through the gateway, you enter the inner court, which is surrounded by a piazza having nine arches on each side.

For a consideration, (the universal 'open sesame,') we were vouchsafed tickets of admission, and soon were ascending the gloomy staircase, leading to what is known as Darnley's apartments. There is nothing very remarkable in these rooms save some hideous-looking portraits of the Hamilton family, so celebrated in Scottish history. There is in one of these chambers an original portrait of Charles the Second, an ill-looking fellow, upon whose coarse features lust has stamped its unmistakable seal. Returning through Lord Darnley's apartments, and leaving them by the left-hand door of the AudienceChamber, we ascended a still narrower and darker stair-way, to enter what historians, poets, and novelists have combined to render the most interesting suite of rooms in Europe, the apartments occupied by Mary Queen of Scots. The first is the Presence-Chamber, where, on all state occasions, Mary held her receptions. The roof is divided into paneled compartments, adorned with the initials and armorial bearings of royal personages, and the walls are hung with ancient tapestry, the color of which, however, has been almost obliterated by the uncourtly hand of Time. A few of the old embroidered chairs, that once graced the chamber, still stand against the walls. A large double one is shown, with the initials of Mary and Darnley worked at the top by the Queen's own hands, and which once stood upon the raised platform of the throne of Scotland. There is a painting, suspended near the ancient fire-place, said to be of Mary, and taken in the very dress she wore the morning of her execution; but the face is clearly not hers. It looks in its sharpness, and with the red hair curled so primly at the temples, more like the portrait of her hateful rival and persecutor, Elizabeth. An old state-bed, worm-eaten, and with its embossed velvet curtains now mouldering and moth-eaten, stands in one corner of this room: it is the one upon which Charles the First slept the night after his coronation in Scotland; and on it, some years after, reposed that graceless young scamp, Prince Charles, who set all the Scottish maidens' hearts a-beating, and Scottish claymores flashing. It was in this chamber that stern reformer Knox had his insulting interviews with Mary, when, to use his own language, he knocked so hastily upon her heart as to make her weep.' Visions of the many thrilling scenes enacted in this old audience-chamber come thronging upon the mind, as you stand within its precincts. Here Mary received the homage from many a noble Scottish heart; but oftener from hearts that even in the presence of their fair Queen were hatching treason against her realm and person. It was over this old floor of oak the ruthless murderers dragged the screaming Rizzio, torn from the private closet of his sovereign, to breathe out his life in the passage adjoining, just at the head of the stair-case. From the audience-chamber you pass by a low door into the Bed-Chamber of Mary. The ceiling is divided into paneled compartments, of diamond form, adorned with the emblems and initials of sovereigns, and the walls are hung with decaying tapestry. The historical and romantic associations connected with this chamber render it undoubtedly the most interesting chamber in the palace, and

the melancholy and faded aspect of the chamber itself is in admirable keeping with its tale of sorrow and crime. It is a mournful-looking apartment now, with its wretched paintings still suspended over the mantle, its shreds of silken tapestry fluttering mournfully from the walls, and its high-backed and grotesquely-carved chairs attesting its former magnificence. Here stands her bed, where care so often visited the unquiet pillow, its once beautiful canopy in rags, its carved oaken posts worm-eaten, and the richly-embroidered coverlid that once adorned it in shreds. Close by it stands a large round basket, once used by the unfortunate Queen to hold the baby-linen of her son. Upon a stand near the window is her work-box, once no doubt very elegant, as it was a present from the young Dauphin of France, before her marriage, but now bearing but few traces of its former magnificence. I lifted the lid and looked into the tarnished French mirror that had so often reflected her fair face. Those were the only happy days she ever knew. Poor Mary those days she spent in sunny, vine-clad France, loving and beloved. How often she must have gazed mournfully at this box, recalling, as it did by its presence, those halcyon days of youth and happiness, there, in that gloomy palace of Holyrood, gone, never to return! Doors lead into two small turret-shaped chambers from this bed-room : that on the left, as you enter, leads into a small chamber Mary used as a dressing-room and oratory. Her altar was erected here, and they still show the large and exquisitely-carved candlesticks that held the candles that burned before it. A few articles of the toilet may still be seen upon the table, and an old French mirror, with its silvering gone and frame decayed. The door upon the right opens into that memorable chamber where Mary was seated at supper with Rizzio, the Countess of Argyle, and one or two others, when Ruthven, armed to the teeth, with other conspirators, rushed into the chamber, and in spite of the protecting arms of Mary, one of them (Douglas) stabbed the unfortunate Secretary over her shoulder, then dragged him through her bedroom into the presence-chamber, in one corner of which they dispatched him with fifty-six wounds. The story of that memorable murder I believe to be briefly this: Mary was seated in the little turret-chamber adjoining her bed-room, at one of those small parties, in the easy cheerfulness of which she took great pleasure. Beside her were the Countess Argyle, her sister, and one or two others, with Rizzio. No noise is heard, no suspicion entertained. The palace is surrounded by several adherents of the conspirators, under Morton. A private stair-case leads to Mary's bed-room from Darnley's apartments below, and by this the young Darnley ascends and seats himself by his Queen, and with the easy familiarity of the husband, puts his arm round her waist. Shortly after, in stalks Ruthven, in complete armor, his face ghastly alike with sickness and ferocity. Mary sternly demands the cause of the intrusion, and haughtily orders him to quit the apartment; but ere he can reply, the door opening into the bed-room is crowded with men bearing torches and brandishing weapons. The next instant, Kerr, of Falconside, with George Douglas, a kinsman of Morton's, rush into the little chamber, dash down the table almost upon the Queen, then dart upon Rizzio, who in a moment sheltered himself behind Mary, holding her gown

