The Lake County star., 1875-12-02
The Home OF Walter Scott.

Charles Warren Stoddard, i'm letter
to the San Francisco Chronicle, writes as
follows of Melrose Abbey and the grave
of Scott:
Melrose is forid wilderness of stone
time cannot wither it. COrnwal's bat
teries have only succeeded in embroider-
ing new pattern in some parts of il.
Fire and fury and the ruthless hands of
the iconoclasts have left enough of the
elaborate grave of the original to save it
from unfavorable comparison with the
thousand and one ruins that are scat
tered through Great Britain. The abbey
is carpeted with rich, deep sod, and the
rocks crOak in the chinks of the walls,
and look solemnly down from the broken
arches like sentinels. 1t is remarkable
to note the preference which these big
black birds show sor dilapidated abbeys.
| am more than ever inclined to believe
that the souls of certain monks inhabit
the black vestments of the rocks and are
slowly living out penance for deeds
done in the flesh. There are worse pur-
gatories than this, $50 sad and fair"
though the place seemed to him who
wrote Of its transcendent moonlit beauty.
By the way, Scott, who sang
f'If thou woudst view lair Merose aAght,
Go visit 1t by the pale moonlight"
is said to never have seen it under such
circumstances, though he lived for many
years within three miles of it.
Down long road, over the hills be-
yond Melrose, with the wales of Lammer-
moor in view atone point and delicious
landscape always around you; over a
swinging bridge that makes you feel
queer before you get across it and pay
your penny toll up lane that leads to
a footpath, deep, narrow and densely
shaded and then off to the right between
high wall and row of thickly-lined
trees that make perpetual twilight in
the place it is thus you come upon all
that is left of Dryburgh Abbey and the
tomb of Scott. Standing at the west
doorway, II crumbling arch that is
swathed in ivy, you look up the grand
path that was once the nave of the abbey
church at the far end still stands frag-
ment of the high altar and font full of
rain water. To the left of this altar is a
chapel called ST.. Mary's Aisle, right
against the north transcept. This sol
emn and sacred ruin is legacy of the
twelfth century. In the chapel-the most
beautiful that / know of in the range of
abbey ruins-lie the remains of Walter
Scott, his wife, his eldest son and Lock
| hart, his son-in-law. Sitting in the sun
shine Of the soft English summer, and
listening TO the rocks that cry from the
green SUBMITS of the tOttering walls,
| think of these haunts of Scott, of Mel
rose and AbbOtsfOrd, and all the pleasant
paths that lie about here; and | turn
| the pages of volume that l have STUN
bled upon and read this record of the last
day of the Wizard of the North. Rev.
Lorenzo Gilfillan writes: At Edin-
burgh, on the morning of the 11th of
June, 1882, Sir Walter was lifted into
his carriage, and left, not knowing that
he was leaving his own romantic town
forever. On catching sight of Abbots-
| ford he uttered q cry of delight, and
could hardly be kept in his carriage.
His excitement continued upgoverna.
BILE until he reached the threshold of the
door. Laidlaw was in waiting and as
sisted in carrying him to the dining
room. Here he sat bcwildered for a few
minutes, whom, resting his eyes on his
old, kind friend, he said: "Ah, Willie
Laidlaw, how often, man, have thought
of youp
Referring to the close of his life, Gil
fillan adds This came about half
past one p. m. on the second ofSeptember,
when, in the presence of all his children,
the sun of autumn shining softly in at
the open window, and the Tweed utter
ing its silver monody, the spirit Of Scott
was released from its body of DEATH"