Summary

Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland…

The widow loves the grave of her departed husband, and bedews it with tears, and carries away with her again the image of him she leaves to the worms: he is to me as the entombed lover: life and death are not more distant, than the pride of the Rollos and the humility of the poor; but his name may become as the graven letters of the monumental stone—I may weep over it."
"Auld age is a puir scout, my Matilda," replied Bertha. "Ance I have failed in my commission, and a watery grave in the Whitadder had nearly been my reward.
Source: Gutenberg

Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland…

No sooner, however, did we reach their door in the main street, than I banged up in the chaise, and attempted to jump out; but, alack-a-day! my legs fell from beneath me as if they did not belong to my body, while my puir head swam round and round, like a light bung in a gutter.—"Will ony o' you chiels," hiccuped I to the crowd that stood in front o' the chaise window, "carry me to Lucky Hunter's?"
"Ye maun pack in wi' your wife, Billy," cried they.
"I've no wife," stammered I; "I'm Ma-ma-ister Blackwell, the braw sou-sou-ter o' Selkirk."
Source: Gutenberg

Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland…

When she had reached the age of womanhood, other wooers offered her their hand; but she thought of the boy that had first loved her; and to him her memory clung, as the evening dawn falleth on the hills. Her father was but a poor man; and when many perceived the liking which Christopher May, the adopted son and supposed heir of the rich Peter Thornton, entertained for her, they said that nothing, or at least no good, would proceed from their acquaintance. But they who so said did not truly judge of the heart of Jessie. She was one of those who can love but once, and that once must be for ever.
Source: Gutenberg

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