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appeared at either diets, so we had no preaching in the churches yesterday.” It seems then that there was one class and that the most learned and well-informed one, which did not join in the general joy at the Pretender's success—for well they knew that if he succeeded to the throne, Popery would be once more forced upon them, and though he, like all the other Stuarts, might be fair in his professions to the contrary, like the rest, he would prove the bitter enemy of protestant Presbyterianism.

This ancient sheet is 12 by 18 inches, about one quarter the size of its representative of the present day, for the “Caledonia Mercury” is still in existence, and I dare say is as loyal to her Majesty the Queen, as was its ancestor to Prince Charlie.

Hawthornden and Roslim.

“ There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold

Lie buried within that proud chapelle ;
Each one the holy vault doth hold,

But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle.”

ONE fine morning, my antiquarian friend men. tioned in a former chapter, and myself, found ourselves seated on the top of a coach, on our way to visit the beautiful and romantic localities of Roslin and Hawthornden. The driver cracked his whip, and we dashed down Minto street, on our way out of the city. This street is lined on both sides with neat houses, having court-yards or gardens in front, which are the residences of wealthy merchants doing business in the city. The distance we were to go with the coach was five miles, and we had accomplished about one-half, when, as we were ascending a slight inclination, the coach gave a tremendous lurch to one side, which almost overset us. Leaping off to see what was wrong, we found one of the axletrees broken. Being impatient of delay, we pushed forward on foot, thankful that no more serious consequences had resulted from the accident. We soon came to St. Catherines, the seat of Sir William Rae, Bart., where, my friend told me, was a celebrated place in popish times, called the “ Balm Well of St. Catherine." We passed in at the gate, and soon found the well, but the shrine of the saint that formerly stood over it is now gone. The following circụmstance, says tradition, was the origin of it: " St. Catherine, having a commission from Margaret, Queen of Malcolm Canmore, to procure a quantity of oil from Mount Sinai, wherewith to anoint the head of her eldest son, the heir apparent to the throne, by some accident spilled a few drops at this place. In answer to her earnest supplications that not a drop of so precious a fluid might be lost, this well, with all the miraculous powers ascribed to it, gushed forth from the earth. It was covered with a dark, oily looking substance, brushing which aside, we drank of its waters beneath, and found them unpleasantly bitter. After thus refreshing ourselves with this holy water, we proceeded on our way. We soon reached the village of Loanhead, where we were joined by the clergyman of the place, whose social qualities, and inti

mate acquaintance with the scenes which we were about to visit, added not a little to the interest of our party. It was one of those fine days, not too warm, but just agreeable for walking, when persons usually feel in good humor with all . around them, and when nature seems to put on even more than her usually pleasant aspect. We walked on through a most beautiful road down to the valley of the romantic Esk, over which we crossed by a fine bridge.

On the sloping side of the hill, overlooking the lovely dell of the Esk, I saw a beautiful cottage embowered in trees, and around the door and windows of which the woodbine and the honeysuckle were sweetly entwined. It seemed indeed a delightful retreat." That,” said the clergyman, “is the residence of the celebrated Thomas de Quincy, the English opium eater."

We passed through an estate called Springfield, the grounds of which are beautifully laid out. By a romantic and very curious path, along the banks of the Esk, we reached Hawthornden, the classical habitation of the poet Drummond, who was the friend of Ben Jonson and Shakspeare. The old mansion is built on the lofty projecting summit

"s whics: Fetish

bune fine cas Lble for walk i humor with ce seems to put : leasant aspect. -autiful road do Esk, over which

of a rugged rock, overhanging the said Jonson walked on foot from Lon Drummond. There is a large tree in house, under which the poet was sit time Jonson arrived. Observing hin he exclaimed

“ Welcome, welcome, Royal Ben.”

to which Jonson at once replied,

“ Thank ye, thank ye, Hawthornden

he hill, overlookings w a beautiful cotta

around the door a sudbine and the her: ned. It seemed inte That,” said the clear of the celebrated Thorni pium eater." estate called Springfie. beautifully laid out. 3 is path, along the bast a wthornden, the claw Drummond, who w nd Shakspeare. 13 fty projecting summi

The house stands in one of the most delightful positions I ever saw. “ Th spot seems to have been formed by na of her happiest moments. All the ma compose the picturesque seem here o endless variety ; stupendous rocks, rich in color, hanging in threatening asper with trees that expose their bare brand here the gentle birch hanging midway the oak, bending its stubborn branch each other ; huge fragments of rocks rapid flow of the stream, that hurrie along, unseen, but heard far beneath,

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