with the grasp of despair, and screaming out: 'Justice, Madam; spare
my life.'
For a moment his appeal and entreaties keep them back;
but Darnley, seizing the Queen, tries to tear Rizzio's grasp from her
gown, upon which Douglas, snatching Darnley's dagger from its sheath,
stabs Rizzio over the Queen's shoulder, then left it sticking in his body.
Like furious hounds, the rest of the conspirators rush then upon their
prey, rudely tear him, shrieking and struggling, from the grasp of the
Queen, on through the bed-chamber, stabbing him as they went, until
in one corner of the presence-chamber he breathed his life out from
fifty-six gaping wounds.

Mary sat trembling and wailing till the cessation of the uproar manifested that the murder was accomplished, and then wiping her eyes, said: 'I will now study revenge.' Shortly after, Ruthven, staggering into the closet, demanded wine. 'It shall be dear blude to some of you,' said the outraged Queen. The other assassins escaped from a widow on the north side of Darnley's apartments, fled over the garden, and escaped by a small lodge known as Mary's Bath,' (which still may be seen,) and where a few years since a rusty dagger was found sticking in a plank, deeply corroded with what appeared to be blood.

It would be hard now, in looking at the little turret-chamber where the above-described scene was enacted, to imagine it could ever have been the favorite retreat of royalty, although traces of its former splendor are discernible in the fragments of silk-hangings still fluttering from its walls. It is a gloomy-looking spot now, and seems blasted by the dreadful tragedy once enacted within it. A portrait of Rizzio hangs over the door a sweet, melancholy face, with large, lustrous Italian eyes; and one, in gazing at it, cannot wonder that such a face should captivate the too susceptible heart of Mary. In one corner is a helmet and a breast-plate, very much rusted, said to have been worn by Ruthven when the foul deed was done. As we passed out again through the presence-chamber, in one corner, just by the head of the stair-way, our attention was called to a large stain upon the floor, said to have been caused by the blood of Rizzio. It evidently once was part of the presence chamber, and has been partitioned off from that room, said to have been by Mary's direction, to hide this terrible memorial of the fate of her secretary from sight. It is a large stain, but not larger than would be produced by the crimson fluid streaming from fifty-six gaping wounds; and when it is remembered that the body lay there all night, one can readily believe this story about the stain to be true.

We passed down from Mary's apartments, through the quadrangle, into the ruin of what was once the Royal Chapel of Holyrood. It is a magnificent ruin, with its long rows of clustered columns, still retaining many of their richly-carved capitals entire. The aisles are literally floored with sculptured grave-stones, some of which belong to the period when the Chapel Royal was converted into the Canongate Parish Kirk; but the most of them have the elaborately-carved cross, indicating the resting-place of the abbots of the old monastery. Many are the historical associations connected with this chapel. Within these walls many kings and queens of Scotland were crowned. At the eastern extremity of the chapel, under the great window, Mary, in an evil hour,

