remarkably beautiful and delicate, and the two windows--the south and
east oriels--are of a lightness and grace of execution really
surprising. We saw the tomb of Michael Scott, of King Alexander II, and
that of the Douglas, marked with a sword. The heart of Bruce is supposed
to have been buried beneath the high altar. The chancel is all open to
the sky, and rooks build their nests among the wild ivy that climbs over
the crumbling arches. One of these came tamely down and perched upon the
hand of our fair guide. By a winding stair in one of the towers we
mounted to the top of the arch and looked down on the grassy floor. I
sat on the broken pillar, which Scott always used for a seat when he
visited the Abbey, and read the disinterring of the magic book, in the
"Lay of the Last Minstrel." I never comprehended its full beauty till
then: the memory of Melrose will give it a thrilling interest, in the
future. When we left, I was willing to say, with the Minstrel:

"Was never scene so sad and fair!"

After seeing the home and favorite haunt of Scott, we felt a wish to
stand by his grave, but we had Ancrum Moor to pass before night, and the
Tweed was between us and Dryburgh Abbey. We did not wish to try another
watery adventure, and therefore walked on to the village of Ancrum,
where a gate-keeper on the road gave us lodging and good fare, for a
moderate price. Many of this class practise this double employment, and
the economical traveller, who looks more to comfort than luxury, will
not fail to patronize them.

Next morning we took a foot-path over the hills to Jedburgh. From the
summit there was a lovely view of the valley of the Teviot, with the
blue Cheviots in the distance. I thought of Pringle's beautiful
farewell: