asily visited by the enthusiastic tourist; but I prefer
to devote my pen and space to the most neglected and most beautiful of
them all--to Lindisfarn, the Holy Isle.

Though really in England, it is yet near enough to the border to be
included among the Lions of Scotland. It lies on the coast, about a
dozen miles south of Berwick-upon-Tweed, the nearest approach to it,
being from the railway station of Beal. Here the visitor will find the
one-horse cart of the postmaster, offering the only conveyance to one of
the most romantic and retired spots in the kingdom.

Holy Island, in circumference about eight miles, lies three miles from
the land; but is only an island at high tide. At other times, the
receding waters leave the sands bare, with the exception of two or three
channels, not more than six inches deep, and afford a passage for
vehicles, marked by a long row of stakes, intended especially to guide
travellers in winter, when the snow falls thickly on the path. In summer
there is always a strong wind blowing over these sands, drying them
from the salt water, forming picturesque patterns along the
ever-changing ground, and dashing a thin veil of sand along the way. Woe
to the unlucky wight who loses his hat in this place! With nothing to
intercept it, the unfortunate headgear is at once taken by the wind and
sent flying over the sandy plain, faster than human foot can run, far
out to the island, and often over it to the sea beyond. The frolicsome
dog, which generally accompanies the postmaster's cart, is the only hope
on which the hatless wretch can then rely; and usually this reliance is
not in vain.

Holy Island contains a population of some 600 souls, mostly fishermen.
Not a tree grows on the island; but at the south end, where a low
village crouches down against the continual sweepings of the stormy
winds, are a few fields, fragrant with clover, and gleaming with
buttercups; and, in one of these fields, scarce a stone's throw from the
beating surf, stand the ruins of Lindisfarn Abbey, one of the earliest
seats of Christianity in Great Britain, and one closely identified with
the traditionary career of St. Cuthbert. The front walls, portions of
the side walls, a diagonal arch richly ornamented, and the chancel
recently repaired to arrest further decay, remain to tell of its former
beauty. The area within the ruins is strewn with sea shells and pebbles,
while about the bases, whence once sprang aloft the clustere