y a court-yard and 'louping-on-stane;' and on the other, by a velvety
bowling-green, stretching along to an antique garden of cut yews and
hollies overhanging the glen. It boasts, of course, its haunted
chamber, and traditional stories of love and murder; but we have not
now to do with life or death above stairs, though many a tale might be
founded on truths 'stranger than fiction.' Our present purpose is with
the neighbourhood of the kitchen. There, too, we find some relics of
olden times; a fireplace which would legalise the Scottish invitation,
to 'come in to the fire,' inasmuch as within the chimney-arch was the
seat of honour and comfort, where a dozen cronies could sit beside the
embers, while an ox might roast in front. From that cozy neuk did the
old fiddler play in the evening, when the spinning-wheels were put
away, and the maids, generally tenants' daughters, had their dance
with the stragglers from the stables and cottages. Near the kitchen
was a much colder and more dismal place, that went by the name of 'the
Pit'--a half-subterranean recess, several steps lower than the
kitchen, into which scarcely a ray of light penetrated through the
small 'bole' that was drilled in the massive walls for a window. The
cheerless aspect of the place seemed to confirm the tradition, that it
had sometimes served of yore as a place of involuntary restraint. Its
present occupant, however, the son of a day-labourer, found no fault
with the accommodation it afforded him. He was a young boy, who
cleaned shoes, scoured knives, and received with great deference the
commands of Daniel Don, the butler. This boy was called John Dickson.
The Pit was his domicile, as well as his work-room, and he made it
also a 'study;' for having earned a rushlight by running messages, or
doing extra work for his neighbours, he might be found at night, as
long as the light would last, poring over a book. In this way he had,
unknown to others, while still a mere boy, read through that vast
quarry of erudition, Henry's 'Commentary on the Bible.'

Old James, the gardener, was a tolerable scholar, and a well-informed
man, and took great pleasure in encouraging young students; so, on
discovering John Dickson's taste for books, he lent him an old Latin
grammar, recommending him to commit it to memory. This John did with
praiseworthy diligence, although, being written in a language he did
not understand, he could make but little use of his acquisition. Old
Ja