of the last of a broken series of hills descending from the Eildons to the Tweed, whose silver stream it overhangs. The grounds are richly wooded, and diversified with an endless variety of "bushy dells and alleys green;" while through all the river, "Wandering at its own sweet will," gives its exquisite finish to a picture such as needs no association whatsoever, nothing but its own intrinsic loveliness, to leave its image indelibly impressed upon the mind. We soon arrived at the entrance gate, a lofty arch in an embattled wall; and here our attention was directed by our enthusiastic friend to the first instance of Sir Walter's anxiety to accumulate around his residence as many relics as possible of the olden time, in the rusty chains and rings, called "jougs," to which the bells were attached, and which had been brought from one of the ancient castles of the Douglasses in Galloway. The approach which is very short, as the high road runs through the grounds in rather close propinquity to the house-is by a broad trellised walk, overshadowed with roses and honeysuckles; on one side was a screen of open Gothic arches filled with invisible network, through which we caught delightful glimpses of a garden with flowerbeds, turrets, porches leading into avenues of rosaries, and bounded by noble foresttrees. We came at once upon the house, the external appearance of which utterly defies description. At either end rises a tall tower, but each totally different from the other; and the entire front is nothing but an assemblage of gables, parapets, eaves, indentations, water-spouts with strange droll faces, painted windows, Elizabethan chimneys; all apparently flung together in the very wantonness of irregularity, and yet producing, as we all agreed, a far more pleasing effect than any sample of architectural propriety, whether ancient or modern, that we had ever seen. A noble doorway—the fac-simile, as our well-informed guide apprised us, of the ancient royal palace of Linlithgow, and ornamented with stupendous antlers-admitted us into the lofty hall; the impression made upon entering which was such as never could be forgotten. There are but two windows, and these, although lofty, being altogether of painted glass, every pane being deep-dyed gorgeous armorial bearings, the sudden contrast between the less than "dim religious light" which they admitted, and the glare of day from which we had entered, together with the thought of whose roof-tree it was beneath which we stood, and whose the spirit that had called into existence the strange beauty with which we rather felt than saw ourselves to be surrounded, was oppressive-almost overpowering. Not a word was spoken for some moments, until our eyes became accustomed to the somber coloring of the apartment, which we then perceived to be about forty feet in length and twenty in breadth and height, the walls being of dark richly-carved oak, and the roof a series of pointed arches, from the center of each of which hung a richlyemblazoned shield. Around the cornice were also a number of similar shields. Our cicerone pointed out among them the bloody heart of Douglas, and the royal lion of Scotland. The floor of the splendid hall is paved with black and white marble, brought, we were told, from the Hebrides; and magnificent suits of armor, with a profusion of swords of every variety, occupy the niches, or are suspended on the walls. From the hall we were shown into a narrow vaulted apartment running across the entire house, with an emblazoned window at either end. Here was an endless variety of armor and weapons, among them Rob Roy's gun, with his initials, R. M. G., around the touch-hole; Hofer's blunderbuss; the pistols taken from Bonaparte's carriage at Waterloo; a beautiful sword which Charles I. presented to Montrose; together with thumb-screws and other instruments of torture, the dark memorials of days of savage cruelty, we trust gone by forever. Beyond this armory is the dining-room, with a low carved roof, a large bow window, and an elegant dais. Its walls were hung in crimson, and thickly covered with pictures, among which were the Duke of Monmouth, by Lely; a portrait of Hogarth, by himself; and a picture of the head of Mary Queen of Scots-said to have been painted the day after her execution-with an appalling ghastliness of countenance, the remembrance of which for days afterward was like that of an unpleasant dream. A narrow passage of sculptured stone conducted us from this apartment to a delicious breakfast-room, with shelves full of books at one end, and the other walls well covered with beautiful drawings in water-color, by Turner. Over the chimney-piece was an oil painting of a castle overhanging the sea, which our cicerone affirmed to be the Wolf's Crag. A number of curious-looking cabinets formed the most remarkable feature in the furniture of this apartment; but its chief charm was in the lovely prospect from the windows, which on one side overlook the Tweed, and give a view of the Yarrow and of the Ettrick upon the other. While standing here, looking out upon the glad water sparkling in the sunshine, with the overhanging woods now putting on the golden livery of autumn, and thinking how often must the mighty minstrel's eye and mind have drunk in poetic inspiration as he gazed upon the same bright scene, one of our party repeated, in a low tone of deep feeling, the lines from the "Lay of the Last Minstrel," which are in some respects so touchingly applicable to the closing scenes of the life of their gifted author :"Still as I view each well-known scene, Think what is now, and what hath been, Seems as