Everywhere in the house, vanished visitors had scrawled their names, despite the notice, “Please not to write on the walls, windows, or shutters,” pasted on the looking-glass of the dining-room. Scrawled on a window-pane was the frank confession, perhaps made in disillusioned after years, “John Anderson made a fool of himself in Gretna, 1831”; and in a greasy visitors’ book he found the usual ribald remarks. With the prevailing air of desolation heavy upon everything, he asked how long it was since the last marriage had been celebrated there, expecting a reply in terms of years; but the landlady turned to the maid who was laying the cloth, and said, “Was it Tuesday or Monday last, that couple came?” The maid said it was “Monday.” Oh! what a surprise. Gretna Green itself is a small place, and to-day a dull one, too. The Hall, situated in its private grounds, is just a country mansion. No longer do the officers from Carlisle garrison “come once a week to be married,” as the lady there pleasantly suggested to me; and no one will accost the stranger and hint that it is a fine day for a wedding. _Eheu! fugaces._ XXX [Sidenote: _THE DUMFRIESSHIRE “AUXENT”_] The Dumfries coach branched off at Gretna, but nowadays only an occasional motor-car halts in the village, its driver perplexed by the multiplicity of roads, and, if he be a Southron, no less perplexed by the broad Dumfriesshire accent in which his inquiries are answered. For, of a sudden—as suddenly as the dividing-line between the two countries—Scotch have succeeded to English people. At Longtown even, the people are English; here and henceforward Scottish talk and Scottish physiognomies, if not the national dress, are prominent. There is no mingling, to this day. I do not suppose the Dumfriesshire folk will realise the existence of their Doric. They will be like the friends of that farmer who went southwards and on returning home complained that the “Enklish” made “remairks” about his speech. ‘Mon,’ said they, ‘we didna ken ony o’us had ony auxent at a’.’ Scotland was of old an almost unknown land to the English, and indeed it largely so remained until Queen Victoria’s preference for North Britain brought about a fashionable exploitation of Caledonia; but such ignorance as that of the lady who declared she “never went to Scotland because the crossing made her sea-sick” cannot ever have been common.