I stopped at a bookstore to purchase a view of the Abbey; to my surprise nearly half the works were by American authors.  There wore Bryant, Longfellow, Channing, Emerson, Dana, Ware and many others.  The bookseller told me he had sold more of Ware’s Letters than any other book in his store, “and also,” to use his own words, “an immense number of the great Dr. Channing.”  I have seen English editions of Percival, Willis, Whittier and Mrs. Sigourney, but Bancroft and Prescott are classed among the “standard British historians.”

Crossing the Gala we ascended a hill on the road to Selkirk, and behold! the Tweed ran below, and opposite, in the midst of embowering trees planted by the hand of Scott, rose the grey halls of Abbotsford.  We went down a lane to the banks of the swift stream, but finding no ferry, B——­ and I, as it looked very shallow, thought we might save a long walk by wading across.  F——­ preferred hunting for a boat; we two set out together, with our knapsacks on our backs, and our boots in our hands.  The current was ice-cold and very swift, and as the bed was covered with loose stones, it required the greatest care to stand upright.  Looking at the bottom, through the rapid water, made my head so giddy, I was forced to stop and shut my eyes; my friend, who had firmer nerves, went plunging on to a deeper and swifter part, where the strength of the current made him stagger very unpleasantly.  I called to him to return; the next thing I saw, he gave a plunge and went down to the shoulder in the cold flood.  While he was struggling with a frightened expression of face to recover his footing, I leaned on my staff and laughed till I was on the point of falling also.  To crown our mortification, F——­ had found a ferry a few yards higher up and was on the opposite shore, watching us wade back again, my friend with dripping clothes and boots full of water.  I could not forgive the pretty Scotch damsel who rowed us across, the mischievous lurking smile which told that she too had witnessed the adventure.

We found a foot-path on the other side, which led through a young forest to Abbotsford.  Rude pieces of sculpture, taken from Melrose Abbey, were scattered around the gate, some half buried in the earth and overgrown with weeds.  The niches in the walls were filled with pieces of sculpture, and an antique marble greyhound reposed in the middle of the court yard.  We rang the bell in an outer vestibule, ornamented with several pairs of antlers, when a lady appeared, who, from her appearance, I have no doubt was Mrs. Ormand, the “Duenna of Abbotsford,” so humorously described by D’Arlincourt, in his “Three Kingdoms.”  She ushered us into the entrance hall, which has a magnificent ceiling of carved oak and is lighted by lofty stained windows.  An effigy of a knight in armor stood at either end, one holding a huge two-handed sword found on Bosworth Field; the walls were covered with helmets and breastplates of the olden time.