We came away sooner than we wished, but
we hoped to return thither this morning; and, for my part, I cherish a
presentiment that this will not be our last visit to Scotland and
Melrose. . . . . J----- and I then walked to the Tweed, where we saw two
or three people angling, with naked legs, or trousers turned up, and
wading among the rude stones that make something like a dam over the wide
and brawling stream. I did not observe that they caught any fish, but
J----- was so fascinated with the spectacle that he pulled out his poor
little fishing-line, and wished to try his chance forthwith. I never
saw the angler's instinct stronger in anybody. We walked across the
foot-bridge that here spans the Tweed; and J----- observed that he did
not see how William of Deloraine could have found so much difficulty in
swimming his horse across so shallow a river. Neither do I. It now
began to sprinkle, and we hastened back to the hotel.
It was not a pleasant morning; but we started immediately after breakfast
for
ABBOTSFORD,
which is but about three miles distant. The country between Melrose and
that place is not in the least beautiful, nor very noteworthy,--one or
two old irregular villages; one tower that looks principally domestic,
yet partly warlike, and seems to be of some antiquity; and an undulation,
or rounded hilly surface of the landscape, sometimes affording wide
vistas between the slopes. These hills, which, I suppose, are some of
them on the Abbotsford estate, are partly covered with woods, but of
Scotch fir, or some tree of that species, which creates no softened
undulation, but overspreads the hill like a tightly fitting wig.
Pages:
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763