ably has more visitors than any other point
in Scotland outside of Edinburgh. The tourist season had hardly begun,
yet the caretaker told us that more than seventy people had been there
during the day and most of them were Americans. The abbey lies on the
margin of the River Tweed, the silver stream so beloved of Scott, and
though sadly fragmentary, is most religiously cared for and the decay of
time and weather held in check by constant repairs and restoration. The
many thousands of admission fees every year no doubt form a fund which
will keep this good work going indefinitely. The weather-beaten walls
and arches were overgrown with masses of ivy and the thick, green grass
of the newly mown lawn spread beneath like a velvet carpet. We had
reached the ruin so late that it was quite deserted, and we felt the
spirit of the place all the more as we wandered about in the evening
silence. Scott's tomb, that of his wife and their eldest son are in one
of the chapels whose vaulted roof still remains in position. Tall iron
gates between the arches enclose the graves, which are marked with
massive sarcophagi of Scotch granite. Dryburgh Abbey was at one time the
property of the Scott family, which accounts for its use as their
burial-ground. It has passed into other hands, but interments are still
made on rare occasions. The spot was one which always interested and
delighted Scott and it was his expressed wish that he be buried there.

We had been warned that the byways leading to the abbey from the north
of the Tweed were not very practicable for motors and we therefore
approached it from the other side. This made it necessary to cross the
river on a flimsy suspension bridge for foot-passengers only, and a
notice at each end peremptorily forbade that more than half a dozen
people pass over the bridge at one time. After crossing the river it was
a walk of more than a mile to the abbey, and as we were tempted to
linger rather long it was well after six o'clock when we re-crossed the
river and resumed our journey. Melrose is twelve miles farther on and
the road crosses a series of rather sharp hills. We paused for a second
glimpse of Melrose Abbey, which has frequently been styled the most
perfect and beautiful ecclesiastical ruin in Britain. We were of the
opinion, however, that we had seen at least three or four others more
extensive and of greater architectural merit. Undoubtedly the high
praise given Melrose is due to the fame