miles, before breakfast. After ascending a hill, descended, and
overlooked a dell, on the opposite side of which was an old mansion,
surrounded with trees and steep gardens, a curious and pleasing, yet
melancholy spot; for the house and gardens were evidently going to decay,
and the whole of the small dell, except near the house, was unenclosed
and uncultivated, being a sheep-walk to the top of the hills. Descended
to Gala Water, a pretty stream, but much smaller than the Tweed, into
which the brook flows from the glen I have spoken of. Near the Gala is a
large modern house, the situation very pleasant, but the old building
which we had passed put to shame the fresh colouring and meagre outline
of the new one. Went through a part of the village of Galashiels,
pleasantly situated on the bank of the stream; a pretty place it once has
been, but a manufactory is established there; and a townish bustle and
ugly stone houses are fast taking place of the brown-roofed thatched
cottages, of which a great number yet remain, partly overshadowed by
trees. Left the Gala, and, after crossing the open country, came again
to the Tweed, and pursued our way as before near the river, perhaps for a
mile or two, till we arrived at Melrose. The valley for this short space
was not so pleasing as before, the hills more broken, and though the
cultivation was general, yet the scene was not rich, while it had lost
its pastoral simplicity. At Melrose the vale opens out wide; but the
hills are high all round--single distinct risings. After breakfast we
went out, intending to go to the Abbey, and in the street met Mr. Scott,
who gave us a cordial greeting, and conducted us thither himself. He was
here on his own ground, for he is familiar with all that is known of the
authentic history of Melrose and the popular tales connected with it. He
pointed out many pieces of beautiful sculpture in obscure corners which
would have escaped our notice. The Abbey has been built of a pale red
stone; that part which was first erected of a very durable kind, the
sculptured flowers and leaves and other minute ornaments being as perfect
in many places as when first wrought. The ruin is of considerable
extent, but unfortunately it is almost surrounded by insignificant
houses, so that when you are close to it you see it entirely separated
from many rural objects, and even when viewed from a distance the
situation does not seem to be particularly happy, for the vale is broken
and disturbed, and the Abbey at a distance from the river, so that you do
not look upon them as companions of each other. And surely this is a
national barbarism: within these beautiful walls is the ugliest church
that was ever beheld--if it had been hewn out of the side of a hill it
could not have been more dismal; there was no neatness, nor even decency,
and it appeared to be so damp, and so completely excluded from fresh air,
that it must be dangerous to sit in it; the floor is unpaved, and very
rough. What a contrast to the beautiful and graceful order apparent in
every part of the ancient design and workmanship! Mr. Scott went with us
into the gardens and orchards of a Mr. Riddel, from which we had a very
sweet view of the Abbey through trees, the town being entirely excluded.
Dined with Mr. Scott at the inn; he was now travelling to the assizes at
Jedburgh in his character of Sheriff of Selkirk, and on that account, as
well as for his own sake, he was treated with great respect, a small part
of which was vouchsafed to us as his friends, though I could not persuade
the woman to show me the beds, or to make any sort of promise till she
was assured from the Sheriff himself that he had no objection to sleep in
the same room with William.
* * * * *
_Tuesday_, _September_ 20_th_.--Mr. Scott departed very early for
Jedburgh, and we soon followed, intending to go by Dryburgh to Kelso. It
was a fine morning. We went without breakfast, being told that there was
a public-house at Dryburgh. The road was very pleasant, seldom out of
sight of the Tweed for any length of time, though not often close to it.
The valley is not so pleasantly defined as between Peebles and
Clovenford, yet so soft and beautiful, and in many parts pastoral, but
that peculiar and pensive simplicity which I have spoken of before was
wanting, yet there was a fertility chequered with wildness which to many
travellers would be more than a compensation. The reaches of the vale
were shorter, the turnings more rapid, the banks often clothed with wood.
