[20] Dr. Ferguson lived for some time at Neidpath Castle, from whence he removed to Hallyards, in Manor parish. He was a most devoted and enthusiastic snuff-taker. An amusing anecdote is preserved of the good old man’s simplicity of character and love of snuff. One day, on his son’s arrival from Edinburgh, he begged a pinch from young Adam’s box, which, on receiving, he declared to be exceedingly good, and, of course, he inquired where that delightful mixture was to be procured. “I got it from Traquair,” answered his son, alluding to a tobacconist of that name, who dwelt at the corner of the piazzas leading into the Parliament Square in Edinburgh. This the old gentleman did not comprehend, but thought that his son meant Traquair, a little village about seven miles down Tweed, beyond Peebles: and he actually despatched a man on horseback to that place to procure some of the snuff which had so taken his fancy. CHAPTER VI. =Old Mortality.= DESERTED BURYING-GROUND. There exists, in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh, a scene nearly resembling that described in the beautiful preliminary to this Tale, as the burying-ground of the Covenanters. It is commonly called St. Catherine’s Kirkyard, and is all that remains of the chapel and cemetery of the once celebrated _St. Catherine’s in the Hopes_.[21] The situation is particularly pastoral, beautiful, and interesting. It is placed where the narrow ravine, down which Glencorse burn descends, opens up into an expanse considerably wider. Rullion Green, where the Covenanters were defeated by the troops of Charles II. in 1665, was in the immediate vicinity; and tradition still points out in St. Catherine’s the graves of several of the insurgents, who were killed either in the battle or near this spot in the pursuit. If the latter be the most probable fact, no other circumstance would be required to establish the identity of the two scenes. St. Catherine’s Churchyard, lying among the wildest solitudes of the Pentland Hills, is an object of beautiful and interesting desolation, almost equal to the scene of Peter Pattieson’s meeting with Old Mortality. There does not now remain the least trace of a place of worship within its precincts; and it seems to have been long disused as a place of interment. A slight mark of an inclosure, nearly level with the sward, and one overgrown gravestone, itself almost in the grave, are all that point out the spot.