THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. CHAPTER I. 'Tis the voice of the sluggard, I've heard him complain, "You have waked me too soon, I must slumber again;" As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed, Turns his side, and his shoulders, and his heavy head. DR WATT. THE mansion-house of Dumbiedikes, to which we are now to introduce our readers, lay three or four miles-no matter for the exact topography-to the southward of St Leonard's. It had once borne the appearance of some little celebrity; for the "auld laird,” whose humours and pranks were often mentioned in the ale-houses for about a mile round it, wore a sword, kept a good horse, and a brace of grey-hounds; brawled, swore, and betted at cock-fights and horse-matches; followed Somerville of Drum's hawks, and the Lord Ross's hounds, and called himself point device a gentleman. But the line had been veiled of its splendour in the present proprietor, who cared for no rustic amusements, and was as saving, timid, and retired, as his father had been at once grasping and selfishly extravagant,-daring, wild, and intrusive. Dumbiedikes was what is called in Scotland a single house; that is, having only one room occupying its whole breadth, each of which single apartments was illuminated by six or eight cross lights, whose diminutive panes and heavy frames permitted scarce so much light to enter as shines through one well-constructed modern window. This inartificial edifice, exactly such as a child would build with cards, having a steep roof flagged with coarse grey-stones instead of slates; a half-circular turret, battlemented, or, to use the appropriate |
