and many thousands of the rarest sorts go to make up this conchological wonder. The floor is covered with a very rich carpet, and rugs to match front two unique dwarf grates. The seats, set on imitation granite props, are covered with rich crimson velvet. Opposite the stained-glass entrance-door, in a recess, is a beautiful fountain, surrounded by large ornamental shells, playing from a delightful spring, the jet rising from a rich green vase, in tasteful contrast with the "winking gold-fish," now sporting and now lazily floating round its base. The side walls are inlaid in the most regular and artistic manner with shells, which vary in size, the roof being studded with large ornamental shells, the upward unseen points of which, being bored, act as ventilators, while in the centre of the roof some of the very choicest middle-sized shells are grouped together in the form of flowers, with a very rich and beautiful effect, seldom attained in the choicest bouquets. With so much of the beautiful so very attractively arranged, the mirrors work wonders. The large mirrors at either end show a line of table as far as the eye can carry, and multiply the visitors accordingly — green vases and golden fish presenting themselves anew at every turn. The Doon ran silently past as we entered; but here it meanders round us on every side, and our fairy palace seems the centre of some enchanted island. It is, indeed, a beautiful grotto, and all who have not seen it will, we dare say, on visiting it, not begrudge it the title of the "Shell Palace."

We next visited Newark Castle, about a mile from the monument. It is remarkable for its antiquity, and for the splendid view obtained from the balcony on its summit. While standing on this celebrated spot, we saw at one glance the Frith of Clyde and Bay of Ayr; in the immediate foreground the cradle-land of Burns, and the winding Doon; and in the distance the eye wanders over a vast tract of richly-wooded country, embracing a panoramic view of portions of at least seven counties, and the much-admired and celebrated rock, Ailsa craig. While in the neighborhood, we could not forego the temptation which presented itself of visiting the scene of Burns' tender parting with Mary Campbell. It is near the junction of the water of Fail with the river Ayr, where the poet met his Mary on a Sunday in the month of May, and, laying their hands in the stream, vowed, over Mary's Bible, love while the woods of Montgomery grew and its waters ran. The death of the girl before the appointed time of marriage caused the composition of the following poem, one of Burns' sweetest pieces.

HIGHLAND MARY.

"Ye banks, and braes, and streams around

The castle o' Montgomery,

Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,
Your waters never drumlie !

There Simmer first unfaulds her robes,

And there they langest tarry;
For there I took the last fareweel

O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk,

How rich the hawthorn's blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade
I clasped her to my bosom !
The golden hours, on angel wings,
Flew o'er me and my dearie :
For dear to me as light and life
Was my sweet Highland Mary.

"Wi' mony a vow, and locked embrace,
Our parting was fu' tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,

We tore oursels asunder;

But, O! fell Death's untimely frost,

That nipt my flower sae early!

Now green 's the sod, and cauld's the clay,

That wraps my Highland Mary!

It was indeed pleasant to walk over the ground once pressed by the feet of the Scottish bard, and to look upon the scenes that inspired his youthful breast, and gave animation to that blaze of genius that burst upon the world. The classic Doon, the ruins of the old kirk Alloway, the cottage in which the poet first drew breath, and other places made celebrated by his pen, all filled us with a degree of enthusiasm we have seldom experienced.

In every region where the English language is known the songs of Burns give rapture; and from every land, and from climes the most remote, comes the praise of Burns as a poet. In song-writing he surpassed Sir Walter Scott and Lord Byron; for in that department he was above "all Greek, above all Roman fame;" a more than Simonides in pathos, as in his "Highland Mary; "a more than Tyrtæus in fire, as in his "Scots wha ha'e wi' Wallace bled;" and a softer than Sappho in love, as in his

"Had we never loved so kindly,

Had we never loved so blindly,
Never met or never parted,

We had ne'er been broken-hearted."

22

CHAPTER XXV.

"If thou art worn and hard beset

With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget;

If thou wouldst read a lesson, that would keep

Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, —
Go to the Colosseum."
LONGFELLOW.

It was in the middle of May, when London is usually inundated with strangers from the country, who come up to attend the anniversaries, that a party of friends called on me with a request that I would accompany them to some of the lions of the metropolis. We started for the Thames Tunnel, one of the wonders of London. The idea of making a thoroughfare under the largest river in England was a project that could scarcely have been carried out by any except a most enterprising people. We faintly heard the clock on St. Paul's striking eleven, as the Woolwich boat put us down at the Tunnel; which we entered, after paying the admission fee of one penny. After descending one hundred steps, we found ourselves under the river, and looking towards the faint glimmer of light that showed itself on the Surrey side. There are two arches, one of which is closed up, with here and