SIX WEEKS IX A TOWEK. 



[MAGA. JUNE 1862.] 



IF I have a fancy for living in towers, I suppose I 

 may indulge in it so long as no nocturnal raids are 

 proved against me. It was Burns who sang 



" As I stood by yon roofless tower, 



Where the wa'-flower scents the dewy air, 



Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower, 



And tells the midnight moon her care ; " 



and it was such an old grey Border tower that first 

 attracted my boyhood's fancy. jSTever could I pass 

 it without laying down my fishing-rod and climbing 

 up an old staircase, in order to muse for an hour 

 beneath the old ash-tree Avhich grew out of its roofless 

 second storey, and weave into wild fancies the blue 

 smoke of my secret youthful pipe. As snatches of 

 the weird Border ballads came to recollection, fierce 

 mosstroopers thronged round me with their riant 

 recklessness and defiant gloom. That tower became 

 associated with blazing hamlets, in whose red glare 

 stalwart figures were snatching " the fat horse and 

 VOL. v. D 



