farmhouses, before the hearth. In one corner of this seat reclined
a figure bent with age, her face concealed by a thick veil. In the
other corner was an old cheerful-looking woman, busily knitting, and
mumbling rather than singing a quaint old ballad.

The mistress of Coote-down made a feeble attempt to rise when my
cousin presented me; but I entreated her to keep her seat. Having
procured a chair for my fellow-visitor (for the old domestic took
not the smallest notice of us, but went on with her work as if we
were not present), I established myself beside the hostess, and
addressed to her a few common-place words of greeting. She replied
in a voice far less feeble than I had expected to hear from so
decrepit a person; but what she said was no answer to my salutation.
She went on with surprising clearness, explaining to me the degree
of relationship which we bore to each other, and traced my pedigree
till it joined her own; continued our mutual genealogy back to the
Damnonii of Cornwall, hinting that our ancestors of that period were
large mining proprietors, who sold tin to the Phoenicians! At first
she spoke with doubt and hesitation, as if she feared to make some
mistake; but the moment she got to where our branches joined--to the
trunk, as it were, of our family-tree--she went on glibly, like
child repeating a well-conned lesson. All this while the old
attendant kept up the unceasing accompaniment of her ballad, which
she must have sung through several times, for I heard the first
line--

'A bailie's daughter, fair was she'--

at least thrice.