heard is the ceaseless voice of the ever-rolling waves beating against the rocks and pebbles of the island, or the occasional rustling of the thick wood of the oak, the elm, the fir, and the ash, and various other trees that cover this lonely isle. The building seems to have been five stories high, and as you walk past the mouldering ruins, or enter into the deserted rooms, you cannot help calling to mind the history of the unfortunate Queen whose imprisonment in this castle has been so ably depicted by Sir W. Scott in his Abbot. I returned to Edinburgh the same evening, and on the 17th September we left Edinburgh.
Half an hour's travel by rail brought us to Hawthornden, once the delightful residence of the poet Drummond of the 17th century. We saw the castle and the subterranean caves where Bruce is said to have lived for some time. Rosslyn.From Hawthornden we went through a deep glen to Rosslyn. It is impossible to conceive of any thing more romantic or wild than this deep glen, with the mountain rivulet Esk clattering and rushing swift as an arrow over its bed of rocks,—with the huge rocks rising abruptly on both sides, leaving a deep chasm between, and with the luxuriant wood of mountain trees shedding a deep gloom on the whole scene. Issuing out of this glen we came to Rosslyn, where there is a ruined castle as well as an ancient chapel said to have been built in the 12th century. The walls and the roof of this chapel are of stones, all exquisitely carved, and are still in a very good condition, and service is still held here.
