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this quiet nook, one can imaginatively glide into Elf-land, and fancy how when,

"True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank;

A ferlie he spied wi' his e'e;

And there he saw a ladye bright,

Come riding down by the Eildon tree.

Her skirt was o' the grass green silk,
Her mantle o' the velvet fyne;
At ilka tett of her horse's mane
Hung fifty siller bells and nine."

Higher up in the grounds are wider views. In one direction rises the grand Eildon Hill; in another appears Abbotsford itself, and Gala water sweeping into Tweed from busy, smoking Galashiels; and in another Melrose town and Abbey. As even an admiring rambler remarked of this excursion through the estate, —and as "practical" people very likely will remark,—“it is amazing what a large stretch of poor land Sir Walter had got together;""but,” added the admirer already quoted, "Sir Walter saw the scene with the eyes of poetic tradition. He saw things which had been done there, and sung of; and all was beautiful to him." And departing from this home that he loved so well, that is, so thoroughly associated with his manly living, his affections, and his glorious creating, - one may possibly think with Irving, "Happy would it have been for him could he have contented himself with his delightful little vine-covered cottage [his first home here], and the simple, yet hearty and hospitable style, in which he lived" while he occupied it. "The great pile of Abbotsford, with the huge expense it entailed upon him, of servants, retainers, guests, and baronial style, was a drain upon his purse, a tax upon his exertions, and a weight upon his mind, that finally crushed him." Indeed, as one looks about the world, it seems as if architectural pomp arises to mark the decadence of power to ruin, whether it be in superb palaces like those of the fading " Bride of the Sea;" or, possibly, in the splendors of cathedrals, demonstrating both the power and wealth and the crumbling of the might of that Ecclesiastical Rome, whose decline their pomp often so closely antedated; or, again, in this elaborated "romance in lime and stone." But this last abides thus far securely, and such a shrine of the affections as few even of those statelier palatial structures are; for this is not a mere suggestion of regret for what it

once was, or for what it cost its builder, profound though the latter regret justly is, but this Abbotsford has become a monument of his honest integrity, of his true nineteenth-century chivalry of character, - a character abounding in all the wealth of picturesqueness and vitality of that of the olden time, yet enabling him to meet the great trial of his life, coming in a form in which it is apt to be shaped at this period, and to fight "a good fight," and to conquer, and here, lying down in the exhaustion of victory, to leave behind him this precious memorial, inscribed by him with the story of his noble spirit, demonstrated in his closing life.

"Won is the glory, and the grief is past."

There is another excursion in the "Land of Scott," very appropriately connected with this, to the home of his latter life. It is an excursion to his earliest rural home, and to his last earthly restingplace, a varied and pleasant drive from Melrose. The way is across the Tweed, five miles by a charming rural road up Lauderdale to Earlston or Ercildoun, "the prospect hill." There may be seen a broken tower, the life-long residence of Thomas Learmont, — that Thomas the Rhymer so often mentioned in this region. On a church may be seen a stone inscribed, "Auld Rhymer's race lies in this place." There can also be seen, eastward, along this route, where grew the broom celebrated in the old ballad,

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"O the broom, and the bonny, bonny broom,

And the broom of the Cowdenknows!

Aye sae sweet as the lassie sang,

I' the bought, milking the ewes."

Thence one can go across the country to SANDY KNOWE, the farm of Scott's paternal grandfather, where Scott himself spent much time during boyhood, beginning his living there when he was only about eighteen months old. The farm-house is comfortable and substantial; but its chief interest now is given by the neighboring Smailholm Tower. In this region Scott received his first ideas of the great storied past that he was to grow up to illustrate. There, during long days and evenings, his youthful fancy was awakened and delighted, by grandmother and aunt and old servants, with legends and Border stories, and old songs and ballads. There early he began "making himself." Thence he had a wide prospect "over all the border country, with its feudal towers, its haunted glens, and wizard streams. . . . Thus before" he "could walk he was made familiar with ... scenes of his future stories, ...

and, from the heights of Sandy Knowe, he may be said to have had the first lookout upon the promised land of his future glory."

