stones, to see if the font was not concealed there, when we came upon one
half of a small pot, encrusted thick with rust. Mr. Scott's eyes
brightened, and he swore it was an ancient consecrated helmet. Laidlaw,
however, scratching it minutely out, found it covered with a layer of
pitch inside, and then said, "Ay, the truth is, sir, it is neither mair
nor less than a piece of a tar pat that some o' the farmers hae been
buisting their sheep out o', i' the auld kirk langsyne." Sir Walter's
shaggy eyebrows dipped deep over his eyes, and suppressing a smile, he
turned and strode away as fast as he could, saying, that "We had just rode
all the way to see that there was nothing to _be_ seen."

I remember his riding upon a terribly high spirited horse, who had the
perilous fancy of leaping every drain, rivulet, and ditch that came in our
way; the consequence was, that he was everlastingly bogging himself, while
sometimes his rider kept his seat despite of his plunging, and at other
times he was obliged to extricate himself the best way he could. In coming
through a place called the Milsey Bog, I said to him, "Mr. Scott, that's
the maddest deil of a beast I ever saw. Can ye no gar him tak a wee mair
time? He's just out o' ae lair intil another wi' ye."

"Ay," said he, "we have been very oft, these two days past, like the Pechs;
we could stand straight up and tie our shoes." I did not understand the
joke, nor do I yet, but I think these were his words.

We visited the old castles of Thirlestane and Tushilaw, and dined and
spent the afternoon, and the night, with Mr. Brydon, of Crosslee. Sir
Walter was all the while in the highest good-humour, and seemed to enjoy
the range of mountain solitude, which we traversed, exceedingly. Indeed I
never saw him otherwise. In the fields--on the rugged mountains--or even
toiling in Tweed to the waist, I have seen his glee not only surpass