This is the sum and substance of some conversations held while rambling among these scenes, going in and out of arches, climbing into nooks and through loopholes, picking moss and ivy, and occasionally retreating under the shadow of some arch, while the skies were indulging in a sudden burst of emotion.  The poor woman who acted as our guide, ensconcing herself in a dry corner, stood like a literal Patience on a monument, waiting for us to be through; we were sorry for her, but as it was our first and last chance, and she would stay there, we could not help it.

Near by the abbey is a square, modern mansion, belonging to the Earl of Buchan, at present untenanted.  There were some black, solemn yew trees there, old enough to have told us a deal of history had they been inclined to speak; as it was, they could only drizzle.

As we were walking through the yard, a bird broke out into a clear, sweet song.

“What bird is that?” said I.

“I think it is the mavis,” said the guide.  This brought up,—­

  “The mavis wild, wie mony a note,
  Sings drowsy day to rest.”

And also,—­

  “Merry it is in wild green wood,
  When mavis and merle are singing.”

A verse, by the by, dismally suggestive of contrast to this rainy day.

As we came along out of the gate, walking back towards the village of Dryburgh, we began, to hope that the skies had fairly wept themselves out; at any rate the rain stopped, and the clouds wore a sulky, leaden-gray aspect, as if they were thinking what to do next.

We saw a knot of respectable-looking laboring men at a little distance, conversing in a group, and now and then stealing glances at us; one of them at last approached and inquired if this was Mrs. Stowe, and being answered in the affirmative, they all said heartily, “Madam, ye’re right welcome to Scotland.”  The chief speaker, then, after a little conversation, asked our party if we would do him the favor to step into his cottage near by, to take a little refreshment after our ramble; to which we assented with alacrity.  He led the way to a neat, stone cottage, with a flower garden before the door, and said to a thrifty, rosy-cheeked woman, who met us, “Well, and what do you think, wife, if I have brought Mrs. Stowe and her party to take a cup of tea with us?”

We were soon seated in a neat, clean kitchen, and our hostess hastened to put the teakettle over the grate, lamenting that she had not known of our coming, that she might have had a fire “ben the house,” meaning by the phrase what we Yankees mean by “in the best room.”  We caught a glimpse of the carpet and paper of this room, when the door was opened to bring out a few more chairs.

  “Belyve the bairns cam dropping in,”

rosy-cheeked, fresh from school, with satchel and school books, to whom I was introduced as the mother of Topsy and Eva.

“Ah,” said the father, “such a time as we had, when we were reading the book; whiles they were greetin’ and whiles in a rage.”