SMAILHOLM TOWER, the first old-world edifice with which Scott became familiar, and the objects around it, might well inspire his imagination or that in others at any period of life. It is said to be "the most perfect relic of the feudal keep in the south of Scotland." Certainly there is scarcely one more imposing. Built about 1535 (and, formerly held by Pringles of Galashiels, then by Scott of Harden, and latterly by Lord Polwarth), it is an impressive example of the style of defensive domestic architecture at the time, when the Scottish Parliament enacted, for better protection of the country, "Ffor Bigging of Strengthis on the Bordouris," that this should be the sort of house suitable for an important Border proprietor. It stands lofty, square, and massive, on a rocky knoll, so commanding, and visible “at such a distance, as to be a guidingmark to mariners off Berwick." On three sides are crags, and on the fourth a morass, and a deep little loch, the remains of a larger loch that once environed the height. These, with a strong outer wall, now very ruinous, and called the barmkyn, "within which the cattle of the vicinity were driven upon any sudden alarm," protected the tower or chief structure. This is built of broken stones with red sandstone quoins, all now of mouldy gray color. The walls are about nine feet thick, and bear scarcely a trace of ornament. Outside were decidedly close quarters for retainers. Entering by the small door, westward, one finds that the lower story consists of a single, and not brilliantly lighted, room, with a stone, roundarched ceiling. At the south-east corner is a red sandstone turnpike stair, narrow, but in quite good order, by which one can easily ascend to the roof. The next story was occupied by a large hall with a huge fireplace. Above this was a wooden floor, now gone, that formerly made the structure three stories high. The highest of these has a stone roof arched in barrel vault, shaped rather like the smaller end of an oval. The windows are not large, and are, of course, deeply set, owing to the thickness of the walls, and have cosey though hard stone seats each side. Going to the top of the tower, one finds two sides surmounted by the usual gables, and two by broken parapets, from which latter is a rugged slope of mutilated masonry, over the oval arch, to the crest of the roof across the centre of the tower. From this crest may be gained a surprisingly wide view. Eastward, over the broad, level vale of the lower

Tweed, one may even see Berwick; and south about, over undulating country, the heavy, uneven outlines of the blue Cheviots flanking the broad form of the prominent Carter Fell; while westward, in full view, is the "triple Eildon ;" and north, are the barren Lammermoor hills above the green fields of the Merse. Indeed, the general view is similar to that from Eildon. The foreground is, however, quite different. Close by, is the little brown loch, and beyond it the snug farm-house of Sandy Knowe, with its shrubby garden. North and west, the ground rises, abruptly, rocky and heathery. Eminent in it, is "the Watchfold," a crag "said to have been the station of a beacon in times of war with England," to arouse the country when forayers approached. Southward, immediately below, is the beautifully varied rural country of the Tweed, with its green pastures, grain fields, hedgerows, scattered trees, and belts and parks of woodland. In the introduction to the Third Canto of "Marmion," Scott has charmingly told his recollections of this childhood haunt, and the influence it had upon him, —

"Return the thoughts of early time;

And feelings roused in life's first day,"
Then rise those crags, that mountain tower,
Which charm'd my fancy's waking hour.
Then "was poetic impulse given,

By the green hill and clear blue heaven.
It was a barren scene, and wild,
Where naked cliffs were rudely piled;
But ever and anon between

Lay velvet tufts of loveliest green;

And well the lonely infant knew
Recesses where the wall-flower grew,
And honeysuckle loved to crawl

Up the low crag and ruin'd wall.

I deem'd such nooks the sweetest shade

The sun in all its round survey'd;
And still I thought that shatter'd tower
The mightiest work of human power;

And marvell'd as the aged hind

With some strange tale bewitch'd my mind,

Of forayers, who, with headlong force,

Down from that strength had spurr'd their horse,

Their southern rapine to renew,

Far in the distant Cheviots blue,

And, home returning, fill'd the hall

With revel, wassail-rout, and brawl.

Methought that still with trump and clang,

The gateway's broken arches rang;

Methought grim features, seam'd with scars,
Glared through the window's rusty bars,

. And ever, by the winter hearth,

Old tales I heard of woe or mirth,
Of lovers' slights, of ladies' charms,
Of witches' spells, of warriors' arms;
Of patriot battles, won of old

By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold;
Of later fields of feud and fight,

When pouring from their Highland height,
The Scottish clans, in headlong sway,
Had swept the scarlet ranks away."
... thus nurtured,

...I was wayward, bold, and wild,
A self-will'd imp, a grandame's child;
But, half a plague, and half a jest,

Was still endured, beloved, caress'd."

This tower is also the scene of his fine ballad, "The Eve of Saint John,” said to have been thus associated by him, to induce Scott of Harden, then proprietor, to carefully preserve it. The ballad spiritedly begins describing how, —

"The Baron of Smaylho`me rose with day,

He spurr'd his courser on "

and tells how he went, not to a Border fight, though he went fully armed, but in search of a strange knight who, when darkness came on, "stood by the lonely flame" on the "eiry Beacon Hill,"

"And many a word that warlike lord

Did speak to my lady there;"

A mysterious tale of conjugal experience grew of their meetings, till it could be said in the final verses of the ballad,

"There is a nun in Dryburgh bower,

Ne'er looks upon the sun;

There is a monk in Melrose tower,
He speaketh word to none.

That nun, who ne'er beholds the day,

That monk, who speaks to none,

That nun, was Smaylho'me's Lady gay,
That monk the bold Baron."

This tower is also the supposed original of Avenel Castle, in "The Abbot," and in "The Monastery (the next novel that will be sketched on these pages), the scenes of both which are nearly all in and around Melrose.

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