I digged a grave, and laid him in, And happ'd him with the sod sae green. "But think na ye my heart was sair, When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair; O think na ye my heart was wae, When I turn'd about, away to gae? "Nae living man I'll love again, Since that my lovely knight is slain, Wi' ae lock of his yellow hair I'll chain my heart for evermair." Just by Henderland is Coppercleuch, (called Cappercleuch in my boyhood,) and below it, Megget, flowing into the loch--a troutful stream, at least in earlier days. Pike used to bask in {301}the shallows here of a hot summer's day; perhaps even yet they do so. But I think these fish are more numerous now in the Loch of the Lowes than in St. Mary's. [Illustration: 0321] Up Megget's left bank runs a hill road leading over into Tweedsmuir. It has been negotiated by motors, but it is far from being a desirable road for that form of traffic, or indeed for any except foot traffic. The surface is rough and hilly, and where it plunges down past Talla Linns it is exceedingly steep, and n places very soft. Higher up the loch than Coppercleuch is the Rodono Hotel, and beyond, on the isthmus at the very head of St. Mary's, "Tibbie's," that famous little hostelry, haunt lang syne of Christopher North and Hogg; "Tibbie's," with its queer little antiquated box-beds, that I believe even yet exist. But it is not the "Tibbie Shiels" of North's day, or even of much later {302}days; it has not the same simplicity; it has grown, and is no longer the simple little cottage into which Tibbie and her husband entered just ninety years ago this year of 1913. [Illustration: 0322] Robert Chambers described it in 1827 as "a small, neat house, kept by a decent shepherd's widow... It is scarcely possible to conceive anything more truly delightful than a week's ruralizing in this comfortable little mansion, with the means of so much amusement at the very door, and so many interesting objects of sight and sentiment lying closely around."