In one place was a lofty scar, at another a green promontory, a small
hill skirted by the river, the hill above irregular and green, and
scattered over with trees. We wished we could have brought the ruins of
Melrose to that spot, and mentioned this to Mr. Scott, who told us that
the monks had first fixed their abode there, and raised a temporary
building of wood. The monastery of Melrose was founded by a colony from
Rievaux Abbey in Yorkshire, which building it happens to resemble in the
colour of the stone, and I think partly in the style of architecture, but
is much smaller, that is, has been much smaller, for there is not at
Rievaux any one single part of the ruin so large as the remains of the
church at Melrose, though at Rievaux a far more extensive ruin remains.
It is also much grander, and the situation at present much more
beautiful, that ruin not having suffered like Melrose Abbey from the
encroachments of a town. The architecture at Melrose is, I believe,
superior in the exactness and taste of some of the minute ornamental
parts; indeed, it is impossible to conceive anything more delicate than
the workmanship, especially in the imitations of flowers.
We descended to Dryburgh after having gone a considerable way upon high
ground. A heavy rain when we reached the village, and there was no
public-house. A well-dressed, well-spoken woman courteously--shall I say
charitably?--invited us into her cottage, and permitted us to make
breakfast; she showed us into a neat parlour, furnished with prints, a
mahogany table, and other things which I was surprised to see, for her
husband was only a day-labourer, but she had been Lady Buchan's
waiting-maid, which accounted for these luxuries and for a noticeable
urbanity in her manners. All the cottages in this neighbourhood, if I am
not mistaken, were covered with red tiles, and had chimneys. After
breakfast we set out in the rain to the ruins of Dryburgh Abbey, which
are near Lord Buchan's house, and, like Bothwell Castle, appropriated to
the pleasure of the owner. We rang a bell at the gate, and, instead of a
porter, an old woman came to open it through a narrow side-alley cut in a
thick plantation of evergreens. On entering, saw the thatch of her hut
just above the trees, and it looked very pretty, but the poor creature
herself was a figure to frighten a child,--bowed almost double, having a
hooked nose and overhanging eyebrows, a complexion stained brown with
smoke, and a cap that might have been worn for months and never washed.
No doubt she had been cowering over her peat fire, for if she had emitted
smoke by her breath and through every pore, the odour could not have been
stronger. This ancient woman, by right of office, attended us to show
off the curiosities, and she had her tale as perfect, though it was not
quite so long a one, as the gentleman Swiss, whom I remember to have seen
at Blenheim with his slender wand and dainty white clothes. The house of
Lord Buchan and the Abbey stand upon a large flat peninsula, a green holm
almost covered with fruit-trees. The ruins of Dryburgh are much less
extensive than those of Melrose, and greatly inferior both in the
architecture and stone, which is much mouldered away. Lord Buchan has
trained pear-trees along the walls, which are bordered with flowers and
gravel walks, and he has made a pigeon-house, and a fine room in the
ruin, ornamented with a curiously-assorted collection of busts of eminent
men, in which lately a ball was given; yet, deducting for all these
improvements, which are certainly much less offensive than you could
imagine, it is a very sweet ruin, standing so enclosed in wood, which the
towers overtop, that you cannot know that it is not in a state of natural
desolation till you are close to it. The opposite bank of the Tweed is
steep and woody, but unfortunately many of the trees are firs. The old
woman followed us after the fashion of other guides, but being slower of
foot than a younger person, it was not difficult to slip away from the
scent of her poor smoke-dried body. She was sedulous in pointing out the
curiosities, which, I doubt not, she had a firm belief were not to be
surpassed in England or Scotland.
Having promised us a sight of the largest and oldest yew-tree ever seen,
she conducted us to it; it was a goodly tree, but a mere dwarf compared
with several of our own country--not to speak of the giant of Lorton. We
returned to the cottage, and waited some time in hopes that the rain
would abate, but it grew worse and worse, and we were obliged to give up
our journey, to Kelso, taking the direct road to Jedburgh.
