[Original]
But before you leave the little hamlet of Tweedsmuir—it can scarcely be called a village—by the old single-arched bridge that is thrown here across Tweed, where he roars and chafes among his rocks ere plunging down into the deep, black pool below, you will see on your left a spire peering out over the tree-tops.
[Original]
That is the church of Tweedsmuir, on its strange, tumulus-like mound by the river's brink. And here you will find:n the green grass, under the clustering trees, the graves of some who fell for "The Covenant," one headstone, at least, relettered by "Old Mortality" himself. This is the grave of one John Hunter; but doubless there are others, less noticeable, who rest with him in this quiet spot, far from the world's clash and turmoil, where no sound harsher than the Sabbath bell that calls to prayer or the sighing of the wind in the trees, can ever break the silence. Here is Hunter's epitaph:
