this ancient burial place,-no one knowing whence they

came.

"To those mornings would succeed the ghost stories of the autumn evenings, when we used to entreat my father not to ring for candles after dinner; but, drawing round the clear wood fire, we listened with such excited feelings of terror and of awe, that very soon for any of us to have moved to ring a bell would have been impossible. How could we dare to doubt the truth of every word, having ourselves our own legitimate ghost to be believed in? and whom Walter Scott himself, in one of his ballads, has celebrated:'To Auchendenny's hazel shade,

And haunted Woodhouselee.'

"The tradition was, that the Regent Moray had thrust Lady Anne Bothwell and her child into the woods of Woodhouselee, where she went mad, and perished miserably; and that when the stones of old Woodhouselee were taken to build the new house, the poor ghost, still clinging to the domestic hearth, had accompanied these stones.

"There was one bed-room in the house, which, though of no extraordinary dimensions, was always called 'the big bed-room.' Two sides of the walls of this room were covered with very old tapestry, representing subjects from Scripture. Near the head of the bed there was a mysteriouslooking small and very old door, which led into a turret fitted up as a dressing-room. From this small door the ghost was wont to issue. No servant would enter 'the big bedroom' after dusk, and even in daylight they went in pairs. "To my aunt's old nurse,* who constantly resided in the

Tytler writes (in July, 1812):-"Cecy Low hops about the walks, sews in the sun, and at night we go and sit with her, and hear about grandpapa and Aunty Bell; and she shows us the corner in the parlour where grandpapa's little wig hung, and tells us where the sideboard stood, and descants upon the braw companies she has seen dining in this room; and what you, Annie, would

family, and with her daughter Betty, the dairy-maid, (a rosylooking damsel,) took charge of the house during the winter, Lady Anne had frequently appeared. Old Catherine was a singularly-interesting looking person in appearance: tall, pale, and thin, and herself like a gentle spirit from the unseen world. We talked to her often of Lady Anne. "Deed,' she said, 'I have seen her times out o' number, but I am in no ways fear'd; I ken weel she canna gang beyond her commission; but there's that silly feckless thing, Betty, she met her in the lang passage ae night in the winter time, and she hadnae a drap o' bluid in her face for a fortnight after. She says Lady Anne came sae near her she could see her dress quite weel it was a Manchester muslin with a wee flower.' Oh! how Walter Scott used to laugh at this 'wee flower,' and hope that Lady Anne would never change her dress.

"For several summers Mrs. Scott and he resided at a pretty cottage near Lasswade, within a walk of Woodhouselee. We used frequently to walk down after breakfast and spend the day. We were generally first received by Camp, his faithful dog, who, to his master's friends, never failed to show his master's hospitality.

"It was a poor dilapidated-looking cottage when he first became the tenant, with but one good sitting-room, which was always tastefully arranged by Mrs. Scott. From the garden there was a charming view, and from a mere kitchengarden it soon became a Paradise of flowers. It was his delight to train his creepers in the most tasteful, elegant manner; all around had the appearance of taste and culti

like best of all, refreshes our memory with the fairy tales of our infant days. The other night we made her tell us the story of Fair Lady parler Madame. The rhyme is as follows:-Master above all masters, Stretch upon your struntifers, Call upon Jonas the Great, Fair Lady parler Madame: Fair Angeliste hath taken hold of old Carle Gratis, And the smoke doth ascend to the top of Montego; And unless there come timely succour from the water of Stronfountes, The Castle of Stromundi will be burnt to the ground.”

vation, and every means was taken to convert a very ordinary thatched cottage into a most comfortable-looking and picturesque abode.

"On walking down there one morning, we found him mounted on a ladder, nailing together a Gothic sort of arch of willows over the gate at the entrance. He was very proud of this arch, and told us afterwards that Mrs. Scott and he had gone out that first night to admire it in the moonlight, and that the effect was most picturesque.* He was very proud also of a dining-table which he had constructed with his own hands, for in those days he was in very limited circumstances.

