otnote 26: My uncle afterwards resided at Elliston, and
then took from Mr. Cornelius Elliot the estate of Woollee.
Finally he retired to Monklaw in the neighborhood of
Jedburgh, where he died, 1823, at the advanced age of ninety
years, and in full possession of his faculties. It was a fine
thing to hear him talk over the change of the country which
he had witnessed.--(1826.)]

My kind and affectionate aunt, Miss Janet Scott, whose memory will
ever be dear to me, used to read these works to me with admirable
patience, until I could repeat long {p.016} passages by heart. The
ballad of Hardyknute I was early master of, to the great annoyance of
almost our only visitor, the worthy clergyman of the parish, Dr.
Duncan, who had not patience to have a sober chat interrupted by my
shouting forth this ditty. Methinks I now see his tall, thin,
emaciated figure, his legs cased in clasped gambadoes, and his face of
a length that would have rivalled the Knight of La Mancha's, and hear
him exclaiming, "One may as well speak in the mouth of a cannon as
where that child is." With this little acidity, which was natural to
him, he was a most excellent and benevolent man, a gentleman in every
feeling, and altogether different from those of his order who cringe
at the tables of the gentry, or domineer and riot at those of the
yeomanry. In his youth he had been chaplain in the family of Lord
Marchmont--had seen Pope--and could talk familiarly of many characters
who had survived the Augustan age of Queen Anne. Though valetudinary,
he lived to be nearly ninety, and to welcome to Scotland his son,
Colonel William Duncan, who, with the highest character for military
and civil merit, had made a considerable fortune in India. In [1795],
a few days before his death, I paid him a visit, to inquire after his
health. I found him emaciated to the last degree, wrapped in a tartan
night-gown, and employed with all the activity of health and youth in
correcting a history of the Revolution, which he intended should be
given to the public when he was no more. He read me several passages
with a voice naturally strong, and which the feelings of an author
then raised above the depression of age and declining health. I begged
him to spare this fatigue, which could not but injure his health. His
answer was remarkable. "I know," he said, "that I cannot survive a
fortnight--and what signifies an exertion that c