Melrose is a village of rather antique aspect, situated on the slope and
at the bottom of the Eildon Hills, which, from this point of view, appear
like one hill, with a double summit. The village, as I said, has an old
look, though many of the houses have at least been refronted at some
recent date; but others are as ancient, I suppose, as the days when the
Abbey was in its splendor,--a rustic and peasant-like antiquity, however,
low-roofed, and straw-thatched. There is an aged cross of stone in the
centre of the town.

Our first object, of course, was to see the Abbey, which stands just on
the outskirts of the village, and is attainable only by applying at a
neighboring house, the inhabitant of which probably supports himself, and
most comfortably, too, as a showman of the ruin. He unlocked the wooden
gate, and admitted us into what is left of the Abbey, comprising only the
ruins of the church, although the refectory, the dormitories, and the
other parts of the establishment, formerly covered the space now occupied
by a dozen village houses. Melrose Abbey is a very satisfactory ruin,
all carpeted along its nave and transepts with green grass; and there are
some well-grown trees within the walls. We saw the window, now empty,
through which the tints of the painted glass fell on the tombstone of
Michael Scott, and the tombstone itself, broken in three pieces, but with
a cross engraven along its whole length. It must have been the monument
of an old monk or abbot, rather than a wizard. There, too, is still the
"marble stone" on which the monk and warrior sat them down, and which is
supposed to mark the resting-place of Alexander of Scotland. There are
remains, both without and within the Abbey, of most curious and
wonderfully minute old sculpture,--foliage, in places where it is almost
impossible to see them, and where the sculptor could not have supposed
that they would be seen, but which yet are finished faithfully, to the