero, not at the expense of any one else, but simply by the presentation of his transparent honesty and sweetness. As the story progresses and the real issue opens out to him, Montrose takes on a sterner mood. You meet him as a boy; you take leave of him a man fully equipped for the splendid achievements which were to make his name illustrious. He is every inch a hero, without a shadow of abatement; and they say that no man is altogether

So. The portrait is without doubt idealised; but you are convinced of its essential truth. The charm of his manner; his gaiety and wit; the proud valour of his heart,-you are confronted with them. Thus the artist is justified, though the historian may be convicted of prejudice. Montrose's relations with Magdalen Keith is a delicate subject, and Mr Cobban has handled it with tact. This This young creature, so beautiful, daring, and witty, loves Montrose with a passionate intensity that could have but one result unless you have implicit confidence in the honour of the hero. That of course you take for granted; and so Maudlin, with her exquisite beauty and aching heart, becomes more and more tragic as the tale draws to an end. With nothing to aid her but the truth, the truth that would be shameful but for her great love and her pride in it, she defies the world and is victorious. But she passes before you as one who is wounded to death, and yet will put a brave face on it, because it is better to be proud and brave than abject and tearful. The Lady Balgownie, her mother, is a stout-hearted, merry dame, with a good supply of wholesome Scots humour and a shrewd wit the same type of woman as her daughter, but better balanced and with a larger share of common-sense. But the difference is sufficient to fit the one for comedy, the other for tragedy, in the play of life.

It was surely a happy coincidence that John Splendid'

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and 'The Angel of the Covenant' should have appeared in the same year, the one with Argyll as the great historical figure, the other with Montrose. Sir Walter, with his large impartiality and supreme indifference, presents both men in a somewhat casual manner to his readers. His heart was with Dalgetty, and where his heart was, there his genius was sure to be brightest. But his swift sketches of Montrose and Argyll catch with unerring instinct those tricks of expression and traits of character which have become traditional. What a source of tradition was this great magician! We talk of the romance of Scottish history as though it existed of itself, and was not the offspring of his genius, whose creative power, imaginative force, and buoyant humour cannot be equalled outside the works of Shakespeare. No one but Mr. Crockett, we think, would dare to make a story of the Covenanters whom Claverhouse hunted about the hills. 'Old Mortality' commands a pass that none can force. But Scott left Montrose and Argyll to those who should come after him. Mr Cobban deals with an earlier period than that covered by A Legend of Montrose.' But Mr Monro, daring much, but with brilliant success, selects the same year and covers the same ground that beheld Dalgetty. He knows these West Highland hills and dales with a lover's intimacy. The Scottish Highlands and the men who live there have at last found their artist.

If Montrose receives but scant courtesy in the pages of John Splendid,' you have the record of "The Miraculous Journey" for compensation. It is a happy phrase, "The Miraculous Journey," and it will live with the chapter that describes it so long as men love to read of great deeds and heroic endurance. The cold and the darkness; the hunger, the weariness, and the pain; the impassable mountains to be overcome, the icy rivers to be forded with limbs that shrink from the ordeal, the whole journey passes before you, and grips you like a nightmare. And although young Elrigmore will have it that Alasdair MacDonald was the moving spirit of that triumphant progress, you have only to remember that Montrose was there, and where the king is, there can be no second. If Argyll has to bear the burden of a somewhat unenviable reputation in history, in fiction he has attracted more notice than Montrose. Argyll has been presented with three full-length portraits of himself,

while Montrose has only two. Which of the three Gillespie Gruamach would prefer is a delicate question to decide. Mr Munro describes him, as it were, in undress, and it is the most human portrait of Argyll that has yet been done. Mr Cobban presents him to you as the crafty politician; and Sir Walter as the great noble. Mr Cobban dwells so insistently on his cowardice, that the tribute, handsome and unhesitating as it is, to Argyll's intellect would scarce conciliate him to the likeness. You begin to think that perhaps Sir Walter's portrait would be the least unpleasant to the victim, until you remember the terrible indignity put upon him by the redoubtable Dalgetty in the cell in Inverary Castle. After all, it is Mr Munro who has painted the portrait of Argyll which is fairest to the man. As for Montrose, Mr Cobban's portrait of him is the beginning of that rehabilitation in fiction which has long since been finished in history.

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