INTO BALLAD-LAND. 97 



hour-glass, a bell, a death's head and cross-bones are cut on it, 

 with the warning 



" FUGIT HORA, DISCE MORI." 



From these gloomy thoughts we will advance to the Rhymer's 

 glen, where 



" True Thomas lay on Huntlie Bank ; 



A ferlie he spied wi' his e'e ; 

 And there he saw a lady bright 



Come riding down by the Eildon Tree." 



The tree has long since perished, but the place is marked by a 

 large stone ; the neighbouring brook, too, is known as Bogle 

 Burn; adjoining is Abbotsford. It has often been described, 

 and there is no need to attempt it here ; but the charm that 

 hangs round it is indescribable, and must be felt to be realised. 

 It is a poem cut in stone. The visitor is struck with its being 

 much smaller than he had been led to expect. The library, 

 though containing 20,000 volumes, appears circumscribed, and 

 the gardens are formal. It is in the armoury and Sir Walter's 

 study that most people linger longest, and here what persever- 

 ance can effect is an impression very strongly borne in upon 

 the mind. Outside, the ripe yellow leaves dropping without a 

 breath of air from the trees which Scott planted, seem on this 

 lovely autumnal morning in exact unison with our saddened 

 thoughts as we leave this curious monument of Scott's con- 

 structive genius. 



Up the vale of the Gala, near Stow, is Thirlestane Castle, 

 commemorated in the ballad of " Auld Maitland," when the 

 southern invaders 



" Lighted on the banks of Tweed, 

 And blew their coals sae het, 

 And fired the Merse and Teviotdale 

 All in an evening late. 

 G 



