|Sweet{319} in truth flows Tweed here, as all will own who leisurely wend their way--it is too beautiful to justify hurried progress--under leafy boughs where the sun slants down in fairy pattern on a road divorced by but a narrow edge of greenest grass from the clear, hurrying river. Here, at your very hand, you may see countless I! ripples of the rising trout, that feed beneath the elms of Yair." There over against you on the far bank of Tweed is Yair itself; and on the hither side, nestling above a lofty bank among its grand old trees, the beautiful ruin of Fairnilee, with its hospitable modern mansion hard by. It was in this line old seventeenth-century Scottish mansion that Alison Rutherfurd wrote her exquisite version of the "Flowers of the Forest." In the old ruined house the little room in which she wrote is still intact, and now is carefully preserved from farther possibility of decay. But why, one wonders vainly, why was a place so fair ever abandoned, and allowed so long to crumble away as if it had been a thing accursed? "Gin ye wad meet wi' me again, Gang to the bonny banks o' Fairnilee;" said the Queen of Faery to True Thomas. And were she here now in the Border land, to no more enchanting spot could she tryst in the sunny slope above the river, the giant limbs of {320}mighty trees green with the leafy crown of June, or flushed with the blood red and orange of autumn; [Illustration: 0340] the ceaseless song of water gushing over the cauld and dashing among the boulders below; the wide expanse that carries the eye through the waving boughs over the gleaming belt of water, and away far up the hill purpling with the bloom of heather,--or late in the season, "grymed" with the new fallen snow,--up and over to the broad summit of the Three Brethren Cairn. In very truth it is itself a fairyland, and, standing here, to the mind comes, {321} [Illustration: 0341] {322}irresistibly, thought of the hidden Gold of Fairnilee that in boyhood one sought for so diligently. [0342]