The people
in the vicinity, who are all Scotch Presbyterians, do not attend these
services, the select congregation being formed by 'the quality'--the
gentry and nobility, who have their country seats near by.

The readers of 'Marmion' will, of course, remember Norham and Twisell
castles. The former, as seen, from the railways, is a most uninviting
pile of rude masonry, worn and broken by time and decay; but a nearer
inspection reveals many phases of interest. The castle stands on the
summit of a cliff, overhanging the Tweed, yet almost buried in rich
foliage. The outer walls are crumbled away, and overgrown with short
grass, forming a series of green mounds, which mark the graves of feudal
grandeur. The south, east, and west walls of the keep, however, remain
standing, a huge shell or screen of dull red stone, while to the north
stretches a fragment of wall, along which it is easy to scramble to a
point overlooking the Tweed, the village of Norham, and the adjacent
scenery. Pleasant and thrilling it is to lie here on this deserted ruin,
and read that spirited opening canto! With what renewed brilliancy do
those chivalric lines bring back the long-past scenes of other days!

'Day set on Norham's castled steep,
And Tweed's fair river broad and deep,
And Cheviot's mountains lone:
The battled towers, the donjon keep,
The loophole grates where captives weep,
The flanking walls that round them sweep,
In yellow lustre shone.'

And imagination can almost bring to the ear the welcome to Marmion:

'The guards their morrice pikes advanced,
The trumpets flourished brave,
The cannon from the ramparts glanced,
And thundering welcome gave.
A blythe salute in martial sort
The minstrels well might sound,
For, as Lord Marmion crossed the court,
He scattered angels round.
Welcome to Norham, Marmion!
Stout heart, and noble hand!
Well dost thou back thy gallant roan,
Thou flower of English land.'

* * * * *

'They marshall'd him to the castle hall,
Where the guests stood all aside,
And loudly flourished the trumpet call,
And the heralds loudly cried:
'Room, lordlings, room for Lord Marmion,
With the crest and helm of gold!
Full well we know the trophies won
In the lists at Cottiswold.
Place, nobles, for the Falcon Knight!
Room, room, ye gentles gay,
For him who conquered in the right,
Marmion of