teries by Henry VIII., and
gradually fell into ruins.

The Castle, which stands on a lofty whinstone rock at the south-east
corner of the island, is a conspicuous object for many miles, whether
viewed by land or sea. It is supposed to have been built in the reign of
Henry VIII., at a time when defences were commanded to be made to all
harbours. If the Castle has had any appreciable share of romantic
incidents in its history, the records thereof seem to be unknown; but
one which has come down to us is the account of its daring capture by an
ardent North-country Jacobite, Lancelot Errington, in 1715. The
garrison consisted of seven men, five of whom were absent. Errington,
who was master of a small vessel lying in the harbour, discovered this,
and immediately made his way to the Castle accompanied by his nephew,
and overpowered the two men who were left in charge, turning them out of
the Castle. He then signalled to the mainland for reinforcements, but
none were forthcoming. A company of King's men came instead and
re-occupied the place, Errington and his nephew escaping, to wander
about in the neighbourhood for several days, hiding from pursuit, before
they got clear away. The Castle was for many years the home of the
coastguardsmen, who must have found it a most advantageous position for
their purpose, as they had an uninterrupted view of miles of coast line.

Northward from Holy Island, but on the mainland, lies Goswick, from
whose red sandstone quarries came the material for building the Abbey of
Lindisfarne. Further north we come in sight of the coal pits and smoke
of Scremerston, while beyond it, Spittal and Tweedmouth bring us right
up to Berwick-on-Tweed itself, that grey old Border town which has seen
so many turns of fortune, and been harried again and again, only to draw
breath after each wild and cruel interlude, and go calmly on its quiet
way until it was once more called upon to fight for its very existence.

Though definitely forming part of English soil since 1482, it is not
included in any English county, but, with about eight square miles
around it, forms a county by itself. Hence the addition, to any Royal
proclamation, of the well-known words "And in our Town of
Berwick-upon-Tweed."

Sir Walter Scott's description of the Northumbrian coast, in his poem of
Marmion may well be recalled here. It will be remembered that the
Abbess of Whitby, with some of her nuns, was voyaging to Holy Island,
and we ta