n the hope that the
downfall of slavery must come at no distant date.

After a pleasant chat here we came home; and after an interval of rest
the carriage was at the door for Hawthornden. It is about seven miles
out from Edinburgh. It is a most romantic spot, on the banks of the
River Esk, now the seat of Mr. James Walker Drummond. Scott has sung in
the ballad of the Gray Brother,--

Sweet are the paths, O, passing sweet,
By Esk's fair streams that run,
O'er airy steep, through copse-woods deep,
Impervious to the sun.

Who knows not Melville's beechy grove,
And Roslin's rocky glen,
Dalkeith, which all the virtues love,
And classic Hawthornden?

"Melville's beechy grove" is an allusion to the grounds of Lord
Melville, through which we drove on our way. The beech trees here are
magnificent; fully equal to any trees of the sort which I have seen in
our American forests, and they were in full leaf. They do not grow so
high, but have more breadth and a wider sweep of branches; on the whole
they are well worthy of a place in song.

I know in my childhood I often used to wish that I could live in a
ruined castle; and this Hawthornden would be the very beau ideal of one
as a romantic dwelling-place. It is an old castellated house, perched on
the airy verge of a precipice, directly over the beautiful River Esk,
looking down one of the most romantic glens in Scotland. Part of it is
in ruins, and, hung with wreaths of ivy, it seems to stand just to look
picturesque. The house itself, with its quaint, high gables, and gray,
antique walls, appears old enough to take you back to the times of
William Wallace. It is situated within an hour's walk of Roslin Castle
and Chapel, one of the most beautiful and poetic architectural remains
in Scotland.

Our drive to the place was charming. It was a showery day; but every few
moments the sun blinked out, smiling through the falling rain, and
making the wet leaves glitter, and the raindrops wink at each other in
the most sociable manner possible. Arrived at the house, our friend,
Miss S----, took us into a beautiful parlor overhanging the glen, each
window of which commanded a picture better than was ever made on
canvas.

We had a little chat with Lady Drummond, and then we went down to
examine the caverns,--for there are caverns under the house, with long
galleries and passages running from them through the rocks, some way
down the river. Several apartments