Still more, perhaps, did it commend the
wisdom of Miss Gilchrist in sending me with these uncouth
companions and by this unfrequented path.
My itinerary is by no means clear to me; the names and distances I
never clearly knew, and have now wholly forgotten; and this is the
more to be regretted as there is no doubt that, in the course of
those days, I must have passed and camped among sites which have
been rendered illustrious by the pen of Walter Scott. Nay, more, I
am of opinion that I was still more favoured by fortune, and have
actually met and spoken with that inimitable author. Our encounter
was of a tall, stoutish, elderly gentleman, a little grizzled, and
of a rugged but cheerful and engaging countenance. He sat on a
hill pony, wrapped in a plaid over his green coat, and was
accompanied by a horse-woman, his daughter, a young lady of the
most charming appearance. They overtook us on a stretch of heath,
reined up as they came alongside, and accompanied us for perhaps a
quarter of an hour before they galloped off again across the
hillsides to our left. Great was my amazement to find the
unconquerable Mr. Sim thaw immediately on the accost of this
strange gentleman, who hailed him with a ready familiarity,
proceeded at once to discuss with him the trade of droving and the
prices of cattle, and did not disdain to take a pinch from the
inevitable ram's horn.
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