SCENERY.
The first and most prominent object of attention, in the scenery of this Romance, is the Monastery itself, which every one knows to be the renowned Abbey of Melrose, situated upwards of thirty-five miles from Edinburgh to the south. It is the most beautiful and correct specimen of Gothic architecture in Scotland; and has been universally admired for the elegance and variety of its sculpture, the beauty of its stone, the multiplicity of its statues, and the symmetry of its parts. It was founded, as is well known, in 1136, by the pious David I., who dedicated it to the Virgin Mary. To attempt a minute description of it would be unnecessary, as we presume the great bulk of our readers have seen the venerable pile itself, and those who have not, know the many excellent sources from which this want can be supplied. Any remarks of ours would give no additional lustre to the magnificent ruins, or to the knowledge of the vicissitudes which it underwent in the course of several ages.
Less than a quarter of a mile to the west of the Abbey, there is a green bank which reaches to the height of some hundred feet above the level of the Tweed. It is termed the Weird Hill, from a dim tradition of the fairy tribe having haunted the spot, and held high conclave touching the whimsies to be practised on the wights who came under their ire. Immediately below this bank is the weird or dam-dyke where it is believed the poor Sacristan was ducked by the White Lady,—a lineal descendant of the ancient inhabitants of the hill.
Following the course of the Tweed upwards—that is, towards the west, about a mile and a half—we arrive at the ruins of the Old Bridge, which once formed the regular communication to the Monastery. It appears to have been constructed of timber, in the form of a drawbridge, with three pillars, the middle pillar containing a wooden house for the bridge-keeper. From this bridge there was a plain way to Soutra Hill, along the northern bank of the Tweed, which was named the Girth-gate,[69] from an hospital, having the privileges of Sanctuary, which was founded at Soutra by Malcolm IV., for the relief of pilgrims and of poor and infirm persons who journeyed southwards. This way was so good and easy, that, as a learned divine remarked, it might strongly remind the traveller of the paths to the cities of refuge. There were also two hostelries or inns at that place, which could well afford, from their stores, an elegant dejeune to Sir Piercie Shafton and his “fair Molindinara.”
A few yards from the bridge alluded to, the Elevand or Allan water discharges itself into the Tweed. It is this little mountain brook (rising from Allan-shaws on the boundary of Melrose parish towards the north,) that forms the beautiful valley of Glendearg, described in the romance. Advancing from the strath of the river in the northern direction from Melrose, we discern the stream meandering in crystal beauty through Langlee Wood, the property of Lord Somerville. The serpentine turns of its course oblige the traveller frequently to pass and repass it, in the line of the foot-track; but this is attended with no inconvenience, from the number of rustic bridges which are thrown over it. Emerging from the wood, the glen opens to the view. On one side of it (to the east,) rises a precipitous bank or scaur,[70] of a reddish colour, with here and there small patches of green sward. On the opposite side the eminences do not swell so high, but form a perfect contrast to the other. They have yielded their bosom to the industry of man, and repay his labour with the rich fruits of autumn. This improvement, however, is recent, as thirty years have scarcely elapsed since they displayed an aspect almost as barren as the opposite ridge. The little brook which runs below is not perceptible from either height, so deeply is its channel embosomed in the narrow dell. As we proceed onwards under a shade of alders, the glen gradually widens, and, about 400 yards from whence it opens, a singular amphitheatre meets the eye. It is somewhat in the shape of a crescent, through which the water passes, leaving a pretty large channel. The opposing precipices are thickly belted with copse-wood and several mountain shrubs, which entwine with the branches of the beech and birch trees. This place is called the Fairy or Nameless Dean, from some curiously-shaped stones, which are said to be found after great falls of rain.[71] But perhaps a better reason for the appellation arises from the situation itself, which afforded a hidden rendezvous for the elfin race, with which superstition peopled many parts of this district during the grandeur of the Abbacy. No one, however, will deny that the White Lady of Avenel might here have fixed her residence, and delivered her responses to young Glendinning, or that it might have served as a secluded corner for deadly strife. Though the holly bush cannot be discovered, yet the spring of water may easily be conjectured, by the curious observer, in the swampiness of portions of the ground now covered with sward.
The scenery of the remainder of the glen is extremely picturesque, but unmarked by any striking varieties. The brook, like
“Streamlet of the mountain north,
Now in a torrent racing forth,”
often dashes and foams over small interjecting rocks, and forms some beautiful cascades. At other times,
“Winding slow its silver train,
And almost slumbering o’er the plain,”
it sends a puny rill into some of the deep recesses or ravines which have found their way between the hills. As the top of the glen is neared, the hills show a greater slope, till we arrive at the green mount, on which stands
HILLSLOP TOWER,
On the property of Borthwick of Crookston, from which there is no doubt Glendearg has been depicted. The outward walls are still entire, and, from their thickness and oblong form, with the port-holes with which they abound, show it to have been formerly a place of some strength. This seems also probable from the bleakness and wildness of the surrounding scenery. High mountainous ridges, the castles of nature, tower on every side, whose bosoms sometimes display the naked grey rock encircled with fern and heath, and, at other times, excellent verdure. But no cultivated field greets the eye, and the solemn stillness which reigns around is only broken by the gentle murmuring of the rivulet. The situation of the old tower is well chosen, as, from the direction in which the hills run, a sort of circle is formed, which not only screens it from the north and east winds, but could easily debar all intercourse with the neighbouring country.
The date of the old tower, if a sculpture on the lintel of the entrance can be credited, is 1585; and its inhabitants seem to have been of some consequence from its interior appearance. At the foot of the stair, which projects almost to the door, there is a long, narrow apartment, with an arched roof lighted by a loophole-window, which, in the olden times, formed the pen for the proprietor’s cattle when danger was apprehended. It would suit well for the place of concealment suggested by the miller’s daughter for Sir Piercie, before the unbarring of the door. The decayed stone staircase leads to a common-sized hall, with a large chimney-piece; but from the height of the walls, and other circumstances, there must have been another room of equal dimensions above it. There are also the remains of some small rooms, which complete the accommodations of the mansion.
At a little distance from the foot of the tower, the straggling ruins of small outhouses are discerned, which have been once connected with the principal building. A short way farther, to the north, stand the ruins of Colmsley and Langshaw, the former of which places is alluded to by its name in the Romance.
Leaving Glendearg, it is necessary to follow the progress of the romance towards the Castle of Avenel, alias Smailholm Tower. The distance between the two places is nearly seven miles. There is no regular road, but a track can be discovered, which runs eastward from Hillslop, through the base of the Gattonside, a small chain which runs from E. to W., in the direction of Melrose. The path is a most unenviable one; for, besides the obstacles of ditch and furze, it is intersected by deep morasses, which often render it quite impassable. In threading it, we pass Threepwood and Blainslie Mosses, the favourite resort of the Moss-troopers, who kept the peaceful inhabitants in continual alarm. Their ravages were particularly extensive during the usurpation of Cromwell, who allowed these depredators to scourge Scotland unpunished.