nd its cathedral, which, according to an old
chronicle, in 1634 "impressed three observant strangers as a great wild
country church," has not been greatly altered in appearance since that
period. It suffered severely at the hands of the Parliamentary soldiers,
who tore down a portion of the nave to use the materials in
strengthening the defenses of the town. But the story of Carlisle could
not be told in many volumes. If the mere hint of its great interest
which I have given here can induce any fellow tourist to tarry a little
longer at "Merrie Carlile," it will be enough.

Leaving Carlisle, we crossed "Solway Tide" and found ourselves in the
land of bluebells and heather, the "Bonnie Scotland" of Robert Burns.
Shortly after crossing the river, a sign-board pointed the way to Gretna
Green, that old-time haven of eloping lovers, who used to cross the
Solway just as the tide began to rise, and before it subsided there was
little for the paternal ancestors to do but forgive and make the best of
it. But we missed the village, for it was a mile or two off the road to
Dumfries, which we hoped to reach for the night. An unexpected
difficulty with the car nearly put this out of the range of possibility,
but by grace of the long Scotch twilight, we came into Dumfries about
ten o'clock without finding it necessary to light our lamps. Our day's
journey had been a tiresome one, and we counted ourselves fortunate on
being directed to the Station Hotel, which was as comfortable and well
managed as any we found. The average railway hotel in America is
anything but an attractive proposition, but in Scotland and in England
conditions are almost reversed, the station hotels under the control of
the different railway companies being generally the best.

[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO LOCH TYNE.

From Water Color by Stewart.]

We had been attracted to Dumfries chiefly because of its association
with Robert Burns, who spent the last years of his life in the town or
in its immediate vicinity. Our first pilgrimage was to the poet's tomb,
in St. Michael's churchyard. A splendid memorial marks the place, but a
visit to the small dingy house a few yards distant, in which he died,
painfully reminded us of his last years of distress and absolute want.
Within easy reach of Dumfries lie many points of interest, but as our
time permitted us to visit only one of these, we selected Caerlaverock
Castle, the Ellangowan of Scott's "Guy Mannering," lying ab