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plighted her troth to the foolish and dissipated Darnley. The door-way of the chapel is a noble, high-arched and deeply-recessed one, having eight shafts on either side, with capitals composed of birds and grotesques, with mouldings rich with flowered and toothed ornaments, and belongs to the best years of the early English style in Scotland in the latter part of the twelfth century. Above the door-way, and between the central windows, is a tablet, inserted by Charles the First, bearing the following inscription: He shall build ane house for My name, and I will stablish the throne of his kingdom for ever.' The grave of Rizzio is pointed out in that part of the chapel-floor which, by the intrusion of the palace-buildings, has been formed into a passage leading to the colonnade. Here a flat, gray stone, with some faint traces of sculpture, covers the remains of the ill-fated Italian. The masks of the old doorway may still be seen that opened into a private passage leading up to Mary's apartments, and through which the conspirators found entrance. As they passed through that holy place, one would have thought that its sanctity must have overpowered their guilty souls, or at least they would have hesitated before they sent poor Rizzio to his last account,

'IN the blossom of his sins,

With all his imperfections on his head,
Unhouseled, unanointed, unanealed.'

After remaining about an hour at Holyrood, we left for the old Castle of Edinburgh, driving through the Canongate, once so famous in the old town, passing Saint Giles, the house where Knox lived, and from whose window he so often preached to the people; the site of the old Tolbooth, so celebrated in 'The Heart of Mid-Lothian,' until we arrived at our destination. From the lofty ramparts of the castle we looked down upon the most beautiful city in the world, surrounded by scenery that cannot be surpassed. Turning our steps towards the castle, we sought immediately for the chamber in which the regalia of ancient Scotland are preserved. Ascending a dark stair-case, we were admitted into a small arched room, without windows; in the centre of this room, upon a velvet cushion, with the light of eight gas-burners flashing upon them, surrounded by a circular railing, reposed in silent majesty the ancient regalia of Scotland a crown, a sceptre, a sword of state, the Order of the Garter, bestowed by Elizabeth upon James the Sixth. The sceptre fairly blazed with jewels, while the rich diamond circlet of the beautiful velvet crown or cap, flashed back in myriad rays the brilliant light to which it was exposed. We looked with deep interest upon these emblems of the buried majesty of Scotland. That crown had once pressed the fair brow of Mary, and that sceptre felt the grasp of her beautiful hand. It was only a few years since that these regalia were discovered walled up in this very room, and inclosed in an old oaken chest, which is still shown. Descending to the chamber below, we admired the portrait of Mary, taken of her 'in her sweet prime,' when in the lovely land of France, just before her marriage with the Dauphin. It is a sweet face, shaded by the richest nut-brown hair, and lighted by a pair of soft hazel eyes, that suffering had not dimmed. No description can convey any idea of the loveliness of that sweet face.

It was in this room that she gave birth to her son, James the First. An original portrait of the royal pedant hangs here a long, thin-faced man, with a brow where time and sorrow seem to have driven their ploughshares deeply.

The next morning, we were off for Melrose, Abbotsford, and Dryburgh. The ride to Melrose abounds in scenery of the most varied and picturesque character. Fifteen miles from Edinburgh, we noticed the ruins of Bothwell Castle, where Bothwell held Mary in durance, after her capture. We arrived at Melrose about noon, a most charming village, nestling in the loveliest of valleys. A ten minutes' walk from the station, down a little narrow street, brought us face to face with the celebrated ruin.

it rose before us.

'Like some tall rock, with lichen gray,'

Aside from its situation, which is by no means in its favor, it is the loveliest pile of monastic ruins the eye can contemplate, or the imagination conceive of. The windows, and especially the glorious east window, with all its elaborate tracery, are unsurpassed as specimens of Gothic architecture. In the old cloisters are seven niches, exquisitely ornamented with sculptured foliage, and reminding one of those lines of Scott, so life-like in their description:

'SPREADING herbs and flowerets bright
Glistened with the dews of night;
Nor herb nor floweret glistened there,

But was carved in the cloistered arch as fair.'

Each glance at the superb east window recalled in like manner the stanza from the same poem :

'THE moon on the east oriel shone,

Through slender shafts of shapely stone,

By foliage tracery combined;

Thou would'st 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 carved figures and heads which abound throughout the ruin are many of them very curious. There is the representation of a cripple on the back of a blind man, in which the pain of the former and the crouching of the latter are expressed in stone with a power seldom seen in painting. Close to the south window is a massive-looking figure, peering through the ivy, with one hand to his throat; in the other he grasps a knife, while a figure below holds a ladle, as if to catch the blood from the self-inflicted wound. Not far from this is a group of merry musicians, and blended with some of the most exquisite tracery round the windows, is the figure of a sow playing on the bagpipes.

The form of the abbey is that of a cross; pinnacles terminate the buttresses of finest workmanship, and the rows of clustered columns, among the finest in England. If there is any defect in Melrose Abbey,