MacDougal, my cousin William Scott younger of Raeburn, and I
myself, were the nearest blood relations present, although
our connection was of so old a date, and ranked as
pall-bearers accordingly.--(1826.)]

My grandmother continued for some years to take charge of the farm,
assisted by my father's second brother, Mr. Thomas Scott, who resided
at Crailing, as factor or land steward for Mr. Scott of Danesfield,
then proprietor of that estate.[26] This was during the heat of the
American war, and I remember being as anxious on my uncle's weekly
visits (for we heard news at no other time) {p.015} to hear of the
defeat of Washington, as if I had had some deep and personal cause of
antipathy to him. I know not how this was combined with a very strong
prejudice in favor of the Stuart family, which I had originally
imbibed from the songs and tales of the Jacobites. This latter
political propensity was deeply confirmed by the stories told in my
hearing of the cruelties exercised in the executions at Carlisle, and
in the Highlands, after the battle of Culloden. One or two of our own
distant relations had fallen on that occasion, and I remember of
detesting the name of Cumberland with more than infant hatred. Mr.
Curle, farmer at Yetbyre, husband of one of my aunts, had been present
at their execution; and it was probably from him that I first heard
these tragic tales which made so great an impression on me. The local
information, which I conceive had some share in forming my future
taste and pursuits, I derived from the old songs and tales which then
formed the amusement of a retired country family. My grandmother, in
whose youth the old Border depredations were matter of recent
tradition, used to tell me many a tale of Watt of Harden, Wight Willie
of Aikwood, Jamie Telfer of the fair Dodhead, and other heroes--merry
men all, of the persuasion and calling of Robin Hood and Little John.
A more recent hero, but not of less note, was the celebrated _Diel of
Littledean_, whom she well remembered, as he had married her mother's
sister. Of this extraordinary person I learned many a story, grave and
gay, comic and warlike. Two or three old books which lay in the window
seat were explored for my amusement in the tedious winter days.
Automathes and Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany were my favorites,
although at a later period an odd volume of Josephus's Wars of the
Jews divided my partiality.

[Fo