Melrose Abbey—The Eildon Hills—Thomas the Rhymer—Dryburgh—Monuments to the Author of 'The Seasons' and Sir William Wallace—Kelso—Beautiful scenery—A Pleasant Evening—Biographical Sketch of Leyden, Poet, Antiquary, Scholar and Traveller—The Duncan Family—Journey Resumed—Twisel Bridge—Battle of Flodden—Norham Castle—Berwick upon Tweed—Biographical Sketch of Thomas Mackay Wilson, author of 'The Border Tales'—Conclusion—'Auld Lang Syne.'

After visiting "fair Melrose," whose rains, rising in the centre of a rich landscape, and rendered immortal by the exquisite descriptions of Sir Walter Scott, are the most interesting and beautiful of any in Scotland;—wandering over the Eildon Hills, the Trimontium of the Romans, from the summits of which some thirty miles of wild and varied scenery can be surveyed; gazing on the ruins of Ercildoune, the manor-house of Thomas the Rhymer, whose real name was Thomas Learmont, author of "The Romance of Tristan," a poem of the thirteenth century, in the language of antique Chaucer; lingering in Dryburgh Abbey, embosomed in a richly wooded haugh on the banks of the Tweed; and especially gazing, in reverent homage, on the grave of "the Great Magician of the North," in St. Mary's Aisle, so sad and yet so fair; crossing the Tweed, and pausing a few moments, to examine a circular temple on the banks of the river, dedicated to the Muses, and surmounted by a bust of Thomson, author of "The Seasons," and a little further on the colossal statue of Sir William Wallace, the hero of Scotland, which stands upon a rocky eminence and overlooks the river, and a fine prospect of "wood and water, mountain and rock scenery," we pass along the banks of the Tweed, till we come to the handsome town of Kelso, on the margin of the river, with its ancient Abbey and delightful environs.

As the day is far spent, we will stay here for the night. But, before the sun goes down, let us wander over the neighborhood, which is singularly beautiful, and redolent with the genius of Scott and of Leyden, who has described it in his "Scenes of Infancy."

As the view from the bridge which spans the river is said to be one of the richest in Scotland, we linger there till the sun goes down. 'Tis a soft, still, summer afternoon, beginning to glide into the long and beautiful twilight. The rays of the sun are yet upon the mountains, and tinge the summits of the woods, the rocks, and the castellated edifices, which adorn the landscape. The Tweed is gliding, in shadow, through the wooded vale, and the songs of the mavis and blackbird are echoing among the trees. A little above the bridge the clear waters of the Teviot and the Tweed flow together, as if attracted by each other's beauty. Beyond are the picturesque ruins of Roxburgh Castle, and somewhat nearer the ducal palace of Fleurs, rising amid a rich expanse of wooded decorations, sloping down to the very margin of the river; in front are gleaming two green islets of the Tweed, and between that river and the Teviot reposes the beautiful peninsula of Friar's Green, with the soft meadow in its foreground. On the south bank of the river are the mansion and woods of Springwood Park, and the bridge across the Teviot, on which are reposing the mellow rays of the setting sun. On the right the town lies along the bank of the river, with its elegant mansions and venerable abbey. There too is Ednam House, near which the poet Thomson had his birth. Far beyond these, the eye rests pleasantly on "the triple summits" of the Eildon Hills, looking down protectingly upon the vale of Tweed, the hills of Stitchell and Mellerstain, and the striking ruin of Home Castle, still arrayed in the purple and gold of departing day. Intermingled with all these are the windings and rippling currents of the river, clumps of rich green foliage, orchards laden with fruit, tufted rocks, verdant slopes, single trees of lofty stature, standing out from the rest, in the pride and pomp of their "leafy umbrage," cattle browsing peacefully on the banks of the stream, here and there a sylvan cottage, and an infinite variety of light and shade, of blending colors and changing forms, hallowed, moreover, by the hoary memories and poetical associations of by-gone days. No wonder that Leyden loved to wander in such scenes, or that Scott, a more transcendent genius, should have ascribed to this influence the awakening in his soul "of that insatiable love of natural scenery, more especially when combined with ancient ruins, or remains of our fathers' piety and splendor," which gave a charm to his life, and imparted to the productions of his genius a warmth and richness of coloring unequalled in the history of literature.

