118 THE BOEDER ANGLER. 



miles. This road is continued down the north side of 

 the loch and down the Yarrow. 



So now we must bid Tibbie Shiels farewell ; and 

 who — as he drank the stirrup-cup at her door — ever did 

 so without regret ? Esto perpetua, we would fain say- 

 to the aged hostess ; but since that may not be, we can 

 only hope that the nest-like shelter between the lochs 

 may for generations be open to the angler, and may be 

 presided over by some one that, in kindliness, attention, 

 and lastly, moderation of charge, may emulate thee, 

 Tibbie^! 



As we saunter along the road, by the side of the 

 loch, on our way down the vale of Yarrow, we must 

 pause to note some of the more remarkable features of 

 a scene that has had such a singular attraction alike 

 for the old ballad-monger and the modern poet. There 

 is no swan on still St. Mary's lake, " floating double, 

 swan and shadow," — for only in the hardest winters 

 have these waters such a visitant. But as we pass the 

 mouth of the Meggat, we mark Henderland, near 

 which are the ruins of the old castle which was the 

 scene of one of King James's sudden descents. The 

 royal asserter of law on the borders pounced upon 

 Percy Cockburn of Henderland one morning in 1529, 

 hanged him over his own gate, and left his body with 

 his weeping wife, whose faithful care of his remains 

 has come down to us in a ballad than which there is 

 nothing more pathetic extant. Having been deserted 

 by every living creature, she herself sewed his shroud, 

 and waked his corpse, and then bore it to St. Mary's 

 Kirk :— 



I 



