he
three-peaked Eildons, for there the ancient vault is where lie "the race
of the house of Roxburghe." The long, long line of mourning carriages I
well remember; but these only spoke the general respect and commonplace
regret of the neighbourhood, which are incident to such an occasion. His
_people_ in their hundreds--these were his mourners! The younger and
stronger of them, in one way or other, accompanied the death procession
to the last resting-place. The women of the place, leading the children,
went down, all weeping as they went, to a bend in the Tweed, where there
would be a last view of the funeral train. There it was!--darkly
marching on the opposite bank, winding round the mouldering hillock
which was once Roxburgh Castle, and finally disappearing--disappearing
for ever!--behind that pine-covered height! As the last of the train
floated and melted away from the horizon, we all sunk to the ground at
once, as if struck by some instantaneous current; and such a wail rose
that day as Tweed never heard; whilst an echoing voice seemed to cry
along his banks, and into the depth of his forests--"The last of the
Patriarch-Dukes has departed!"

One instance is worth a thousand dissertations. And the above thin
water-colour sketch of a _real popular life_, though presenting only one
or two out of an endless variety of its phases, will give a more
distinct conception than a volume of fanciful generalities could, of
what I mean by the lyric joyousness of the Scottish people; and is,
besides, a sincere, though mean and unworthy tribute to the virtues of a
true patriarchal nobleman, about the last of the race, whose name, if
the world were not too apt to forget its most excellent ones, would be
eternised in the memory of mankind.

It is from this soil--this sensitive and fervid national temperament--that
there has sprung up such a harvest of ballads, and songs, and
heart-moving, soul-breathing melodies. Hence the hearty old habits and
curious suggestive customs of the people: the hospitality, exuberant as
Abraham's, who sat in the tent-door bidding welcome even to the passing
traveller; the merry-meetings and "rockings" in the evening, where each
had to contribute his or her song or tale, and at the same time ply some
piece of work; the delight in their native dances, furious and whirling
as those of the Bacchantes; the "Guisarding" of the boys at Christmas,
relic of old-world plays, when the bloody melodrama finished off