We had to ford the Tweed, a wide river at the crossing-place. It would
have been impossible to drive the horse through, for he had not forgotten
the fright at Connel Ferry, so we hired a man to lead us. After crossing
the water, the road goes up the bank, and we had a beautiful view of the
ruins of the Abbey, peering above the trees of the woody peninsula,
which, in shape, resembles that formed by the Tees at Lickburn, but is
considerably smaller. Lord Buchan's house is a very neat, modest
building, and almost hidden by trees. It soon began to rain heavily.
Crossing the Teviot by a stone bridge--the vale in that part very
wide--there was a great deal of ripe corn, but a want of trees, and no
appearance of richness. Arrived at Jedburgh half an hour before the
Judges were expected out of Court to dinner.
We gave in our passport--the name of Mr. Scott, the Sheriff--and were
very civilly treated, but there was no vacant room in the house except
the Judge's sitting-room, and we wanted to have a fire, being exceedingly
wet and cold. I was conducted into that room, on condition that I would
give it up the moment the Judge came from Court. After I had put off my
wet clothes I went up into a bedroom, and sate shivering there, till the
people of the inn had procured lodgings for us in a private house.
We were received with hearty welcome by a good woman, who, though above
seventy years old, moved about as briskly as if she was only seventeen.
Those parts of the house which we were to occupy were neat and clean; she
showed me every corner, and, before I had been ten minutes in the house,
opened her very drawers that I might see what a stock of linen she had;
then asked me how long we should stay, and said she wished we were come
for three months. She was a most remarkable person; the alacrity with
which she ran up-stairs when we rung the bell, and guessed at, and strove
to prevent, our wants was surprising; she had a quick eye, and keen
strong features, and a joyousness in her motions, like what used to be in
old Molly when she was particularly elated. I found afterwards that she
had been subject to fits of dejection and ill-health: we then conjectured
that her overflowing gaiety and strength might in part be attributed to
the same cause as her former dejection. Her husband was deaf and infirm,
and sate in a chair with scarcely the power to move a limb--an affecting
contrast! The old woman said they had been a very hard-working pair;
they had wrought like slaves at their trade--her husband had been a
currier; and she told me how they had portioned off their daughters with
money, and each a feather-bed, and that in their old age they had laid
out the little they could spare in building and furnishing that house,
and she added with pride that she had lived in her youth in the family of
Lady Egerton, who was no high lady, and now was in the habit of coming to
her house whenever she was at Jedburgh, and a hundred other things; for
when she once began with Lady Egerton, she did not know how to stop, nor
did I wish it, for she was very entertaining. Mr. Scott sate with us an
hour or two, and repeated a part of the Lay of the Last Minstrel. When
he was gone our hostess came to see if we wanted anything, and to wish us
good-night. On all occasions her manners were governed by the same
spirit: there was no withdrawing one's attention from her. We were so
much interested that William, long afterwards, thought it worth while to
express in verse the sensations which she had excited, and which then
remained as vividly in his mind as at the moment when we lost sight of
Jedburgh:--
Age! twine thy brows with fresh spring flowers,
And call a train of laughing Hours;
And bid them dance, and bid them sing,
And Thou, too, mingle in the Ring!
Take to thy heart a new delight!
If not, make merry in despite
That one should breathe who scorns thy power.
--But dance! for under Jedborough Tower
A Matron dwells who, tho' she bears
Our mortal complement of years,
Lives in the light of youthful glee,
And she will dance and sing with thee.
Nay! start not at that Figure--there!
Him who is rooted to his Chair!
Look at him, look again; for He
Hath long been of thy Family.
With legs that move not, if they can,
And useless arms, a Trunk of Man,
He sits, and with a vacant eye;
A Sight to make a Stranger sigh!
Deaf, drooping, such is now his doom;
His world is in that single room--
Is this a place for mirthful cheer?
Can merry-making enter here?
The joyous Woman is the Mate
Of him in that forlorn estate;
He breathes a subterraneous damp;
But bright as Vesper shines her lamp,
He is as mute as Jedborough Tower,
She jocund as it was of yore
With all its bravery on, in times
When all alive with merry chimes
Upon a sun-bright morn of May
It roused the Vale to holiday.