to me of all bereft, Sole friends thy woods and streams were left; And thus I love them better still, Even in extremity of ill. By Yarrow's stream still let me stray, the fireplace, wired and locked, one containing books and MSS., relating to the insurrections of 1715 and 1745; and another, treatises on magic and diablerie, said to be of extreme rarity and value. In one corner stood a tall silver urn upon a porphyry stand, upon which we could not but look with an intensely mournful interest; it was filled with human bones, and bore the inscription, "Given by George Gordon, Lord Byron, to Sir Walter Scott, Bart." There was but one bust-a Shakspeare; and one picture-Sir Walter's eldest son in hussar uniform, in the apartment. Connected with this noble library, and facing the south, is a small room, the most interesting of all-the retreat of the poet The windows were open; it was the very season, but a few days from the anniversary, of his death; the weather now, as it had been then, was warm and sunny; the gentle murmur of the river was audible, as we are told in his biography it was when his weeping sons and daughters knelt around his bed just as the spirit was departing; and as that solemn scene rose vividly before the excited imagination, there came with it, perhaps more deeply-where many of the most admired prothan had ever been before experienced, a feeling of the mutability, the nothingness, of all that earthly fame or riches can bestow. The bright scene was there unchanged; but where was he who gave the charm to its brightness-who had rendered it almost unrivaled in its interest by any similar locality in the world! On passing from this room, which we left most reluctantly, we came into a greenhouse with an old fountain playing before it-one that had formerly stood by the cross of Edinburgh, and had been made to flow with wine at the coronations of the Stuarts. This brought us into the drawing room, a large and very handsome apartment, elegantly furnished with ancient ebony, crimson silk hangings, mirrors, and portraits—among the latter, a noble portrait of Dryden, one of Peter Lely's best. After pausing here for some minutes, we passed into the largest room of all, the library-a most magnificent apartment, about fifty feet in length by thirty in width, with a projection in the center, opposite the fireplace, containing a large bow window. The roof is of richly-carved oak, as are also the bookcases, which reach high up the walls. The books were elegantly bound, amounting, we were told, in number, to about twenty thousand volumes, all arranged according to their subjects. Among them were presentation copies from almost every living author in the world. Our attention was arrested in particular by a "Montfauçon," in fifteen folio volumes, with the royal arms emblazoned on the binding, the gift of King George IV. There were cases opposite ductions of his genius were conceived and written. It contained no furniture, except a small writing-table in the center, an arm-chair covered with black leather, and one chair besides for a single privileged visitor. On either side of the fireplace. were shelves with a few volumes, chiefly folios; and a gallery running round three sides of the room, and reached by a hanging stair at one corner, also contained some books. There were but two portraits-those of Claverhouse and Rob Roy. In one corner was a little closet opening into the gardens, forming the lower compartment of one of the towers, in the upper part of which was a private staircase accessible from the gallery. This was the last portion of the mansion which we were permitted to explore; and after a hurried ramble through the groundswhere exquisite walks, with innumerable seats and arbors, commanding views of gleamy lakes and most picturesque and lovely waterfalls, told eloquently of the matchless taste that had there found recreation from its toil-we bid a long adieu to Abbotsford. Our next visit was to Melrose Abbey, which, building,) conducted under his immediate "Spreading herbs and flowerets bright But was carved in the cloister arches as fair." Each glance at the lovely east window recalled in like manner the stanzas from the same poem : : "The moon on the east oriel shone, Through slender shafts of shapely stone, By foliaged tracery combined; Thou wouldst have thought some fairy's hand, "Twixt poplars straight the osier wand, In many a freakish knot had twined; Then framed a spell when the work was done, And changed the willow wreaths to stone." The figures and heads which abound throughout the ruin are some of them very beautiful, and others singularly grotesque. There is a cripple on the back of a blind man, in which the pain of the former and the sinking of the latter beneath his unwieldy burden are expressed in stone as we do not often see anything of the kind in painting. Close to the south window is a massive-looking figure peering through the ivy, with one hand to his throat, while in the other he grasps a knife, and a figure below holds a ladle as if to catch the blood from his self-inflicted wound. Not far from these is a group of merry musicians; and blended with some of the most highly-wrought tracery in the windows is the figure of a sow playing the bagpipes. The latter part of the day we devoted to Dryburgh Abbey. The scenery between Melrose and Dryburgh is exceedingly beautiful. The road overhangs the Tweed, fringed with rich plantations to the water's edge; and as it crosses the hill of Bemerside it commands a lovely view of the river winding round an island, with a solitary house upon it-the only remain, our cicerone told us, of "old