But it is time to return to our comfortable hotel in Kelso, where mine host, who is an honest, round-faced, rosy-cheeked, good-natured Scot, will give us good cheer for supper, and a bed soft as down upon which to repose our weary limbs.

Well now, this is pleasant! Here in this snug room, with a cheerful cup of tea, and such toast, broiled chicken, and other edibles, as mine host only can produce, we feel as easy and independent as kings, aye, and a great deal more so; for who so satisfied and happy as the man, whatever his estate, who has a clear conscience, a mind brimful of sweet memories, a heart grateful to God and attached to those he loves? Let any person only do what is right, trust in God, enjoy nature, cultivate his mind, exercise his body, and he may secure as much happiness as falls to the lot of mortals. Trials may come, but joys will come also. All things shall "work together for good."

But it is easy moralizing over a good cup of tea, with a cheerful fire blazing in the grate, and a soft bed in prospect for weary limbs. Moreover, I promised to give you some account of Leyden, poet and antiquary, scholar and traveler.

John Leyden was born in 1775, in Denholm, Roxburghshire, not far from Kelso, of poor but honest parents. He displayed in early life the most eager desire for learning, but possessed few opportunities for gratifying it, as he had to spend much of his time in manual toil. His parents, however, seeing his thirst for knowledge, resolved to send him to Edinburgh University. He entered this institution in his fifteenth year, and made unusual progress in his studies. He distinguished himself in the Latin and Greek languages, acquired the French, Spanish, Italian and German, besides forming some acquaintance with the Hebrew, Arabic and Persian. During his college vacations he returned to the humble roof of his parents, and as the accommodations of the house were scanty, he looked for a place of study elsewhere. "In a wild recess," says Sir Walter Scott, who has furnished an animated biography of Leyden, "in the den or glen which gives name to the village of Denholm, he contrived a sort of furnace for the purpose of such chemical experiments as he was adequate to performing. But his chief place of retirement was the small parish church, a gloomy and ancient building, generally believed in the neighborhood to be haunted. To this chosen place of study, usually locked during week days, Leyden made entrance by means of a window, read there for many hours in the day, and deposited his books and specimens in a retired pew. It was a well chosen spot for seclusion, for the kirk, (excepting during divine service,) is rather a place of terror to the Scottish rustic, and that of Cavers was rendered more so by many a tale of ghosts and witchcraft, of which it was the supposed scene, and to which Leyden, partly to indulge his humor, and partly to secure his retirement, contrived to make some modern additions. The nature of his abstruse studies, some specimens of natural history, as toads and adders, left exposed in their spirit vials, and one or two practical jests played off upon the more curious of the peasantry, rendered his gloomy haunt, not only venerated by the wise, but feared by the simple of the parish."

Leyden was originally intended for the clerical profession, but abandoned it for more secular employments. His spirit was intense, restless and ambitious, and he longed for foreign travel and literary distinction. After spending five years at college, he became tutor to a highly respectable family, with whose sons he repaired to the University of St. Andrews, where he pursued his Oriental studies, and in 1799 published a History of African Discoveries. He was the author, also, of various translations and poems, which attracted considerable attention and introduced him to the best society. In 1800 he was ordained as a minister, and his discourses were highly popular; but he was dissatisfied with them, and felt that he was called to a different sphere. He continued to write and compose, contributed to Lewis's "Tales of Wonder," and Scott's "Border Minstrelsy." He was an enthusiastic admirer of the old ballads, and on one occasion actually walked between forty and fifty miles for the sole purpose of visiting an old person who possessed an ancient historical ballad. He edited the "Scot's Magazine," for a year, and published "The Complaynt of Scotland," an old work written about 1548, which he accompanied with a learned dissertation, notes and a glossary. His strong desire to visit foreign lands induced his friends to procure for him an appointment in India, where he might study the oriental languages and literature. The only situation which they found available was that of assistant surgeon, for which it was necessary to have a medical diploma. But such was the energy, decision and perseverance of Leyden's character, that he qualified himself in six months; and not long after set out for Madras. Before taking his departure he finished his "Scenes of Infancy," as it were, the last token of his love for Scotland, which he never again beheld. He was resolved to distinguish himself or die in the attempt. Indeed a premonition of such an issue seems to have haunted his mind, and was expressed, with touching beauty, in his "Scenes of Infancy."

