back, I'll take you out on a ramble about the neighborhood. To-morrow
we will take a look at the Yarrow, and the next day we will drive over
to Dryburgh Abbey, which is a fine old ruin well worth your seeing"--in
a word, before Scott had got through his plan, I found myself committed
for a visit of several days, and it seemed as if a little realm of
romance was suddenly opened before me.

* * * * *

After breakfast I accordingly set oft for the Abbey with my little
friend Charles, whom I found a most sprightly and entertaining
companion. He had an ample stock of anecdote about the neighborhood,
which he had learned from his father, and many quaint remarks and sly
jokes, evidently derived from the same source, all which were uttered
with a Scottish accent and a mixture of Scottish phraseology, that gave
them additional flavor.

On our way to the Abbey he gave me some anecdotes of Johnny Bower to
whom his father had alluded; he was sexton of the parish and custodian
of the ruin, employed to keep it in order and show it to strangers;--a
worthy little man, not without ambition in his humble sphere. The death
of his predecessor had been mentioned in the newspapers, so that his
name had appeared in print throughout the land. When Johnny succeeded
to the guardianship of the ruin, he stipulated that, on his death, his
name should receive like honorable blazon; with this addition, that it
should be from, the pen of Scott. The latter gravely pledged himself to
pay this tribute to his memory, and Johnny now lived in the proud
anticipation of a poetic immortality.

I found Johnny Bower a decent-looking little old man, in blue coat and