the famous Runic column standing among the mossy graves of centuries, where long had mouldered many a rieving Armstrong, many a lang-nebbit Elliot, and muckel-mon'd Scott; and where the wrath of many a fiery Fenwicke had long, long been quenched in dust and ashes, the whole transmuted into gold by the alchemy of the setting sun's last gleam, the dark mass of the castle glooming at the back. The Parsonage, and, below, the steep knoll on which the churchyard is situated on the opposite side of the stream called White Lyne, which is here crossed by a rustic bridge; the six cottages, and small change-house, which constitute the village, formed a picture quaint, old-world-like and secluded, such as our great master of landscape, Turner, would have delighted to look upon and depict; or "The genius that dwelt on the banks of the Tyne," my old friend and monitor, Thomas Bewick, would have compressed, with all its particulars, into a tail-piece of some two inches and a half of space. While gazing, absorbed in the enchanting influence of the view, the light gradually died away, and a bleak pallid hue gathered over the scene as the full moon gradually rose over the dark and shattered outline of the castle walls. I now looked about me for the shortest way to the small change-house at the foot of the hill on which I stood, where I proposed to rest for the night, well disposed thereto as I was after my rugged journey of some eighteen miles, when I was joined by a very comely peasant woman, who was going that way and undertook to be my guide. She presently took me into her confidence, and unfolded to me all her simple affairs and interests, the name and employment of her gude-man, and the number of her weans, with full particulars of sex, name, and age, all detailed with a simplicity and trustfulness, in the sweet Cumbrian tongue—for she did not originally spring on this border land, where the dialect is harsh and scarcely intelligible—that had a charm quite Wordsworthian. Arrived at the change-house, which was lit up by the fire of the smithy opposite, where the jolly hammerer was singing lustily to the bass accompaniment of his bellows, I entered, and to my dismay, tired as I was, I found the place contained only a but and a ben,[1] and but one bed, in a recess of the wall, which accommodated the hostess and her grand-daughter, wee Girzie, a golden-haired, round eyed lassie, who stared, half in fear and half in admiration, at the way-worn stranger bending under the weight of his knapsack. Finding there was no chance of a bed, I inquired if I could rest awhile and have some tea?
"Na, they had nae tea, nobut[2] whisky and barley scones, an a soup sma yill, unco sour; but there was a road-side public by the sign of the Risin' Sun, kept by ane Jock Armstrang, an honest man, considering he's a horse-couper, foreby, about a mile and a bittock nearer the Scotch border; I might mebbee get a pittin-up there." With this assurance I again took my way forth in the moonlight, over the little rustic bridge and along the bank of the White Lyne, which shone silvery bright under the moon, until, coming to another small bridge, by which, according to mine hostess's direction, I again crossed the water, past a water-mill, from whence issued a warm light that told of home and its comforts, sending a thrill to the heart of the travel-worn pilgrim. The way now led by the edge of a wood, which, intercepting the moonlight, left it in pitchy darkness; but groping on with protruded staff, a small glimmer of light became visible, like a star in the gloom, and in time I came up to the Rising Sun, where I knocked loud and long, before the latch was lifted, and I was confronted by a somewhat morose-looking woman and a young girl, whose staring black eyes and straggling elf locks gave her a peculiarly wild and striking appearance.
"What's your wull, canny man?" the elder dame inquired, keeping the door ajar.
I explained my requirements; but she seemed scarcely to comprehend my language.
"I dinna ken," she replied," I dinna ken. This is a lone house, and the gude-man's awa' at Newcastleton fair; an we're shy o' strangers. Ye'll na belong to thir pairts, an we tak in nae tramps."
"My good woman," I remonstrated, "I am no tramp, but travelling for my pleasure. My first visit to-morrow will be to your minister, who will assure you of my respectability."
"Aye, aye, aiblins, aiblins," she muttered; "but that punco like a pack on the shouthers of ye,—awm dooting, freen, ye'll just hae to tak the road again."
I now inquired if she expected the good man home that night?
"Aye, aye, the men folk wad be here sune, and I might just hirple into the chimney neuk, and she'd hear what they said til't."
Glad enough was I to obtain entrance on any terms, and having relieved my aching shoulders of my knapsack, I disposed myself on the lang settle[3] beside a large turf fire; and perceiving that my appearance in repose, having laid aside my hat, seemed to be held somewhat more satisfactory, I ventured to inquire if I might have tea, and anything they might have at hand—eggs, or what not?