On passing the bounds of Abbotsford, we came upon a bleak-looking farm,
with a forlorn, crazy old manse, or farmhouse, standing in naked
desolation. This, however, Scott told me, was an ancient hereditary
property called Lauckend, about as valuable as the patrimonial estate
of Don Quixote, and which, in like manner, conferred an hereditary
dignity upon its proprietor, who was a laird, and, though poor as a
rat, prided himself upon his ancient blood, and the standing of his
house. He was accordingly called Lauckend, according to the Scottish
custom of naming a man after his family estate, but he was more
generally known through the country round by the name of Lauckie Long
Legs, from the length of his limbs. While Scott was giving this account
of him, we saw him at a distance striding along one of his fields, with
his plaid fluttering about him, and he seemed well to deserve his
appellation, for he looked all legs and tartan.

Lauckie knew nothing of the world beyond his neighborhood. Scott told
me that on returning to Abbotsford from his visit to France,
immediately after the war, he was called on by his neighbors generally
to inquire after foreign parts. Among the number came Lauckie Long Legs
and an old brother as ignorant as himself. They had many inquiries to
make about the French, whom they seemed to consider some remote and
semi-barbarous horde--"And what like are thae barbarians in their own
country?" said Lauckie, "can they write?--can they cipher?" He was
quite astonished to learn that they were nearly as much advanced in
civilization as the gude folks of Abbotsford.

After living for a long time in single blessedness, Lauckie all at
once, and not long before my visit to the neighborhood, took it into
his head to get married. The neighbors were all surprised; but the
family connection, who were as proud as they were poor, were grievously