Resuming my walk, I soon came in sight of the grand valley of the Tweed, a great basin of natural beauty, holding, as it were, Scotland's "apples of gold in pictures of silver." Every step commanded some new feature of interest.

Here on the left arose to the still, blue bosom of the sky the three great Eildon Hills, with their heads crowned with heather as with an emerald diadem.

The sun is low, and the far-off village in the valley shows dimly between the daylight and darkness.

There is the shadow of a broken edifice, broken but grand, that arises out of the midst of the low houses.

A little farther on, arches, and the stone vein-work of glassless windows, and ivy-netted towers come out more distinctly.