After his arrival in Madras, his health became impaired, and he removed to Prince of Wales Island. He resided there some time, visiting the neighboring countries, and amassing curious information on the literature and history of the Indo-Chinese, which he embodied in an elaborate dissertation read before the Asiatic Society at Calcutta. Quitting Prince of Wales Island, Leyden was appointed a professor in the Bengal College, which he soon exchanged for the office of judge, a more lucrative employment. His spare time was devoted to the prosecution of his oriental studies. "I may die in the attempt," he wrote to a friend, "but if I die without surpassing Sir William Jones a hundredfold in oriental learning, let never a tear for me profane the eye of a borderer." In 1811 he accompanied the governor general to Java. His spirit of bold adventure led him literally to rush upon death. He threw himself into the surf in order to be the first Briton who should set foot upon Java. When the invaders had taken possession of Batavia, the same reckless eagerness took him into a cold damp library, in which were many books and manuscripts. Affected perhaps by the disease of the climate he had a fit of shivering on leaving the library, and declared that the atmosphere was enough to give any one a mortal fever. In three days after he died, August 28, 1811, on the eve of the battle which secured Java to the British Empire.

Leyden's Poetical Remains were published in 1819, with a memoir. In addition to the "Scenes of Infancy," it contains some vigorous ballads. To one of these, "The Mermaid," as well as to the untimely death of its author, Sir Walter Scott has referred in his "Lord of the Isles."

His "Scenes of Infancy" is distinguished for the sweetness of its versification, and its pleasant pictures of the vale of Teviot. In strength and enthusiasm, it is much inferior to his ballads. The opening of "The Mermaid," has been praised by Sir Walter Scott "as exhibiting a power of numbers, which for mere melody of sound has rarely been excelled."

But better known, and far more affecting, is Leyden's "Ode to an Indian Gold Coin," written in Cherical, Malabar, which in addition to its vigor and beauty, has a fine moral which it is not necessary to point out.

While conversing about Leyden, we must not forget a gentler, purer spirit, Mary Lundie Duncan, who first saw the light "amid the blossoms of Kelso," and whose young heart first warbled its poetic strains on the banks of the Tweed. Her "Memoir," by her gifted mother, is one of the most beautiful and touching biographies in the English language. Possessed of genius and piety, at once pure and tender, her brief life was the fair but changeful spring-time which preceded the long summer of eternity.

Some of Mary Lundie Duncan's poems are characterized not merely by purity and elevation of sentiment, but by sweetness and melody of versification. The following written at "Callander," though not without defects, indicates the possession of true poetical genius.

Mary's contributions to "The Philosophy of the Seasons," over the signature of M. L. D., such as "The Rose," "The Bat," "Sabbath Morning," an "Autumnal Sabbath Evening," are simple and elegant, indicating the possession of good sense and a refined imagination. Like her brother Archibald Lundie, who went to the South Sea Islands in order to benefit his health, and to labor in the sublime work of Christian missions, Mary passed away in the morning of her days, but not without leaving a blessed fragrance behind her, which yet lingers, not over Scotland alone, but over the whole Christian world. And well might her stricken yet resigned and hopeful mother say, in the words quoted at the close of her daughter's Memoir:

The Duncan family to which Mary Lundie, by her marriage with one of the sons, belonged, is one of the most interesting in Scotland. All of its members seem possessed of fine talents, devoted piety, and generous affections. Two of the sons, with the father, were ministers of the established church of Scotland at the time of the secession of the Free Church from that body, and made a sacrifice, for conscience' sake, of agreeable situations and handsome incomes. Without the slightest hesitation, and without a murmur even, they abandoned their beautiful manses, their churches and people, and threw themselves, with their brethren of the Free Church, upon the providence of God, not knowing what might be the issues of that sublime movement. "The Philosophy of the Seasons,"[179] though written mainly by the father, the Rev. Dr. Duncan of Ruthwell, received contributions from all the members of the family, and remains a splendid monument of their talents, piety and mutual affection. It is fast becoming a classic. Filled with information, and imbued with a spirit of fervid piety, and, moreover, written in a lucid, flowing style, it is well fitted at once to instruct and please.

