The royal borough of Chucky Stanes, like every other town of the kind, enjoys an undue proportion of ladies in a state of single blessedness. The house I rented there belonged to Miss Beeny Needles, a venerable damsel of that description. Her father, far back in the last century, had held the dignity of Provost. In the plenitude of his magisterial pomp, he erected the edifice, where Miss Beeny, with her niece Mrs. Greenknowe, the widow of a much respected surgeon, held court, or, more properly, sat in expectation of being courted.

The husband of Mrs. Greenknowe had died, as Miss Beeny herself told me, much and justly regretted, about twelve months before; and having left his wife, though without incumbrance, in very narrow circumstances, Miss Beeny received her as an inmate and companion; the widow, luckily, at that time having let her own house furnished to an English family, who came for a few months, to enjoy the romantic scenery of the Tweed. It happened, however, that this family, not meeting with society quite so elegant in Chucky Stanes as they had been led to expect, soon after their arrival gave up the house, and moved to another part of the country. Thus it came to pass, that the two ladies agreed to move for the summer into the house of Mrs. Greenknowe, which was in the borough, and that Miss Beeny's house—the Hillocks on the skirts of the town—invited tenants for the season, and was rented by me.

Of the house, I need say but little; it was a plain, comfortable, manselike dwelling, standing on the top of a bank which sloped steeply to the river. The garden did not altogether equal the description; but, upon the whole, I was content with my bargain, especially as the maiden servant left in charge was an obliging, thorough-going quean, and needed but few directions in her duty. She was neat and economical in her management.