such an aisle lie buried the sacred remains of Sir Walter Scott. On one side of his tomb lies his wife, and on the other his son, while crossway lie the remains of Lockhart.
We left Melrose on the evening of the 18th for Carlyle. As our train rolled on, the fertile lowlands of Scotland were grateful objects to our sight after we had seen so much of the barren rocks and heaths and mountains of the highlands. We crossed the "sweet Tiviot," on whose silver tide
"The glaring bale fires blaze no more,
No longer steel-clad warriors ride
Along her wild and willowed shore."
The first idea that comes into one's mind is that of calmness and repose, and he cannot help contrasting the present with the olden times of turmoil and warfare,—he cannot help exclaiming with Scott,—
"Where'er thou wind'st by dale or hill,
All, all is peaceful, all is still,
As if thy waves, since time was born,
Since first they rolled upon the Tweed,
Had only heard the shepherd's reed,
Nor started at the bugle horn."
The scene, however, changed again, and we were transported from a fine fertile country into the midst of barren and bleak mountains. Soon again we left the Cheviots behind and reached Carlyle at 8 p. m.
Carlyle is a neat and pretty town, the houses being neatly and tastefully built. From Carlyle we went to Penrith and thence to Keswick to see the English lakes. English Lakes.Cumberland is in England what Switzerland is in Europe, the realm of mountains and lakes. Keswick is situated on the lake of Derwentwater, and is surrounded by rocks,
