AROUND ABBOTSFORD

Whilst this work deals mainly with Abbotsford, it will be fitting to refer briefly to one or two places within what may be called the Abbotsford radius. At least half a dozen scenes of interest can be visited with profit by the literary pilgrim. Abbotsford is his Mecca par excellence, and it is here that homage must rise to its full height. Abbotsford is but the centre, however, of a widely historic locality, in which it may be possible to discover shrine after shrine, each demanding some show of devotion. Of course, Scott is the chief attractive force to the Scottish Border. But long before his day Tweedside and the country around Abbotsford lay in the very lap of 'glamourie.' And it was, as we have seen, largely because of the romance which haunted the whole district that Abbotsford took shape, to become by-and-by perhaps the most romantic spot in Europe.

Melrose—the Kennaquhair of the 'Monastery'—is the most convenient headquarters for studying the homes and following the footprints of Sir Walter Scott. Scott may be said to have made Melrose. It was a mere village when Abbotsford was building. It really grew with the growth of Abbotsford, and in the wake of Scott's success. The name—maol-ros, 'the open or naked headland'—is a transfer from Old Melrose, two and a half miles further down the Tweed, where flourished the first monastic settlement, fragrant with the memories of Aidan, Boisil (whence St. Lessuden and St. Boswells), and most celebrated of them all, Cuthbert, that Leaderside shepherd lad, who rose to be head of the great See of Durham. It was David, 'the Sair Sanct,' who founded the second religious house of Melrose between the years 1136 and 1146. Dedicated to the Virgin, and tenanted by a colony of Cistercians from Rievalle, in Yorkshire, the pioneers of their Order in Scotland, Melrose quickly came to the front as the most famous establishment of its kind in the kingdom. For four centuries, like the rest of the Border Abbeys, Melrose held its place, and was a power in the land. During the Edwardian Wars it suffered frequently from fire and assault, and, indeed, about 1322, it was more or less a ruin. Mainly through the munificence of Robert the Bruce, it was rebuilt in 1326, 'in the most magnificent style of the period,' at a cost of £50,000 in modern money. By 1384 it was again sacked, this time by Richard II., and again restored. In 1544 Evers and Latoun, the English generals at Ancrum Moor, desecrated and demolished the Douglas tombs at Melrose, and in the following year, on the Hertford invasion, the work of destruction was complete. At the Reformation the Abbey was finally dismantled, and for long afterwards the ruin was used as a quarry by the towns-people. Not a little of the original Abbotsford found its way from Melrose Abbey. The statues, specially numerous and costly, were 'ground to powder' in 1649, and up to 1820 the nave was used as the parish church. Scott's genius and patriotism have done more for Melrose than anything else. To him, in large measure, as the Biography shows, the place owes its preservation as the finest ecclesiastical ruin in the country. None knew Melrose Abbey better, or bore a dearer regard to it, than Scott, and its architecture is nowhere more faithfully described than in the 'Lay.' To read the 'Lay' at Melrose is one of the delights of a lifetime. The best view is from the south-east corner of the churchyard. By the high altar Bruce's heart was interred. Here also lie the bodies of the brave Earl Douglas, hero of Otterburn, and of that other Douglas, the 'dark knight of Liddesdale,' a prominent figure in Border story. There, too, is the traditional grave of 'the wondrous Wizard,' Michael Scot, from whose cold dead hand Deloraine snatched the Book of Might. And many another—monarch and monk, priest and warrior, Border laird and lady—are at rest under these time-worn canopies. How interesting and touching to follow the inscriptions around the walls, and the numerous chaste carvings on 'pillar and arch and lintel high.' Two epitaphs outside call for attention, both connected with Scott. One, which he was fond of repeating—it is surely one of the most pregnant in epitaphian literature—runs:

'The earth goeth on the earth,
Glist'ring like gold;

The earth goes to the earth
Sooner than it wold;

The earth builds on the earth
Castles and towers;

The earth says to the earth,
"All shall be ours."'

The other, his own simple and sincere words, covering the grave of honest Tom Purdie:

IN GRATEFUL REMEMBRANCE
OF
THE FAITHFUL
AND ATTACHED SERVICES
OF
TWENTY-TWO YEARS,
AND IN SORROW
FOR THE LOSS OF A HUMBLE
BUT SINCERE FRIEND,
THIS STONE WAS ERECTED
BY
SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART.,
OF ABBOTSFORD.

HERE LIES THE BODY
OF
THOMAS PURDIE,
WOOD-FORESTER
AT ABBOTSFORD,
WHO DIED 29 OCTOBER,
1829,
AGED SIXTY-TWO YEARS.

'Thou hast been faithful
Over a few things,
I will make thee ruler
Over many things.'

Matthew, chap. xxv. v. 21st.

Close under the Abbey windows reposes all that is mortal of the great Christian philosopher, Sir David Brewster. 'The Lord is my Light' is a not unfitting text for one who was the acknowledged master of optics in his day. Melrose Cross, in the centre of the town, with the date of its restoration (1642), is believed to be the oldest 'mercat-cross' in the Borders. From Melrose we may climb the clefted Eildons, always in vision, the supreme landmarks and sentinels of the Borderland. Here Scott loved to linger. 'I can stand on the Eildon Hill,' he said, 'and point out forty-three places famous in war and verse.' Or the romantic green-woods of the Fairy Dean may attract us, despite the 'White Lady' and her vagaries. And we may be led to explore Elwyndale and the fine open country to the head of the glen, with the three towers of the 'Monastery,' Hillslap or Glendearg—Dame Glendinning's home—Langshaw, and Colmslie.

As a rule, the visitor to Abbotsford has also Dryburgh as an objective, and ample provision has been made for his ease and comfort in getting thither. By far the most picturesque route is to follow that of Scott's funeral-day. Past Newstead first, quaintest of old-world hamlets, the supposed Roman Trimontium (from the Eildons, at whose base it nestles). Note its wealth of sun-dials. Thence, still keeping by the serpentine Tweed, to Leaderfoot, across its old Bridge—where was Scott's last passing of the Tweed—up by Gladswood and Bemersyde Hill, pausing for a moment or two at 'Sir Walter's gate,' on the crest of the whinny road—

'Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose,
And Eildon slopes to the plain.'

This was Scott's favourite view, and it has few equals. Did not Elihu Burritt affirm that 'it is the most magnificent view I ever saw in Scotland, excepting, perhaps, the one from Stirling Castle'? Still pursuing our way Dryburghwards, we catch a glimpse of Sandyknowe[36] to the east, the scene of Scott's child-years, and enshrined in some of the noblest verse of 'Marmion.' Then, dipping down through the thickest and tallest of wild-woods, and the most luxuriant of bracken and broom, we reach Dryburgh, which, if it cannot boast the architectural glories of Melrose, far surpasses it for queenly situation. Surrounded on three sides by the Tweed, itself unseen from the Abbey precincts, and amidst a 'brotherhood of venerable trees,' in picturesqueness and seclusion it is perhaps the most charming monastic ruin in Great Britain. And here, in the lap of legends old, in the heart of the land he has made enchanted, and among his ancestral dust (for Dryburgh belonged to his forebears, and might have come to himself but for the stupidity of a spendthrift relative), Walter Scott waits the breaking light of morn. There are the inscriptions which we must read, and as reverent and worshipful pilgrims, heads are bared for this sacred duty. In 1847 a massive granite sarcophagus was placed over Scott's grave, where thousands upon thousands from all the winds that blow have treasured its simple words:

SIR WALTER SCOTT, BARONET,
DIED SEPTEMBER 21, A.D. 1832.

303

DRYBURGH ABBEY