Fontenaye.''

Scott is already becoming old-fashioned, and his poems are not now
sought after, as they were ten years ago; but any one who wishes to
revive all the boyish enthusiasm with which he first read 'Marmion,' has
only to take the book with him to the ruins of Norham and again read the
glowing page!

The village of Norham is a quaint place dominated by the castle, and as
humble nowadays, with its little thatched cottages, as in the times when
the villagers were mere vassals of

'Sir Hugh, the Heron bold,
Baron of Twisell, and of Ford,
And Captain of the Hold.'

A limpid stream runs down the principal street of Norham--a gutter,
which in the sunlight gleams like a band of silver. Village damsels wash
potatoes therein. Among the residents of Norham, by the way, is the
hostess of the principal inn, who was in the train of Joseph Bonaparte,
during his stay in America, living in his household at Bordentown, New
Jersey. She claims to be a personal acquaintance of Napoleon III; but I
have not heard what strange wave of fortune stranded the friend of the
Emperor of the French in the remote and unknown port of Norham.

A curious family romance hangs about Twisell castle, also mentioned in
'Marmion.' The present building, an immense quadrangular edifice, was
begun by Sir Francis Drake, who never had means to finish it. His heirs
tried to complete the castle, which is now the property of a lady over
seventy years old, residing in Edinburgh, who devotes all her spare
means to the work. Indeed, the building of Twisell castle is a
hereditary monomania in the family; but the estate belonging to the
magnificent structure is only forty acres in extent--utterly
insufficient to support such a castle with the household it will
ultimately need. As yet Twisell is a granite shell; no partitions are
put up in the interior. Vast sums of money must be expended before it
can be made tenantable.

But I must forego any allusions to Crichton and Pantallon castles, the
former the place where Marmion was entertained, and the latter the spot
where the bold chief dared

'----to beard the lion in his den,
The Douglas in his hall.'

And I must also omit 'Newark's stately tower,' where the last minstrel
sang his lay--and Branksome, the scene of the opening canto--and the
scenery of Lomond and Katrine, rendered famous by the success of the
Lady of the Lake. All these, and many other localities, hallowed by
poesy, can be e