290 In Coquetdale. 



and mosses many," now spreading out into gentle pools, 

 and again leaping through narrow gorges, and in des- 

 canting on the beauties of the many tributaries that 

 come tumbling down the little glens and hillsides and 

 go to swell its current ; but beyond Rothbury there is 

 no railway, and the numbers who would adventure far 

 up are limited to the more leisured persons, fond of 

 novelty, and enthusiastic fishermen, and, it may be, an 

 artist or two in search of remote nooks and wild 

 romantic corners that will suggest striking pictures. 

 Rothbury lies on the side of a hill, just where the 

 Coquet makes one of his finest sweeps, and is in its own 

 way unique. It is the capital of Coquet-land, and is 

 indeed like one who lifts up his head proudly and looks 

 pleased over the fair and romantic lands he owns. It 

 is far from being a dull or stupid place. There is a 

 good deal of life in it. I learned that there were 

 several societies, though with regret I heard that a golf 

 club lately formed had not been a great success. The 

 church is a fine structure, and the hotels are good. 

 Personally we found the Queen's Head attractive, and 

 Mr. Lawson an admirable and hearty host. Many 

 delightful drives may be had within an easy distance, 

 the most exquisite of which is perhaps that to Simon- 

 side and Great Tosson. 



All the country round is rich in springs — some 

 of them chalybeate, some of them sulphur, and 

 others iron. All the country round Rothbury, too, 

 is rich in antiquarian remains — British dwellings, 

 Roman causeways, peel (or pil) towers, ruins of 

 camps and fortresses, telling how the waves of Border 

 invasion swept orr and retreated and swept on again. 

 Mr. Dixon quotes a song composed by a Newcastle 

 gentleman well known in Coquetdale, as spirited as it 