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'At a later period we used, with a few other intimate friends, to assemble in his house in Castle Street once a week, to tea and supper, and to hear 'Marmion' and the 'Lady of the Lake' read aloud by him while they were in progress. He stopped one evening at that fearful scene in 'Marmion,' where Constance is built into the convent wall, and we all trembled when he came to that

passage:

'An hundred winding steps convey
That conclave to the upper day;

But ere they breathed the fresher air,
They heard the shriekings of despair
And many a stifled groan:

With speed their upward way they take,
Such speed as age and fear can make;
And crossed themselves for terrors' sake,

As hurrying tottering on.'†

All got round him, and entreated to know if poor Constance was for ever to remain in that fearful niche in the convent

* Compare Lockhart's Life of Scott (Lasswade, 1798), vol. i. p. 289.

"He seems to have communicated fragments of the poem very freely during the whole of its progress," &c.-Life of Scott, vol. ii. p. 117, &c.

wall? if he really had doomed her to such a death? At first he tried to parry the questions, but finding that would not do, he exclaimed, 'I give you my sacred word, ladies, I am myself in the same uncertainty: I have not at this moment the slightest idea of what I am to do with Constance.'

"Only one other visit to Woodhouselee I shall mention. He was accompanied by Mrs. Scott, and his little daughter Sophia. We had always taken much interest in the child, a lively gay little thing, and were much struck by the change in her appearance: she was pale and thin, and had at times quite a frightened look, even a silly expression. Her nursery-maid's appearance we did not like: she was a tall masculine-looking woman, with a very unpleasant expression; and we ventured to hint that the little girl might be afraid of her. 'No, it was not possible,' Mrs. Scott said; on the contrary, she is often crying to get back to her. Have you not observed that as soon as dessert is over, she always asks to be taken back to her dear Clemmy?' We had observed this, and also the trembling frightened look with which the request was accompanied. We watched, and soon heard enough to convince us that the poor little girl was most cruelly tyrannized over: we heard her sobs, and Clemmy's threats that she was not for her very life to enter the drawing-room, but to ask immediately to be taken. back to her dear Clemmy. Clemmy was immediately discharged.

"Walter Scott was a most fond father. To watch his expression of pleasure when Sophia afterwards became his companion, and used to sing to him his favourite old ballads, you would have thought him an enthusiast in music; but he had little or no ear: it was the words and the singer that inspired him. Sophia was his favourite * Afterwards, Mrs. J. G. Lockhart.

D

child, but he was fond and proud of all of them. Taking a letter one day from his pocket when on a morning visit to my mother, he said, 'Mrs. Tytler, here is a letter from my son Walter, which I am sure you will like to see.' We asked afterwards if there was anything remarkable in the letter. 'No, nothing whatever. It was only a request for more pocket money.'

"Other frequent guests at Woodhouselee were Dugald and Mrs. Stewart. He was of a graver cast, yet he was no deep philosopher to the younger branches of the family. In one of those visits, on some one going into the drawingroom after breakfast, they found him alone with my brother Peter, running round the room, each balancing a peacock's feather on his nose. Sometimes, on our return from walking, Mr. Stewart would compliment us on our blooming complexions. Peter would then never fail to say: 'Now, young ladies, don't be puffed up; remember Mr. Stewart probably sees your cheeks quite green.' This was in allusion to a natural optical defect in Mr. Stewart's sight: to him, the cherries and leaves on a tree were the same colour; and there was no distinction of hue between the red coats of the soldiers marching through a wood and the green trees themselves.

"Mr. Stewart had married an intimate friend of my mother's, a sister of Mr. Cranstoun, (afterwards Lord Corehouse,) and of the Countess Purgstall, of whom Basil Hall has given such an interesting account. Mrs. Stewart was a very accomplished person also, and with a voice in speaking peculiarly sweet, and musical. They seemed a very happy couple; but my mother would sometimes remark that this happiness was in some danger of being diminished by the very means they took to increase it. They were in constant dread of giving each other pain or anxiety, so that there were perpetual little mysteries and con