which they refer, I
will venture on a second violation of form, by closing the whole with a
dedication: -
 
                   These Volumes Being Respectfully Inscribed
                            to Our Scottish Addison
                                Henry Mackenzie,
                      by an Unknown Admirer of His Genius.
 

                                   Appendix.

                        General Preface, p. 8, No. I.97

    Fragment of a Romance Which Was to Have Been Entitled Thomas the Rhymer.
 

                                 Chapter First.

The sun was nearly set behind the distant mountains of Liddesdale, when a few of
the scattered and terrified inhabitants of the village of Hersildoune, which had
four days before been burned by a predatory band of English Borderers, were now
busied in repairing their ruined dwellings. One high tower in the centre of the
village alone exhibited no appearance of devastation. It was surrounded with
court walls, and the outer gate was barred and bolted. The bushes and brambles
which grew around, and had even insinuated their branches beneath the gate,
plainly showed that it must have been many years since it had been opened. While
the cottages around lay in smoking ruins, this pile, deserted and desolate as it
seemed to be, had suffered nothing from the violence of the invaders; and the
wretched beings who were endeavouring to repair their miserable huts against
nightfall, seemed to neglect the preferable shelter which it might have afforded
them, without the necessity of labour.
    Before the day had quite gone down, a knight, richly armed, and mounted upon
an ambling hackney, rode slowly into the village. His attendants were a lady,
apparently young and beautiful, who rode by his side upon a dappled palfrey; his
squire, who carried his helmet and lance, and led his battle-horse, a noble
steed, richly caparisoned. A page and four yeomen, bearing bows and quivers,
short swords, and targets of a span breadth, completed his equipage, which,
though small, denoted him to be a man of high rank.
    He stopped and addressed several of the inhabitants whom curiosity had
withdrawn from their labour to gaze at him; but at the sound of his voice, and
still more on perceiving the St. George's Cross in the caps of his followers,
they fled, with a loud cry, »that the Southrons were returned.«
    The knight endeavoured to expostulate with the fugitives, who were chiefly
aged men, women, and children; but their dread of the English name accelerated
their flight, and in a few minutes, excepting the knight and his attendants, the
place was deserted by all. He paced through the village to seek a shelter for
the night, and despairing to find one either