Another excursion from Melrose, may well be made,, down Tweed-dale, to the remains of the two other great abbeys of the Border, the vicinity of both of which is accessible by rail: the one is the very broken but noble ruin in the central part of the town of Kelso; the other is the more entire and imposing church in the town of Jedburgh, - a place very prettily situated in the valley of the picturesque Jed Water, and deserving more visits than are made to it. This latter edifice is, indeed, perhaps the most complete monastic relic in Scotland. It is built of red sandstone, grown olive or reddish gray, or blackened by a fire that once consumed much of it. The nave, about one hundred and thirty feet long, was fitted up as a parish church about a century and a half ago, and is one of the most imposing places of the sort in Scotland, showing, as does St. Mungo's at Glasgow, what other glorious ecclesiastical buildings might now be. The south transept is nearly destroyed. The north is in repair and enclosed, forming the burial-place of the family of the Marquis of Lothian. The choir, the oldest portion, is of the most massive Norman work. The central tower, a hundred feet high, and still bearing pinnacles, parapet, and roof, commands a pleasing view, east and west upon hills bearing country-seats; south up the vale of the Jed to the Carter Fell, to which there is a delightful walk; and north over the town, and down the vale. Close around is a church-yard, and also the site of the ancient gardens of the abbey. The abbey is yet two hundred and thirty feet long from east to west, and is well kept. The people of the town were once great fighters, and famous for their war-cry, "Jeddart's here!" An execution at this place in 1608 gave rise to a Scotch phrase of the American "Lynch law," in the saying, "Jeddart justice," meaning, "hang first and judge afterwards." Kelso Abbey is a fragment of a remarkable historical monument. Founded by King David, in 1128, it was built in massive Norman grandeur, rivalling that of Durham Cathedral, across the English border. Repeatedly it experienced the devastations of war until, in 1545, when it was defended against an English force, it was captured, and, in wanton barbarity, made a ruin. Portions of the west front, the transepts, and the great central tower, now remain, shattered, gray, huge, — demonstrating with their ponderous, forms how strongly religion and peace must be protected in this land during the Middle Age, and how widely contrasted that turbulent period is from our times, exemplified in the tranquil town now beneath these yet mighty walls. This abbey, like the other religious houses of the Scottish Border, is a sad memorial of English outrages at the middle of the sixteenth century; and those who perpetrated them must bear large share of the condemnation due to the iconoclasts in North Britain. XXXV. "THE MONASTERY." Eleventh Novel of the Series; Written 1819-20; Published March, 1820; ONE NE more particularly noticeable excursion in the vicinity of Melrose, and in the "Land of Scott," remains to be described; and that is to some of the chief scenery of this story,—not yet mentioned, — principally in the vale of Allen, about five miles from the abbey. The author, in his introduction to this story, written in 1830, informs us that the general plan "was to conjoin two characters in that bustling and contentious age, who, thrown into situations which gave them different views on the subject of the Reformation, should, with the same sincerity and purity of intention, dedicate themselves, the one to the support of the sinking fabric of the Catholic Church, the other to the establishment of the Reformed doctrines. It was supposed that some interesting subjects for narrative might be derived from opposing two such enthusiasts to each other in the path of life, and contrasting the real worth of both with their passions and prejudices. The localities of Melrose suited well the scenery of the proposed story,” with their abundant suggestions of ecclesiastical and warlike affairs; with the crumbling remains of the old town, and "the abandoned churchyard of Boldside," haunted by fairies, and with an even "more familiar refuge of the elfin race," the glen of the Allen, "popularly termed the Fairy Dean." "Indeed," he continued, "the country around Melrose, if possessing less of romantic beauty than some other scenes in Scotland, is connected with so many associations of a fanciful nature, in which the imagination takes delight, as might well induce one even less attached to the spot than the author, to accommodate, after a general manner, the imaginary scenes he was framing to the localities to which he was partial." And he has done this, although not aiming at exact portraiture. "The scenery," he added, "being thus ready at the author's hand, the reminiscences of the country were equally favorable. . . . Machinery remained, — the introduction of the supernatural and marvellous." And of the latter supposed want came the celebrated "White Lady of Avenel," who was one of a sort of beings anciently thought to exist, maintaining relations "between the creatures of the elements and the children of men." "There was no great violence in supposing such a being as this to have existed while the elementary spirits were believed in." With this brief sketch of the author's motives to the story, we may begin to look upon his picturing of life, amid these scenes, variedly animated as they were at a period when feudalism and the power of the ancient Church were passing away before the innovations attending the spirit of change and free inquiry, so conspicuous during the sixteenth century. The first chapter introduces us to the central scene, - the village of Kennaquhair, "long famous for the splendid Monastery of Saint Mary, founded by David the First