with foliage. The town contains a population of about 6000, and is remarkable for its cleanliness, and for the city-like appearance which it presents.

The most striking object in Kelso is the venerable Abbey, which, though long since a dilapidated ruin, is a noble specimen of that majestic style of architecture called the Saxon or early Norman. Procuring a little urchin for a guide, I proceeded into the sacred enclosure. With great difficulty we clambered up a pair of broken stairs, and, making our way through a narrow opening scarcely large enough to allow of egress, we stood on what remains of the venerable roof. From this point the view was very fine. The whole country, for miles around, lay spread out like a panorama. Before me the waters of the Tweed and the Teviot kissed each other, as they united to roll on in unison to the ocean. Beyond were the ruins of the ancient castle of Roxburgh; farther to the right the Duke of Roxburgh's splendid palace, Floors Castle, with its encircling woods and lawns, sloping to the water's edge; to the left, on the south bank of the Teviot, lie the woods and mansion of Springwood Park. The grandeur of the scene was heightened by a distant view of the

picturesque Eildon hills. Kelso Bridge, which here spans the Tweed, is a very beautiful structure; Waterloo Bridge across the Thames at London is a fac simile, and was built by the same architect, Mr. Rennie. The singular elegance of this bridge is the more fortunate, as its situation, when viewed from different points, renders it the most prominent object in one of the finest landscapes on the Tweed.

This venerable edifice was built in 1128, by David, King of Scotland, and given to the monks of the reformed class of Benedictines. Kelso being so near the English border, suffered severely during the border warfare. The abbey was twice burned, as early as the contest that rose out of the conflicting claims of Bruce and Baliol to the Scottish throne, and was reduced to its present ruinous state by the English, under the Earl of Hertford in 1545. Old Roxburg Castle, the ruins of which yet remain, within about a stone's throw of the town, was the stronghold of Kelso and its vicinity, many centuries ago, when "might was right" and the strongest was the best man. This castle was erected by the Saxons while they held the sovereignty of the Northumbrian kingdom, of which

Roxburgh, at that time, was a province. King David made it his royal residence. In 1295 it was beseiged by William Wallace, being at that time in the possession of the English, but he was forced to abandon his attack by the approach of a superior force. In 1306, Edward, of England, imprisoned Mary, the sister of Bruce, who had fallen into his hands, in an iron cage, placed in one of the turrets. It changed owners frequently during the border feuds. While in the hands of the English, in 1406, it was beseiged by James II. of Scotland, and this monarch lost his life, by the bursting of a cannon, before its walls. It was subsequently captured by his widowed queen, and to prevent its future occupancy by the English, was entirely demolished, after having been for centuries the object of the hottest dispute and the scene of the alternate triumphs of the contending parties.

Within its venerable precincts kings have held their courts. Its walls have resounded alternately with the noise of mirth and revelry and the direful clang of arms, where now nought is to be heard but the "gentle bleating of the lamb, and the swelling note of the winged chorister."

Roxburgh! how fallen, since first, in Gothic pride,
Thy frowning battlements the war defied;

Fallen are thy towers, and where the palace stood
In gloomy grandeur waves yon hanging wood;
Crushed are thy halls, save where the peasant sees
One moss-clad ruin rise between the trees,

The still green trees, whose mournful branches wave
In solemn cadence o'er the hapless brave.
Proud Castle! Fancy still beholds thee stand
The curb, the guardian of this border land."

Mary Lundie was born in Kelso, that "sweet bird of Scotia's tuneful clime," whose interesting biography is so well known to the Christian public of America.

I had half an hour's interview with the Rev. Horatius Bonar, the pastor of a Free Church here, and author of those delightful and popular little works, the "Night of Weeping," "The Morning of Joy," and the "Story of Grace." His wife is a sister of Mary Lundie.

I then rode a couple of miles down the romantic banks of the Tweed to the rustic village of Sprouston, and visited the house in which dwelt my maternal grand father, who, near half a century since, went to his home on high; the house where a beloved aunt still resides, where my dear mother passed her childhood-a place of such singular

simplicity, that there has scarcely been a change in it, except such as have been made by the hand of death, in the course of half a century.

As I entered the village, reining up my horse, I inquired of a ragged little urchin if there was a hotel in the place. Never having heard of anything of that sort before, he scratched his bonnetless head as he replied, "I dinna ken." I repeated my question, asking him if he knew if there was an inn. He seemed as much puzzled as ever. I then asked him if he could tell me where to put my horse. "O ay," he replied, "my faither has a byre; I'll pit him in it, and gie him some corn." Leaving my horse in charge of this ragged little ostler, I went in search of my friends.

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Again mounting, I proceeded homeward. As I rode along, some miles from Kelso, I saw on an eminence, at a considerable distance from the main road, an old ruined edifice of massy stone. Upon inquiring, I learned it was "Smaylholm Tower," the scene of Sir Walter Scott's fine old ballad of the "Eve of Good St. John." Making my way up a private lane, I soon found myself at the farm house which stands near. As I alighted to open the gate, I met the farmer, of whom I