I praise thee, Matron! and thy due
Is praise, heroic praise and true.
With admiration I behold
Thy gladness unsubdued and bold:
Thy looks, thy gestures, all present
The picture of a life well spent;
This do I see, and something more,
A strength unthought of heretofore.
Delighted am I for thy sake,
And yet a higher joy partake:
Our human nature throws away
Its second twilight, and looks gay,
A Land of promise and of pride
Unfolding, wide as life is wide.
Ah! see her helpless Charge! enclosed
Within himself as seems, composed;
To fear of loss and hope of gain,
The strife of happiness and pain--
Utterly dead! yet in the guise
Of little Infants when their eyes
Begin to follow to and fro
The persons that before them go,
He tracks her motions, quick or slow.
Her buoyant spirits can prevail
Where common cheerfulness would fail.
She strikes upon him with the heat
Of July suns; he feels it sweet;
An animal delight, though dim!
'Tis all that now remains for him!
I look'd, I scann'd her o'er and o'er,
And, looking, wondered more and more:
When suddenly I seem'd to espy
A trouble in her strong black eye,
A remnant of uneasy light,
A flash of something over-bright!
Not long this mystery did detain
My thoughts. She told in pensive strain
That she had borne a heavy yoke,
Been stricken by a twofold stroke;
Ill health of body, and had pined
Beneath worse ailments of the mind.
So be it!--but let praise ascend
To Him who is our Lord and Friend!
Who from disease and suffering
As bad almost as Life can bring,
Hath call'd for thee a second Spring;
Repaid thee for that sore distress
By no untimely joyousness;
Which makes of thine a blissful state;
And cheers thy melancholy Mate!
* * * * *
_Wednesday_, _September_ 21_st_.--The house where we lodged was airy, and
even cheerful, though one of a line of houses bordering on the
churchyard, which is the highest part of the town, overlooking a great
portion of it to the opposite hills. The kirk is, as at Melrose, within
the walls of a conventual church; but the ruin is much less beautiful,
and the church a very neat one. The churchyard was full of graves, and
exceedingly slovenly and dirty; one most indecent practice I observed:
several women brought their linen to the flat table-tombstones, and,
having spread it upon them, began to batter as hard as they could with a
wooden roller, a substitute for a mangle.
After Mr. Scott's business in the Courts was over, he walked with us up
the Jed--'sylvan Jed' it has been properly called by Thomson--for the
banks are yet very woody, though wood in large quantities has been felled
within a few years. There are some fine red scars near the river, in one
or two of which we saw the entrances to caves, said to have been used as
places of refuge in times of insecurity.
Walked up to Ferniehurst, an old hall, in a secluded situation, now
inhabited by farmers; the neighbouring ground had the wildness of a
forest, being irregularly scattered over with fine old trees. The wind
was tossing their branches, and sunshine dancing among the leaves, and I
happened to exclaim, 'What a life there is in trees!' on which Mr. Scott
observed that the words reminded him of a young lady who had been born
and educated on an island of the Orcades, and came to spend a summer at
Kelso and in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh. She used to say that in the
new world into which she was come nothing had disappointed her so much as
trees and woods; she complained that they were lifeless, silent, and,
compared with the grandeur of the ever-changing ocean, even insipid. At
first I was surprised, but the next moment I felt that the impression was
natural. Mr. Scott said that she was a very sensible young woman, and
had read much. She talked with endless rapture and feeling of the power
and greatness of the ocean; and with the same passionate attachment
returned to her native island without any probability of quitting it
again.
