340 A Walk from 



and mountain from an excellent point of observation. 

 As soon as I lost sight of Teviotdale another grand 

 vista of golden and purpled hills and rich valleys burst 

 upon my sight as suddenly as theatrical sceneries are 

 shifted on the stage. Dined in a little, rural, 

 unpoetical village bearing the name of Lilliesleaf. 

 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 sty 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 the dark- 

 ness. 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. I recognise them at the next furlong. 

 They stand thus in pictures hung up in the parlors of 

 thousands of common homes in America, Australia and 

 India. They are the ruins of Melrose Abbey. Here 

 is the original of the picture. I see it at last, as 

 thousands of Americans have seen it before. In history 

 and association it is to them the Westminster Abbey of 