As Dr. Duncan has recently deceased, a brief sketch of his life may not be uninteresting in this connection.

Dr. Henry Duncan was "a son of the Manse." He was born in 1774, at Lochrutton, in the stewartry of Kirkcudbright, of which his father and his grandfather were ministers successively, during a period of eighty years, a striking instance of pastoral permanence. If wealth consists "in the number of things we love," then those good men must have been rich beyond the common lot of ministers; and young Henry must have received from them a rich heritage of blessings. He was educated at the Universities of St. Andrews, Glasgow, and Edinburgh. While attending the latter he was a member of the "Speculative Society," to which many of the most distinguished literary characters belonged, and associated freely with Lord Brougham, the Marquis of Landsdowne, Dr. Andrew Thomson and others. He became the pastor of the Established church in Ruthwell, Dumfriesshire, where he labored with great success for many years. He died in the forty-seventh year of his ministry.

Dr. Duncan was imbued with a spirit of enlarged Christian benevolence, and felt a peculiar interest in the amelioration of the condition of the poorer classes. Hence he formed the scheme of the "Cheap Repository Tracts," addressed to the working classes, and designed to enforce the most useful lessons suited to their condition. It was in this collection that his "Cottage Fireside" was first published, a production which became exceedingly popular, and passed through many editions. The book abounds in happy delineations of Scottish manners, fine strokes of humor, and admirable lessons of practical wisdom. "The South Country Weaver," possesses the same qualities and aims; and, in a time of excessive political excitement, did much to allay the discontent and revolutionary tendency of the people. He is also said to be the author of another work of a higher grade, written in the same style of fictitious narrative, and intended to vindicate the principles and proceedings of the Scottish Covenanters, from the aspersions cast upon them by the author of Waverley. This production has been highly esteemed by good judges of literary merit, but it never became popular.

It may well be supposed that Dr. Duncan felt a peculiar interest, not only in the spiritual but also in the temporal condition of his own parish, and hence he was ever devising plans for its benefit. In this respect he much resembled the benevolent Oberlin, whose well directed schemes turned the barren parish of Waldbach into a little paradise. Entering upon the duties of his charge at a time of national scarcity and distress, he imported from Liverpool, at considerable expense, and with great personal inconvenience, large quantities of food which he distributed among his poor parishioners He also devised new modes and sources of employment, and cheered them amid their privations by his counsel and sympathy. He instituted among them two admirable "Friendly Societies," one for males and another for females, the advantages of which are enjoyed to this day. But perhaps his highest claim to distinction as a philanthropist was the establishment of "The Ruthwell Parish Bank," the first "Savings Bank" in Europe, which, it is said, was suggested to him partly by the beneficial results and partly by the admitted defects of the Friendly Societies. His undoubted title to be regarded as the originator of "Savings Banks," has been acknowledged by the highest authorities; but it is not so generally known at what an immense expenditure of time, talent, energy and pecuniary means he succeeded in accomplishing this good object.

Dr. Duncan's learning and talents were of a high order, and these were devoted exclusively to the benefit of his fellow men. His principal literary work, "The Sacred Philosophy of the Seasons," was planned and written in a single year, an astonishing instance of mental energy, industry and talent. "Never were the different kingdoms and varying aspects of nature, the characteristics of the seasons, and all the grand and beautiful phenomena of the year, more philosophically and more eloquently described than in this charming book. The comprehensive views of the philosopher, the poetic feeling of the lover of nature, and the pious reflection of the Christian divine, are all combined in its pages, and win at once the admiration and affection of the reader." Here genius and piety, the love of nature and the love of God spread their sunlight over the face of creation, and make visible to all reverent and thoughtful minds