of Scotland, in whose reign were formed, in the same county, the no less splendid establishments of Melrose, Jedburgh, and Kelso." During wars immediately previous to the time represented, these establishments "had suffered dreadfully by hostile invasions. For the English, now a Protestant people, were so far from sparing the church-lands, that they forayed them with more unrelenting severity than even the possessions of the laity. But the peace of 1550 had restored some degree of tranquillity. . . . The monks repaired their ravaged shrines - the feuar again roofed his small fortalice which the enemy had ruined — the poor laborer rebuilt his cottage," and the cattle were driven home from wastes where a few had been preserved secreted. In this calm after a storm, and before tempests that were to devastate cloister and keep, Scott has described the condition of the feudal vassals and of the church-feuars, — that of the latter, under the more skilled direction of the monks, being superior to that of the former under their turbulent lords. Mosstrooping thievery was not uncommon. The monks lived on good terms with the families of their dependants, visited the better class of these familiarly, and were received respectfully; while by the more general population they were regarded with the deference given to intelligence and wealth, even if they were in a degree despised for want of warlike enterprise. But, on the whole, "they lived as much as they well could amongst themselves, avoiding the company of others, and dreading nothing more than to be involved in the deadly feuds and ceaseless contentions of the secular landholders." The action of the story opens at "a lonely tower" in a poor little hamlet. "The site was a beautiful green knoll, which started up suddenly in the very throat of a wild and narrow glen, and which, being surrounded, except on one side, by the winding of a small stream, afforded a position of considerable strength.... Its great security," however, "lay in its secluded and almost hidden situation. To reach the tower, it was necessary to travel three miles up the glen," frequently to cross the stream, and carefully to select a route along the steep, rugged, environing hillsides. The few inhabitants and visitors "attached to the scene feelings fitting the time. Its name, signifying the Red Valley," the story informs, seemed derived from the dark-red color of the heath flowers, the bared earth, and craggy rocks abounding in it. Its solitudes, furthermore, were thought to be haunted by supernatural beings. This place, called Glendearg in the novel, has been thought to have its original in the Vale of Allen Water, before mentioned, and the tower described to be that of Hillslop, near the head of the glen, although Colmslie Tower, one of three situated closely together there, has been thought by some to be the prototype. Certainly the vale is very suggestive of Glendearg. One goes rather northward, about three miles up it from the Tweed, to a spot about five miles from Melrose, and finds it with a narrow bottom, bounded, each side, by varied hills. Westward these present long, and rather moderate, uneven slopes, - now agricultural in aspect, with large grain or turnip or grass fields, separated, as are the fields in this region, by dark walls of small broken stones, somewhat in New-England style. Eastward the hills, more abrupt and broken, are grassy, and varied by much iron-gray rock surface, or patches of brown heather. Along these sides are few trees; but a considerable number are scattered near a stream traversing the bottom of the vale. At the foot of the glen there is, or was recently, a forest. The stream, when one reaches the upper end of the glen, appears almost ludicrously small. The three towers stand forlorn, in a remote out-of-the-world opening, quiet and rural now, where are also a few scattered cottages. The hillsides around this spot, except where there are tracts of plantations, are bare enough. The chief natural ornaments of the scene, that the writer found, were many large, handsome walnuttrees growing near the towers. One of these structures - Colmslie is very ruinous. It is of the usual Border style, built a basement and two stories high, of rough, gray stones, with parti-colored, flush, sandstone quoins. The upper parts of the walls are now gone, and the windows broken out. The principal tower— Hillslop is more entire and interesting, — indeed, quite a story-book sort of relic, suggesting a great deal of the outward aspect of the higher-class Border life of the troubled generation that lived at the time to which the novel refers. This tower is shaped, on the ground, like an inverted capital letter (), and is built of various small stones, now gray and mouldering with lichens. There are rude quoins of the same stone, a blank basement, and above, windows with sandstone casings, also rude. At the re-entering angle is a quarter-round turret resting upon a sandstone corbel above the entrance door, just there. In this turret is a dilapidated windingstair, leading to a hall with a large chimney-piece. In the basement were smaller apartments, stone-built, and gloomy, one of which received the proprietor's cattle when danger threatened. Above the hall were small rooms, — chambers, and the like. The massive walls are yet tolerably entire, although the roof and upper flooring have disappeared. Near by, are remains of outworks or out-buildings. A little anachronism appears, if one supposes that a stone in the tower, inscribed 1585, gives the date of erection, — that year being subsequent to the time of the story. The structure, without nice criticism on chronology, is, however, typical enough of that period. The third tower, Langshaw, hardly requires description after these. At Hillslop, then, as the storied Glendearg, the action opens, |