On the Scottish side, the country is much more magnificent -more like America. The ridges of the mountains are seen on every side as you wind through the vallies between ; and Teviot's stream meanders through these vallies, its sides covered with beautiful trees, by which you can trace its course for miles. Among these is the Laburnum, as high and as large as our pear-trees, its branches drooping with the weight of its golden blossoms; and long narrow strips of pine groves, with their dark sombre green, that seem like our American forests. The foliage of the trees is of every shade of verdure, adding in my view much to the beauty of the landscape. We have arrived at Edinburgh, of which you may expect some account in my next; as well of Dryburgh Abbey, Melrose and Abbotsford.

DRYBURGH ABBEY-WALTER SCOTT'S TOMB-ABBOTTSFORD

-MELROSE ABBEY EDINBURGH -STIRLING CASTLETHE HIGHLANDS-LOCH KATRINE-LOCH LOMOND-DUM

BARTON-STERLING CASTLE-THE HIGHLANDS.

Edinburgh, July.

I commence this at Edinburgh, Tuesday the 4th of July, at the house of Mrs. B., where, in the course of an hour, are expected Mr. and Mrs. T., and some others to dine. At what place and time this may be finished and sent is beyond the ken o' any o' us at the present. To-day you are no doubt keeping in some way the jubilee of our National Independence, that glorious day, the nation's holiday. Weell, in Scottish parlance, joy be wi' you all.

Chase. in ruins.

Now I will give you a description of the objects of interest we passed on our way from Newcastle to Edinburgh. From the top of the coach called "the Chevy Chase," near Jedburgh, and a little way from the road, we saw a spiral monument, which the guard told us was placed there to mark the spot where Douglas fell at the battle of Chevy Four miles south of Melrose is Dryburgh Abbey We left the coach here, and walked a long mile to the grounds of the Duke of Buchan on whose estate the ruins are. A woman was our guide, and after taking a view of the whole from a little distance, she led us to a part of the ruins called St. Mary's Aisle. Within an arch-way inclosed with an iron railing she pointed to a mound of earth where was no mark or sign, and said, "there lies Sir

DRYBURGH ABBEY.

21

WALTER SCOTT."

This was the first intimation we had that he had been buried here. We only visited the place as the location of a beautiful ruin, and it was with sad and yet pleasant surprise we found ourselves by the grave of this great and much loved author. I pulled a sprig or two of the vine growing over the archway of his tomb; and passed on to the other parts of the ruin, but though they were beautiful, they were nothing to me in comparison with St. Mary's Aisle. Our next visit was to the residence of this great man, Abbotsford, where we were shown many curious relics, and interesting mementoes of his collecting. We saw his breakfast and dining rooms, (in the latter of which he died,) his study in which he wrote, and the chair in which he sat, and the clothes which he last wore. There was one chair upon which he sat to write, and a great favorite with him, made from the beams of the house in which Sir William Wallace was betrayed. There was a grate belonging to Archbishop Sharpe, and an old iron camp kettle of the Romans, two thousand years old; a shirt of mail worn by Oliver Cromwell when receiving his troops, as a security against assassination; a flask belonging to James I.; a pair of pistols belonging to Napoleon; a sword of Claverhouse; a set of beautifully carved ebony chairs presented by George IV., and a cabinet of the same material that once belonged to George III.; a beautiful marble table and vase presented by Lord Byron; excellent portraits of himself, wife and daughters; an original portrait of Oliver Cromwell taken when young, and one of Gen. Fairfax; the head of Mary Queen of Scots in a charger, painted immediately after she was beheaded; a marble figure of his favorite dog, and many more things which interested me much, the description of which could not be comprised in a letter. There was an arch way in one of the passages of his house, built in imitation of one in Mel

rose Abbey. We visited the latter after we left Abbotsford, which we found as beautiful as he himself describes it. We were however unable to view it, as he says, "aright," for we did not see it "by the pale moon light." We here saw the grave of Alexander II.; the wizard stone which Scott describes in the "Lay of the Last Minstrel ; the grave also of Douglas, whose monument we passed on the wayside, near Jedburgh. The poet has so beautifully described Melrose, that I cannot do better than to refer you to his description of

"The slender shafts of shapely stone.

By foliage tracery confined."

And there still remains the beautifully fretted and sculptured roof, of which he says:

"The key stone, that lock'd each ribb'd aisle,

Was a fleur de lys, or a quatre feuille.”

And the pillars,

"With base and with capital flourish'd around,

Seem'd bundles of lances which garlands had bound."

It is astonishing how well the carving is preserved, so that you may still distinguish the strawberry, the ivy, and the shamrock, as distinctly as if wrought but yesterdaywhose leaves you may find growing about the ruins. Time, the destroyer of all things, has laid his hand gently upon these beautiful ruins; but man was not so lenient. They suffered more from the ravages of the border wars, mostly from those of the reformation, and particularly from the bigotry of John Knox and Cromwell. At Edinburgh, we saw many remains of the first named stern Reformer. We were shown the window where he placed himself to assail Mary as she passed by on her way to mass-heaping upon her every term of reprobation. At Holyrood Palace, the chapel still remains as the fire left it, when that and the palace

were fired by his orders. The palace has since been restored, but the chapel is a heap of rubbish, with some of the walls standing, ivy and wild flowers filling the crevices, and beautifying the whole. We were shown here the tapestry Mary brought with her from France, worked by nuns, (shaming the embroidery of modern days,) several pieces of antique furniture also brought by her; a beautiful miniature painted in France of herself, which is a fine specimen of the art in those days; the bed she slept in, with all its tapestry faded and torn, is exhibited, and a work-box with a cover, broidered by herself, and a basket which held the infant clothes of James VI. These are all simple, yet interesting mementoes. We saw, also, the room in which the Queen was supping with Rizzio, when he was dragged forth to be murdered. The bloody marks still remain, and the stairs up which the conspirators came, to do the dreadful deed, which were secret, and to the Queen unknown, though leading to her dressing room. Our friend, Mr. B., being an old resident, had it in his power to point out to us many spots made interesting either by historic association, or from being the scene of some incident described by Sir Walter Scott in his delightful fictions, which will be read by us with increased interest when we return, from having been over all the ground he so delightfully describes. We saw the house in which Robinson wrote the history of Scotland, and the place where he was buried. He took us through Cowgate, Harrowgate, Cannongate, High street, Westbow and Grass Market-all streets in the old town where the ancient nobility formerly lived, but which are now filled with the vilest of the vile, and where the people of the modern Athens never come. There are in the old town, houses from eight to eleven stories high; and some few that number even sixteen stories. There are bridges in the new town not over water as with us, but from one hill to another, (for Edin