in his net with common hopefulness, and
found that he was destined to aid a Genie.

"Ere long," says Mr. Lockhart, "Mr.Train
visited Scott both at Edinburgh and at
Abbotsford. A true affection continued ever
afterwards to be maintained between them;
and this generous ally was—as the prefaces
to the Waverley novels signify—one of the
earliest confidants of that series of works,
and certainly the most efficient of all the
author's friends in furnishing him with
materials for their composition."

Train readily accepted the office of purveyor
to his literary Majesty. He swept hill,
glen, and dale, from the Nith to the Irish
Sea, from the Ayrshire border to the Solway,
for the rarest flowers of tradition, and laid
them at the master's feet. Train knew, too,
that in serving Sir Walter, he served the
cause of the Antiquity which was so dear to
him. The services he rendered to Sir Walter
(and to us), may be summed up thus:—

Guy Mannering is a Galloway story; and
Train supplied a sheaf of traditions towards
its creation. The smuggler, Dirk Hatterick,
was taken from one Yawkins, a fellow famous
on the Solway. The incident of the
kidnapped heir happened to the old family of
Brown of Carstaith—now extinct in the male
line. Old Mortality owed much to Train.
In May, 1816, he breakfasted with Sir Walter
in Edinburgh, and talked with him of a
portrait that hung in the room;—that of
Graham of Claverhouse. "Might he not,"
said Train, "be made the hero of a national
romance?" Scott assented. "And what,"
resumed Mr. Train, "if the story was to be
delivered as from the mouth of Old Mortality."
"Old Mortality?" said Scott. "Who
was he?" Train answered him; and then
Sir Walter remembered that he had seen
him. On this occasion Train left, with a
promise to inquire every particular concerning
that strange old mortal, the editor of epitaphs.
And to something else in this same conversation,
about a schoolmaster in Newton
Stewart, it is supposed that we are indebted
for Jedediah Cleishbotham. Train also gave
Sir Walter materials for Rob Roy, and a
purse that had belonged to him; and for
legends which he gathered, relating to
Turnberry Castle, the Lord of the Isles stood
his debtor also. He was, in short, constantly
bringing tribute, large and small, to his feudal
lord; he "held of him", to use a feudal
expression; and enjoyed his tenure of literary
life by right of his payments of homage.

Mr.Train led a two-sided life; on one side
he was an antiquary and poet—on the other,
he was an exciseman. And it is very
satisfactory to have to record that Train was not
only a good antiquary, but likewise a good
supervisor; he drew up an essay which
benefited the whole system! It would be
pleasant to record that his abilities benefited
himself. But promotion came slowly. He
had Sir Walter Scott's and other high interest,
and his own merit; but it was complained
that Englishmen were chiefly appointed to
the higher stations, and it is not recorded
that Train had any talent in the way of
electioneering. Hence, he remained supervisor
until he went on the retired list, and
ended his days in Castle Douglas.

His antiquarian deeds were numerous and
important. He traced an ancient wall, built,
it is thought, by the aborigines, from Lochryan,
in Wigtonshire, to the north-east border
of the Stewartry of Kircudbright, where it
joins Nithsdale. This wall the country people
call the Deil's Dyke; it consists of a strong
wall eight feet broad, the base of which is built
of stones, or where stones were not to be had,
of earth. Its course extends to more than
fifty-three miles. "All the late antiquarian
discoveries in Scotland sink into insignificance",
exclaims George Chalmers, "compared
with the Deil's Dyke!" They know not who
built it, but conjecture that the Romanized
Britons raised it; and their labours, poor
fellows, go to the credit of the "Deil". Train's
most important literary work was his History
of the Isle of Man. It was to a pleasant
retirement that he withdrew in the town of
Castle Douglas, in Kircudbright: a white,
regular, neat little town, which, for the last
half-century has been rising in position in the
Stewartry, and which is now an agricultural
mart of considerable importance.

At my visit I was shown into a little
parlour, where the antiquary joined me. He
was a tall old man, with an autumnal red in
his face, hale-looking, and of simple, quaint
manners. The room, was full of antiquities,
—here a rude weapon of the aboriginal Celt,
or one of the conquering Roman; there a
baptismal font from Wigton monastery, with
the fleurs-de-lis faintly visible on it, marking
its foreign origin. In the corner was a stately,
white-headed, yellow staff, which belonged to
John Knox, or at least had a very good pedigree,
and one which, as it satisfied Train,
satisfied your humble servant. I have never
seen a more venerable staff: it was stiff,
sober, yet elegant; all that a Puritan gentleman
could require. This staff, thought I, had
strength in it to destroy abbeys, and to make
the works of centuries shake. Near the staff
was a modern and homely relic—a pair of
substantial cloth boots that had been worn
by Sir Walter Scott. Having replaced them,
he produced a specimen of oaken bookbinding
curiously carved. He was not very talkative;
perhaps—though I little thought so at the
time—he felt the cold shadow creeping
towards him which was to make him one with
his beloved Past. Once or twice, as he stood
and gave the brief history of a curiosity, a
dreamy look came over him a minute: he
seemed wandering into the period of the
object he was discoursing on. But his eye
brightened, and there was a pleasure mingled
in his modest disclaimer when I spoke to him
of his life-long pursuits, and the interest