As a preacher Dr. Duncan was interesting and instructive, but not particularly striking and popular. In 1839 he was elected Moderator of the General Assembly, the highest honor the church could confer. Warmly attached to evangelical religion, and deeply interested in the purity and progress of the church of Christ throughout the world, he earnestly promoted the cause of Christian missions, and kindred schemes of benevolence. He was intimately associated with Dr. Chalmers and others, in sustaining the great principles of vital Christianity, the supremacy of Christ in his own church, and particularly the freedom and independence of his ministers. "True, therefore, to the principles he had espoused, and ever warmly defended—true to what he considered the genuine constitution of the Scottish church, this venerable and amiable father left, in the ever memorable year 1843, that manse, which he had inhabited for four and forty long and happy years, and which his own fine taste had so greatly beautified and adorned—that hallowed home in which his dutiful and attached children had been reared—in which his first beloved wife had died, and which was associated with many delightful recollections of joy and kindness, and prayer, indelibly engraven on many hearts—for there was many a young idea fostered, and many a guest and many a stranger hospitably entertained. But with a cloud of many eminent witnesses, whose names will be embalmed in the records of their country, Dr. Duncan lifted up his testimony for the glorious prerogative of Zion's King, and counted the reproach of Christ greater riches than all the treasures of earth. And actuated by the same spirit of faith as the martyrs and confessors of other days—the men of whom the world was not worthy—he abandoned, at an advanced age, all the comforts of his lovely and endeared home, and all the emoluments and delights connected with it, and meekly took up his lowly dwelling in an humble cottage by the way-side, willingly enduring hardship, and submitting to ingratitude from man, that he might honor his God and hold fast his integrity, dearer to him than life. He was one of seven moderators of the old General Assembly, men like himself of high name and holy deeds, who sacrificed all their honors and emoluments, and cast in their lot with the Free Church of Scotland, that they might display a banner for the truth, and who, when driven by a cruel and miserable policy from those altars which they sanctified, went forth, a veteran band of Christian heroes, and preached the Gospel of peace and salvation under the broad canopy of heaven, with gray hairs streaming in the breeze."

During the summer of 1843 Dr. Duncan preached in the open air, but finally succeeded by great efforts, in securing a site, and erecting upon it a church and a manse, a school and a schoolmaster's house. A suitable successor was appointed to this charge, and Dr. Duncan removed his residence to the city of Edinburgh. But his affections lingered around his beloved Ruthwell, and he undertook a journey to England to secure funds to pay off the debt upon the new buildings and bring them to a state of completion. Having accomplished his object, he returned to Scotland in excellent spirits, and reached Comlogan Castle, the residence of his brother-in-law. On that and the succeeding day he occupied himself in laying out the grounds about the manse and giving directions respecting the buildings. On the following Sabbath he preached to an overflowing audience. Monday and Tuesday were devoted to visiting his old parishioners. He was invited to address a prayer meeting at the house of an elder of the Established church, and it was while engaged in the performance of that duty that the messenger of Death met him. He had not spoken ten minutes, when his voice trembled, his body shuddered, and it was evident to all that he was struck with a sudden paralysis. He was immediately conveyed to Comlogan Castle. "On his way, though his speech was much affected, his consciousness was entire, and he repeatedly lifted up his hand, in devout admiration of God's beautiful works, for the moon, surrounded by thousands of stars, was shedding its calm and chastened lustre over the face of Nature, and presented a meet emblem of the inward peace of the dying saint, whose characteristic taste and love of Nature's beauties were still manifested even in this trying hour."[180] After two days, in which he suffered little pain, he gently "fell asleep in Jesus," on Thursday evening, 12th of February, 1846.

Daylight is on the hills, and we are off once more down the Tweed, which gathers volume by accessions from tributary streams, and mirrors in its clear bosom many a happy home, nestling among the trees on its banks. We pass Coldstream, on the north bank of the Tweed, from its proximity to England a sort of Gretna Green in former times, where Lord Brougham was married at one of the hotels; whence we journey to Tillmouth; at which place the Till, a narrow, deep, sullen stream, flows into the Tweed. Beneath Twisel Castle, which stands upon its banks, you see the ancient bridge by which the English crossed the Till before the battle of Flodden.

Flodden Field, on which the "flowers of the forest," were cut down so mercilessly, is not far from here, and the whole region seems invested with an air of "dule and wae."

Pursuing our way, we come to Norham Castle, so magnificently described in Marmion.

