As the day is far spent, we will stay here for the night. But, before the sun goes down, let us wander over the neighborhood, which is singularly beautiful, and redolent with the genius of Scott and of Leyden, who has described it in his "Scenes of Infancy." "Bosom'd in woods where mighty rivers run, Kelso's fair vale expands before the sun; Its rising downs in vernal beauty swell, And fringed with hazel, winds each flowery dell, Green spangled plains to dimpled lawns succeed, And Tempe rises on the banks of Tweed: Blue o'er the river Kelso's shadow lies, And copse-clad isles amid the water rise." As the view from the bridge which spans the river is said to be one of the richest in Scotland, we linger there till the sun goes down. 'Tis a soft, still, summer afternoon, beginning to glide into the long and beautiful twilight. The rays of the sun are yet upon the mountains, and tinge the summits of the woods, the rocks, and the castellated edifices, which adorn the landscape. The Tweed is gliding, in shadow, through the wooded vale, and the songs of the mavis and blackbird are echoing among the trees. A little above the bridge the clear waters of the Teviot and the Tweed flow together, as if attracted by each other's beauty. Beyond are the picturesque ruins of Roxburgh Castle, and somewhat nearer the ducal palace of Fleurs, rising amid a rich expanse of wooded decorations, sloping down to the very margin of the river; in front are gleaming two green islets of the Tweed, and between that river and the Teviot reposes the beautiful peninsula of Friar's Green, with the soft meadow in its foreground. On the south bank of the river are the mansion and woods of Springwood Park, and the bridge across the Teviot, on which are reposing the mellow rays of the setting sun. On the right the town lies along the bank of the river, with its elegant mansions and venerable abbey. There too is Ednam House, near which the poet Thomson had his birth. Far beyond these, the eye rests pleasantly on "the triple summits" of the Eildon Hills, looking down protectingly upon the vale of Tweed, the hills of Stitchell and Mellerstain, and the striking ruin of Home Castle, still arrayed in the purple and gold of departing day. Intermingled with all these are the windings and rippling currents of the river, clumps of rich green foliage, orchards laden with fruit, tufted rocks, verdant slopes, single trees of lofty stature, standing out from the rest, in the pride and pomp of their "leafy umbrage," cattle browsing peacefully on the banks of the stream, here and there a sylvan cottage, and an infinite variety of light and shade, of blending colors and changing forms, hallowed, moreover, by the hoary memories and poetical associations of by-gone days. No wonder that Leyden loved to wander in such scenes, or that Scott, a more transcendent genius, should have ascribed to this influence the awakening in his soul "of that