Here, then, at the age of sixty-one, and attended by all his children, his gentle spirit passed away from earth; and while his family knelt around his bed, his eldest son kissed and closed his eyes. "No sculptor," says Lockhart, "ever modeled a more majestic image of repose".

An Arch In Dryburgh Abbey.

A wonderful procession was that which followed Scott's body to the grave. Mourners had come from every part of Scotland. The line of carriages alone was more than a mile in length. Hundreds of yeomanry followed on horseback. In every village on the way the entire population stood before their doorways, clothed in black. The heavens, too, were hung with clouds, as if in lamentation for the poet's death. Those who observed this, must have remembered Scott's own language, in the touching lines :

"Call it not vain; they do not err Who say that when the Poet dies, Mute Nature mourns her worshiper And celebrates his obsequies; Who say tall cliff and cavern lone For the departed Bard make moan; That mountains weep in crystal rill; That flowers in tears of balm distill:

And rivers teach their rushing wave To murmur dirges round his grave".

Dryburgh Abbey.

Scott's Tomb.

The tower beneath which Scotland's greatest genius lies in dreamless sleep forms a part of Dryburgh Abbey, a beautiful old ruin, the history of which extends back more than seven hundred years. Here, also, are the graves of his beloved wife, his son, and his son-in-law Lockhart, who wrote the story of his life. It is a touching proof of the love which Scott inspired in all around him, that those who brought his body to this, its final resting-place, were his old, faithful servants, who, with tears in their eyes, had begged that only they might be allowed to pay the master they so dearly loved this last sad service.

Within this ruined abbey, hallowed by Sir Walter's dust, is an ivy-mantled window which he especially admired. Standing before it, as he had often done, and thinking of the noble life which I had followed to its end, I called to mind, as a beautiful illustration of his character, the memorable words uttered by him shortly before his death: "I am drawing near to the close of my career. I am fast shuffling off the stage. I have been, perhaps, the most voluminous author of the day; and it is a comfort to me to think that I have tried to unsettle no man's faith, to corrupt no man's principles, and that I have written nothing which, on my death-bed, I should wish blotted".

Ivy-Mantled Window, Dryburgh.

On The Dee.

I have often thought, that if I might liken the history of Scotland to its natural scenery: its wild ravines and rugged mountains would be symbols of the daring deeds of Bruce and Wallace; its countless lakes and rivulets would call to mind the infinitely varied, sparkling lines of Robert Burns; its lovely landscapes would suggest the elaborate descriptions of Sir Walter Scott; and all the flowers on the Scottish hills, which lift into the light and air their perfume and their beauty, would serve as emblems of fair Mary, Queen of Scots.

Dryburgh Abbey, From The West.

Mary.

One summer, having in previous years explored Europe thoroughly along the beaten tracks, I resolved to take up, as a special biographical subject, the life of Mary Stuart, and to follow her footsteps from her cradle at Linlithgow to the place of her execution at Fotheringay, in order thus to realize more vividly, and as far as possible chronologically, the thrilling episodes of her career. Leaving Edinburgh, therefore, at the outset, I went directly to Linlithgow Castle. On the 7th of December, 1542, this palace echoed to rejoicings over the advent of a little princess. It is true, the joy would have been greater had the child been a boy, and the King, her father, who was on his death-bed, on learning of her sex, exclaimed: "Woe to the crown of Scotland: it came with a girl and it will go with a girl"; but, notwithstanding their disappointment, the child was dear to all true Scottish hearts, for she was the sole survivor of the royal line, the infant heiress of the realm.