ster, "that a puir demented lassie
was at the gett (gate) greetin' like a bairn." Sir Walter had the
kindest of hearts; "O admit her puir thing," he said. The woman no
sooner entered than she fell on her knees in reverential awe before Sir
Walter. Her story was simply this. She belonged to Aberdeen; she was
married to a young farmer in that neighbourhood and had not long before
given birth to a beautiful infant, the first pledge of their loves.
The pains of birth had injured her mental equanimity, and eluding the
vigilance of her keepers she set forward one evening in search of the
great enchanter, whose works had in happier hours beguiled her with
their beauty. She travelled for a week; the distance from Aberdeen to
Abbotsford was about a hundred and fifty miles. She had walked every
step. Sir Walter did what he could to soothe her distracted mind,
and get her wasted frame recruited. But after some time he deemed it
advisable to exercise his judicial power and put her in a place of
security, until definite intelligence could be procured of her friends
and relations. Jedburgh is the county town of Roxburgh; and thither all
wanderers of this and a less gentle race are sent. A post-chaise was
sent for from old Davidson, of the George, and when it was at the door
of Abbotsford, Sir Walter induced the poor girl to enter it, promising
to accompany her "out a ridin'." She entered--looking for him to follow.
The door was instantly closed, and the post-boy lashing and spurring his
horses, darted off in a second. She gave a piercing shriek, looked
wildly round her, and abandoned herself to the most agonizing despair;
exclaiming in a tone of the utmost pathos, "ah! deceitfu' man, hae ye
beguiled me too!"--and then she sunk back in the carriage, and buried
herself in the deepest silence. * *

18th August. Set out to view the ruins of Dryburgh Abbey. Called
on Capt. (now Sir David) Erskine, from whom I received the politest
attention. His housekeeper acted as my cicerone, and conducted me over
the venerable pile. These time-worn ruins stand on the north bank of
the Tweed, by which they are almost surrounded, and are backed by hills
covered with wood, of the richest foliage. The abbey as well as the
modern mansion house of the proprietor, is completely embosomed in wood.
Around this sylvan spot the Tweed winds in a beautiful crescent form,
and the scene is extremely interesting, embracing both wood and water,
mountain and rock scene