"There he is! there he is! God be thanked-there he is, hale and fear!' exclaimed the vassals; while the monks exclaimed, Te Deum laudamus-the blood of thy servants is precious in thy sight!'

"What is the matter, children? what is the matter, my brethren?" said Father Eustace, dismounting at the gate.

66 6

Nay, brother, if thou knowest not, we will not tell thee till thou art in the refectory,' answered the monks: suffice it, that the Lord Abbot had ordered these, our zealous and faithful vassals, instantly to set forth, to guard thee from imminent peril.'

"Ye may ungirth your horses, children, and dismiss: and to-morrow, each who was at this rendezvous may send to the convent kitchen for a quarter of a yard of roast-beef, and a black-jack full of double ale.'

"The vassals dispersed with joyful acclamation, and the monks, with equal jubilee, conducted the sub-prior into the refectory."

A modern topographer, in the enthusiasm which uniformly attaches to antiquarian taste, says: "The ruins of this ancient monastery, or rather of the church connected with it, (for the domestic buildings are totally decayed,) afford the noblest specimen of Gothic architecture and Gothic sculpture of which Scotland can boast. By singular good fortune, Melrose is also one of the most entire, as it is the most beautiful, of all the ecclesiastical remains scattered throughout this reformed land. Το say that it is beautiful, is to say nothing: it is exquisitely, splendidly lovely. It is an object possessed of infinite grace and immeasurable charms: it is fine in its general aspect, and in its minutest details: it is a study-a glory. The beauty of Melrose, however, is not an healthful, ordinary beauty:

'So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,

We start, for soul is wanting there.

It's is the loveliness in death,

That parts not quite with parting breath;

But beauty with that fearful bloom,

That hue which haunts it to the tomb.'

It's is not the beauty of summer, but the sweet melancholy grace of autumn; not the beauty of a blooming bride, but that of a pining and death-stricken maiden. It is not that this is a thing of perfect splendour that we admire it, but because it is a fragment which only represents or shadows forth a matchless whole which has been, the merits of which we are, from these shattered fragments, completely disposed to allow."

The interesting and celebrated Abbey of Melrose is situated about seven miles from the town of Selkirk, at the base of the Eildon hills, and on the south bank of the river Tweed. It owes its foundation to David I. in the year 1136, by whom it was munificently endowed, dedicated to the Virgin Mary, and conferred upon monks of the Cistercian order. The church, which alone remains, extends 287 feet in length, by 157 at its greatest breadth. It is built in the most gorgeous style of florid Gothic architecture, and decorated with an endless variety of rich sculptures. The eastern portions of the building are still tolerably perfect, and the magnificent oriel window, the admiration of every accomplished visiter, is in admirable preservation.

THE TOWER OF GLENDEARG.

“Then rise those crags, that mountain-tower,

Which charmed my fancy's wakening hour.
It was a barren scene, and wild,

Where naked cliffs were rudely piled.”

SCOTT.

[Monastery, Vol. I. p 225.

"Edward witnessed with wonder and awe the approach of some half score of riders, sober men upon sober palfreys, muffled in their long black garments, and only relieved by their white scapularies, showing more like a funeral procession than aught else, and not quickening their pace beyond that which permitted easy conversation and easy digestion. The sobriety of the scene was, indeed, somewhat enlivened by the presence of Sir Piercie Shafton, who, to show that his skill in the manege was not inferior to his other accomplishments, kept alternately pressing and checking his gay courser, forcing him to piaffe, to caracole, to passage, and to do all the other feats of the school, to the great annoyance of the Lord Abbot, the wonted sobriety of whose palfrey became at length discomposed by the vivacity of its companion, while the dignitary kept crying out in bodily alarm, I do pray you, sir,-Sir Knight,-Good now, Sir Piercie,—Be quiet, Benedict, there is a good steed,-soh, poor fellow!' and uttering all the other precatory and soothing exclamations by which a timid horseman usually bespeaks the favour of a frisky companion, or of his own unquiet nag, and concluding the bead-roll with a sincere Deo gratias, so soon as he alighted in the court-yard of the Tower of Glendearg."

Smailholm Tower, the original of Glendearg, is situated near a village of the same name, in the northern part of Roxburghshire, near the road from Polingburgh to Kelso, about four miles from the latter. It occupies the summit of a conspicuous eminence, visible from a distance of many miles. Its pedestal consists of rude, broken masses of rock, precipitous on all sides, very difficult of access, and so disposed and grouped by nature, as to have rendered this fortalice, in ancient times, wholly impregnable.

Within a quarter of a mile of Glendearg, or rather Smailholm, is Sandyknowe, where Sir Walter Scott passed part of that poetic childhood, recorded memorably in the poem of “The Eve of St. John." This place was also the object of his interest at a late period of his life, and but two weeks previous to his departure from Caledonia for the restoration of that robustness and vigour that was irrecoverably destroyed, he paid the scene of his boyhood a farewell visit. After walking round the rocky hill, supported by his friends, Mr. Cadell and Mr. Turner, and having pointed out to them any thing that was remarkable in the old building and its vicinity, he entered the hospitable dwelling of Mrs. Stewart. This lady had known Sir Walter in his halcyon days, and was much affected at observing the incipient decay under which his frame had then begun to sink; the messenger of death had bent him down towards that earth with which his attenuated form was soon to be lastingly united. On entering Mrs. Stewart's parlour, he observed, with characteristic naiveté, that she was then receiving beneath her roof three very different characters-an artist, a bookseller, and a bookmaker. In speaking of the