or fortalice, save an old
chapel and churchyard, and a mill and mill-lead, where corn never grew,
but where, as old Satchells very appropriately says,

Had heather-bells been corn of the best,
The Buccleuch mill would have had a noble grist.

It must have been used for grinding the chief's blackmails, which it is
known, were all paid to him in kind. Many of these still continue to be
paid in the same way; and if report says true, he would be the better of a
mill and kiln on some part of his land at this day, as well as a sterling
conscientious miller to receive and render.

Besides having been mentioned by Satchells, there was a remaining
tradition in the country, that there was a font stone of blue marble, in
which the ancient heirs of Buccleuch were baptized, covered up among the
ruins of the old church. Mr. Scott was curious to see if we could discover
it; but on going among the ruins we found the rubbish at the spot, where
the altar was known to have been, digged out to the foundation,--we knew
not by whom, but no font had been found. As there appeared to have been a
kind of recess in the eastern gable, we fell a turning over some loose
stones, to see if the font was not concealed there, when we came upon one
half of a small pot, encrusted thick with rust. Mr. Scott's eyes
brightened, and he swore it was an ancient consecrated helmet. Laidlaw,
however, scratching it minutely out, found it covered with a layer of
pitch inside, and then said, "Ay, the truth is, sir, it is neither mair
nor less than a piece of a tar pat that some o' the farmers hae been
buisting their sheep out o', i' the auld kirk langsyne." Sir Walter's
shaggy eyebrows dipped deep over his eyes, and suppressing a smile, he
turned and strode away as fast as he could, saying, that "We had just rode
all the way to see that there was nothing to _be_ seen."

I remember his riding upon a terribly high spirited horse, who had the
perilous fancy of leaping every drain, rivulet, and ditch that came in our
way; the consequence was, that he was everlastingly bogging himself, while
sometimes his rider kept his seat despite of his plunging, and at other
times he was obliged to extricate himself the best way he could. In coming
through a place called the Milsey Bog, I said to him, "Mr. Scott, that's
the maddest deil of a beast I ever saw. Can ye no gar him tak a wee mair
time? He's just out o' ae lair intil another wi' ye."

"Ay," said he, "we have been v