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used as a Free Church. The landed proprietor having refused to sell the people a piece of ground on which to erect a church, they put up a tent on the highway, where for a long time religious services were regularly held.
After a ride of twenty-one miles, I arrived at Langholm, the first village of any note after crossing the border. Here I left the coach, and having procured a gig, I crossed the country to New Castleton. In doing so I passed over a Scottish moor, the first I had ever seen, though I had read and heard much of them. It was truly a bleak and dreary tract of country. Far as the eye could reach, nothing was to be seen but bog and moss, fern and heather—not a single human habitation for ten miles. It was stocked with large flocks of sheep, which managed to procure a subsistence amid this sterility.
In many places the turf had been dug away for some depth and dried for fuel. For this purpose it is cut with the spade into blocks, like bricks in shape, but of much greater size, and exposed to the sun until it becomes hardened, when it is drawn home and forms an excellent substitute for coal. As it costs nothing to the peasantry, but the labor of cutting and drying, it is also a most economical fuel. I felt for the first time the force of the poor beggar-man's expression :
“Cold blows the wind across the moor,
The dreary moor, that I have passed ;"
for although in a season when in America we have warm weather, I had to button my overcoat close to my chin, and, notwithstanding all precautions, was nearly frozen ere I arrived at New Castleton.
This village lies on the banks of the romantic Liddle, one of the prettiest streams in Scotland. Here I spent the first night of my visit to my native land, and enjoyed the Scotch hospitality of one whom I shall long remember.
I next proceeded to Earlstown, in Berwickshire, where I spent, in the house of a venerable uncle, since gone to his home on high, my second night in Scotland.
THOMAS THE RHYMER, & c.
" Sweet scenes of youth, to faithful memory dear,
Still fondly cherished with the sacred tear,
This is the town where I was born. He who, after eighteen years of absence in a foreign land, returns to his native shores, to his native village, to the house in which he was born, must feel an enthusiasm and an interest such as but few earthly scenes can excite. As the names of places were mentioned to me by the driver, in the immediate vicinity of this sacred spot, names which were familiar to me as household words, I felt a mental excitement almost beyond control. These feelings were greatly increased when I stood at last in the place itself. As I saw the home in which I spent my days of childhood, and round whose old walls I had gamboled in all the frolicksome glee of thoughtless innocency, a flood of recollections, many of which had been entirely obscured, rushed vividly back upon me, and I could imagine myself once more the child I had been twenty years before.
“Thou spot of earth, where from my bosom
The first weak tones of nature rose,
Of pleasure, yet unmixed with woes;
I tripped beneath a mother's hand-
That sparkles for my native land.”
In a retired village like this, the arrival of one from America is a marked era in its history, and I soon found myself the object of the kindest attentions.
On Sabbath I attended service in the United Presbyterian Church—a singular antiquated edi. fice, built of rough stone. The primitive simplicity of the internal arrangements contrasted curiously with the sumptuous elegance of our American places of worship. I passed up the aisle over the clay floor to an old-fashioned, straight-backed, uncushioned pew, which according to our notions would be considered both antiquated and uncomfortable. A high pulpit projected from one side of the church, in front of which stood the precen
tor's desk. The whole aspect of the place indicated the remote date of its erection.
The history of this church may be considered remarkable even for Scotland. Two holy men of God discharged the duty of the pastoral office in it for one hundred years. The first of these, Rev. Mr. Dalziel, was between fifty and sixty years their preacher; and the last, the Rev. Wm. Lauder, has been for nearly fifty. I took great pleasure in the society of this venerable man, for it was he, who, a quarter of a century ago, administered to me the rite of Christian baptism, and he had long known both me and mine. Although with him this mortal must soon put on immortality, yet he is as lively and cheerful as though in his prime, and is a bright example of a “happy Christian.” The pastoral duties are now discharged by his associate, the Rev. Mr. Hamilton. The Kirk, or established church, has long been under the pastoral care of the Rev. Mr. Gordon, an earnest preacher and faithful pastor. There is also in the village a small Free Church, and another United Presbyterian one, so that the people are well supplied with gospel ordinances.
To show the religious habits of these people, I