The valley of the Jed is very solitary immediately under Ferniehurst; we
walked down the river, wading almost up to the knees in fern, which in
many parts overspread the forest-ground. It made me think of our walks
at Allfoxden, and of _our own_ park--though at Ferniehurst is no park at
present--and the slim fawns that we used to startle from their
couching-places among the fern at the top of the hill. We were
accompanied on our walk by a young man from the Braes of Yarrow, an
acquaintance of Mr. Scott's, {266} who, having been much delighted with
some of William's poems which he had chanced to see in a newspaper, had
wished to be introduced to him; he lived in the most retired part of the
dale of Yarrow, where he had a farm: he was fond of reading, and well
informed, but at first meeting as shy as any of our Grasmere lads, and
not less rustic in his appearance. He had been in the Highlands, and
gave me such an account of Loch Rannoch as made us regret that we had not
persevered in our journey thither, especially as he told us that the bad
road ended at a very little distance from the place where we had turned
back, and that we should have come into another good road, continued all
along the shore of the lake. He also mentioned that there was a very
fine view from the steeple at Dunkeld.
The town of Jedburgh, in returning along the road, as it is seen through
the gently winding narrow valley, looks exceedingly beautiful on its low
eminence, surmounted by the conventual tower, which is arched over, at
the summit, by light stone-work resembling a coronet; the effect at a
distance is very graceful. The hills all round are high, and rise
rapidly from the town, which though it stands considerably above the
river, yet, from every side except that on which we walked, appears to
stand in a bottom.
We had our dinner sent from the inn, and a bottle of wine, that we might
not disgrace the Sheriff, who supped with us in the evening,--stayed
late, and repeated some of his poem.
* * * * *
_Thursday_, _September_ 22_d_.--After breakfast, the minister, Dr.
Somerville, called upon us with Mr. Scott, and we went to the manse, a
very pretty house, with pretty gardens, and in a beautiful situation,
though close to the town. Dr. Somerville and his family complained
bitterly of the devastation that had been made among the woods within
view from their windows, which looked up the Jed. He conducted us to the
church, which under his directions has been lately repaired, and is a
very neat place within. Dr. Somerville spoke of the dirt and other
indecencies in the churchyard, and said that he had taken great pains to
put a stop to them, but wholly in vain. The business of the assizes
closed this day, and we went into Court to hear the Judge pronounce his
charge, which was the most curious specimen of old woman's oratory and
newspaper-paragraph loyalty that was ever heard. When all was over they
returned to the inn in procession, as they had come, to the sound of a
trumpet, the Judge first, in his robes of red, the Sheriffs next, in
large cocked hats, and inferior officers following, a show not much
calculated to awe the beholders. After this we went to the inn. The
landlady and her sister inquired if we had been comfortable, and lamented
that they had not had it in their power to pay us more attention. I
began to talk with them, and found out that they were from Cumberland:
they knew Captain and Mrs. Wordsworth, who had frequently been at
Jedburgh, Mrs. Wordsworth's sister having married a gentleman of that
neighbourhood. They spoke of them with great pleasure. I returned to
our lodgings to take leave of the old woman, who told me that I had
behaved 'very discreetly,' and seemed exceedingly sorry that we were
leaving her so soon. She had been out to buy me some pears, saying that
I must take away some 'Jedderd' pears. We learned afterwards that
Jedburgh is famous in Scotland for pears, which were first cultivated
there in the gardens of the monks.