Melrose." A low gateway at one side of a narrow lane, at the foot of which runs the Tweed, admitted us into the wooded grounds of Dryburgh; and after passing the residence, which we did not pause to examine, we came to a wooded fence around the Abbey. It is a beautiful ruin, embosomed in dense foliage, and having a very fine radiated window covered with ivy. It contains little, however, in the way of architectural remains, to attract the notice of those who have previously visited Melrose. Our thoughts were all upon the one spot, the aisle called St. Mary's, beneath the right-hand arch of which is the last resting-place of him whose spell had been upon us all the day. The spot is marked by a plain flat stone, about three feet from the ground, with the simple inscription, "Sir Walter Scott, Bart." Our hearts and eyes were full, some at all events to overflowing the mighty genius, and the broken heart-the lordly mansion, and the lowly grave-the contrast was painfully oppressive : DR. WAYLAND ON THE PREACHING PRES FOR THE TIMES. RESIDENT WAYLAND preached the last anniversary sermon of the "New-York Baptist Union for Ministerial Education." It has been published by Sage & Brothers, Rochester, and has produced no small sensation, especially in the ranks of the Baptist Church. We have been unusually interested in reading it. It has not the elaborate finish of some of his other published discourses, and will not compare with his well-known missionary sermon in rhetorical effectiveness. There are even noticeable inelegancies of style about it; but it is pervaded with vigorous, practical sense-that elevation and large application of common sense which is wisdom in its most sagely use. Breaking away, boldly, from the traditional ideas with which our rigid ecclesiasticism has overlaid and compressed the energies of Christianity, he propounds views of the Christian ministry which at first startle us by their apparent novelty, and yet commend themselves to our common sense, on a little reflection, as " apostolic," (for so he calls them in his title,) and practically wise—and, in fact, indispensable for the success of the modern Church. We are, perhaps, the more pleased with the discourse, as it countenances generally the views we have advocated in our late articles on The Preaching Required by the Times.* Some of our Baptist exchanges seem to fear the practical boldness of its views. The Christian Review, (an able Baptist Quarterly,) especially, gives an elaborate article on the subject, and deprecates their tendency to reduce the standard of ministerial qualification in the denomination. We do not share this anxiety. The common sense and utilitarian character of these views are a guarantee against any such tendency. * Inexorable reader, as Dr. Wayland himself is in the pulpit, he sustains our late articles on preaching, even in the particular of extempore speaking. He says: "But suppose this train of thought to be thus prepared, shall it be written or unwritten? Each has its advantages, but I am constrained to believe that the value of written discourses has been in this country greatly overrated. Speaking an unwritten train of thought is by far the noblest and most effective exercise of mind, provided the labor of preparation in both cases be the same. I cannot but think that we have been the losers, by cultivating too exclusively the habit of written discourses." VOL. V.-24 A utilitarian standard will always ultimately recognize the highest ability; and continually tends to it. The higher forms of truth are never endangered by subjecting it to the conditions of common sense or practical use. And especially is this the case with a great utilitarian function like that of the Christian ministry; break down its technical restrictions-drag it out from its isolation-and you break away the barriers to its power, you let out its energies. Relieve it as much as possible of its professional exclusiveness, and you in the same proportion secure it additional adaptations, additional abilities. The popularization of knowledge, of arts, of civil government, of religious labors, is the great distinction of our age, and all of them have gained by it. Dr. Wayland would apply the same law to the pulpit, and, we doubt not, with a similar result. We propose to lay before our readers an outline of his views, and to show their applicability to the actual wants of the Church. His text is the apostolic commission: "Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature." The first section of the discourse presents a rapid statement of what the gospel is. Man is a sinner; Christ has redeemed him, and now, by the most simple and most practicable process-abandoning sin by repentance and returning unto God with a trustful faith in Christ-the sinner may be saved. This is the summary idea of the gospel. What is it to preach this great fact? What particularly is that mode of preaching it which was enjoined by Christ in the apostolic commission? Evidently the popular, the universal announcement of the great fact. This is the distinctive idea of Dr. Wayland's discourse. Critical defences of the gospel may be requisitedidactic essays, founded upon it-theological science, evangelical ethics, &c.; but these may be produced in the Christian seminary, they may constitute a Christian literature, they may be the productions of educated laymen. They have their appropriate relation to the Christian pulpit too, but they do not constitute preaching in its primitive and its legitimate sense. This is emphatically to announce and spread abroad, everywhere and incessantly, the " good news" of the grand |