Nine miles further on, we arrive at "Berwick upon Tweed," where the river falls into the German Ocean, and where our wanderings in Scotland cease,—the scene of fierce struggles between the Scots and English. North Berwick was sometimes in the hands of the one, sometimes in the hands of the other. Its streets often ran blood; its walls echoed the tramp of armies, the shrieks of the wounded and the groans of the dying. Its old ramparts are yet standing; but all is quiet and passionless now. A sort of stillness pervades the place, in striking contrast with the havoc and turmoil of the ancient Border wars. The environs are full of historic recollections, which have been well illustrated in the "Border Tales," by John Mackie Wilson, who was a native of Berwick, and resided here till his death. This event took place, suddenly and unexpectedly, on the 2d of September, 1835, when he was only thirty-one years of age. His early days were spent, in peace and happiness, under the parental roof. At school he was distinguished for his love of knowledge, and the rapidity with which he executed all his tasks. At a suitable age he was apprenticed to a printer, and found the employment congenial, as it brought him into contact with books. Eagerly thirsting for knowledge, he soon exhausted his scanty means of gratifying his taste in Berwick on Tweed, and leaving the place of his nativity, repaired to London, where he encountered the greatest difficulties and hardships. It is said that some of the most touching descriptions of the sufferings endured by the aspirant for fame were actually endured by himself, and "that the sobs and tears which involuntarily burst from the family circle when these tales were read, were poured forth for him whose pen had described them." Often amid the splendor of London, did he wander "homeless and friendless." But nothing could repress the native ardor and buoyancy of his mind. And amid all the darkness of the night which enveloped his pathway, he was ever looking for sunrise. Despair and poverty, however, drove him from the British metropolis, and he was forced to seek in the provinces what he could not find in London, nor did he seek in vain. He reaped "a golden harvest of opinions;" but poverty continued to be his companion for years. During a sojourn in the city of Edinburgh, he published several dramas and other poems, which had a share of success. He wrote a series of "Lectures and Biographical Sketches," which he delivered with considerable eclat in different towns of Scotland and England. Three years before his death "he rested from his wanderings," in his native village, among his friends and early associates, having been invited to become editor of "The Berwick Advertiser," which he conducted with great spirit. Amid his labors as an editor, he found time to indulge his taste for literature, and the matter of his journal was often enlivened by his own literary and poetical effusions. But it was "The Border Tales," which made him a decided favorite with the public, and gave him a warm place in the Scottish heart. They were published in a fugitive form, and commanded a circulation far beyond the author's most sanguine hopes. It was from these that he and his friends saw a prospect of reward for his toils. But the scene which was thus opening upon him was blighted,—and from the high place which he had gained in the estimation of his townsmen, from the caresses of his friends, and from the reproaches of his foes, he now lies "where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest."

We do not admire Wilson's poetry as a whole; and yet some beautiful strains might be culled from it. He wrote rapidly and diffusely; throwing off everything at a first draft, without much correction or polish. His "Border Tales" are quite miscellaneous in their character, and contain much that he would doubtless have thrown out, had he lived to place them in a permanent form. They are written diffusely and carelessly. But with all their faults, they give indications of genius, humor and pathos, a keen insight into character, great descriptive powers, and a fine conception of the beautiful and true. Some of them are told with great pith and raciness; and though inferior in some respects, to Professor Wilson's "Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life," are more natural and easy, more characteristic and amusing. Upon the whole, they give a better idea of the Scottish character than the Professor's splendid, but exaggerated pictures. James Mackay Wilson died too young for his fame; but his simple tales will be read, for many a day, in the homes of "bonny Scotland." Among other things, they give a just representation of the religious character of the Scottish peasantry. While their faults and foibles are depicted with graphic power, their solemn faith, their profound enthusiasm, and their leal-hearted piety are exhibited in beautiful relief. Justice is done to the old Covenanters, whose rough patriotism and burning zeal were the salvation of their native land. Long may their martyr spirit, softened by charity, prevail in Scotland; and generations yet unborn shall "rise up and call her blessed."

In this series of sketches, now brought to a close, it has been the author's aim to make a contribution to literature, which, while it might prove attractive, would yet exert a pure moral influence. Such an excursion beyond the peculiar limits of his profession, he thinks, was permitted him, and may tend in some slight degree to promote the great object for which he desires to live. At all events, if he has accomplished nothing more, he has yet succeeded in calling up "a gentle vision" of "Auld Lang Syne," by which his own heart has been solaced and cheered.

[51] Since then.