Mr. Scott was very glad to part from the Judge and his retinue, to travel
with us in our car to Hawick; his servant drove his own gig. The
landlady, very kindly, had put up some sandwiches and cheese-cakes for
me, and all the family came out to see us depart. Passed the monastery
gardens, which are yet gardens, where there are many remarkably large old
pear-trees. We soon came into the vale of Teviot, which is open and
cultivated, and scattered over with hamlets, villages, and many
gentlemen's seats, yet, though there is no inconsiderable quantity of
wood, you can never, in the wide and cultivated parts of the Teviot, get
rid of the impression of barrenness, and the fir plantations, which in
this part are numerous, are for ever at war with simplicity. One
beautiful spot I recollect of a different character, which Mr. Scott took
us to see a few yards from the road. A stone bridge crossed the water at
a deep and still place, called Horne's Pool, from a contemplative
schoolmaster, who had lived not far from it, and was accustomed to walk
thither, and spend much of his leisure near the river. The valley was
here narrow and woody. Mr. Scott pointed out to us Ruberslaw, Minto
Crags, and every other remarkable object in or near the vale of Teviot,
and we scarcely passed a house for which he had not some story. Seeing
us look at one, which stood high on the hill on the opposite side of the
river, he told us that a gentleman lived there who, while he was in
India, had been struck with the fancy of making his fortune by a new
speculation, and so set about collecting the gods of the country, with
infinite pains and no little expense, expecting that he might sell them
for an enormous price. Accordingly, on his return they were offered for
sale, but no purchasers came. On the failure of this scheme, a room was
hired in London in which to exhibit them as a show; but alas! nobody
would come to see; and this curious assemblage of monsters is now,
probably, quietly lodged in the vale of Teviot. The latter part of this
gentleman's history is more affecting:--he had an only daughter, whom he
had accompanied into Spain two or three years ago for the recovery of her
health, and so for a time saved her from a consumption, which now again
threatened her, and he was about to leave his pleasant residence, and
attend her once more on the same errand, afraid of the coming winter.
We passed through a village, whither Leyden, Scott's intimate friend, the
author of Scenes of Infancy, was used to walk over several miles of
moorland country every day to school, a poor barefooted boy. He is now
in India, applying himself to the study of Oriental literature, and, I
doubt not, it is his dearest thought that he may come and end his days
upon the banks of Teviot, or some other of the Lowland streams--for he
is, like Mr. Scott, passionately attached to the district of the Borders.
Arrived at Hawick to dinner; the inn is a large old house with walls
above a yard thick, formerly a gentleman's house. Did not go out this
evening.
* * * * *
_Friday_, _September_ 23_d_.--Before breakfast, walked with Mr. Scott
along a high road for about two miles, up a bare hill. Hawick is a small
town. From the top of the hill we had an extensive view over the moors
of Liddisdale, and saw the Cheviot Hills. We wished we could have gone
with Mr. Scott into some of the remote dales of this country, where in
almost every house he can find a home and a hearty welcome. But after
breakfast we were obliged to part with him, which we did with great
regret: he would gladly have gone with us to Langholm, eighteen miles
further. Our way was through the vale of Teviot, near the banks of the
river.
Passed Branxholm Hall, one of the mansions belonging to the Duke of
Buccleuch, which we looked at with particular interest for the sake of
the Lay of the Last Minstrel. Only a very small part of the original
building remains: it is a large strong house, old, but not ancient in its
appearance--stands very near the river-side; the banks covered with
plantations.
A little further on, met the Edinburgh coach with several passengers, the
only stage-coach that had passed us in Scotland. Coleridge had come home
by that conveyance only a few days before. The quantity of arable land
gradually diminishes, and the plantations become fewer, till at last the
river flows open to the sun, mostly through unfenced and untilled
grounds, a soft pastoral district, both the hills and the valley being
scattered over with sheep: here and there was a single farm-house, or
cluster of houses, and near them a portion of land covered with ripe
corn.
Near the head of the vale of Teviot, where that stream is but a small
rivulet, we descended towards another valley, by another small rivulet.
Hereabouts Mr. Scott had directed us to look about for some old stumps of
trees, said to be the place where Johnny Armstrong was hanged; but we
could not find them out. The valley into which we were descending,
though, for aught I know, it is unnamed in song, was to us more
interesting than the Teviot itself. Not a spot of tilled ground was
there to break in upon its pastoral simplicity; the same soft yellow
green spread from the bed of the streamlet to the hill-tops on each side,
and sheep were feeding everywhere. It was more close and simple than the
upper end of the vale of Teviot, the valley being much narrower, and the
hills equally high and not broken into parts, but on each side a long
range. The grass, as we had first seen near Crawfordjohn, had been mown
in the different places of the open ground, where it might chance to be
best; but there was no part of the surface that looked perfectly barren,
as in those tracts.