Earth is thine outer court, And Life a breath;
Why should we fear to die, and leave the Earth!
Not thine alone the lesser key of Birth,—

But all the keys of Death;

And all the worlds, with all that they contain
Of Life, and Death, and Time, are thine alone;
The universe is girdled with a chain,

And hung below the throne

Where Thou dost sit, the universe to bless,-
Thou sovereign smile of God, eternal loveliness!

ABBOTTSFORD AND MELROSE ABBEY.-BAYARD TAYLOR.

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 Abbottsford. We went down a lane to the banks of the swift stream, but finding no ferry, as it looked very shallow, we thought we might save a long walk by wading across. 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.

We found a foot-path on the other side, which led through a young forest to Abbottsford. 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 Abbottsford," 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.

Among the curiosities in the Armory are Napoleon's pistols, the blunderbuss of Hofer, Rob Roy's purse and gun, and the

His

offering box of Queen Mary. Through the folding doors between the dining-room, drawing-room and library, is a fine vista, terminated by a niche, in which stands Chantrey's bust of Scott. The ceilings are of carved Scottish oak and the doors of American cedar. Adjoining the library is his study, the walls of which are covered with books; the doors and windows are double, to render it quiet and undisturbed. books and inkstand are on the table and his writing-chair stands before it, as if he had left them but a moment before. In a little closet adjoining, where he kept his private manuscripts, are the clothes he last wore, his cane and belt, to which a hammer and small axe are attached, and his sword. A narrow staircase led from the study to his sleeping room above, by which he could come down at night and work while his family slept. The silence about the place is solemn and breathless, as if it waited to be broken by his returning footstep. I felt an awe in treading these lonely halls, like that which impressed me before the grave of Washington-a feeling that hallowed the spot, as if there yet lingered a low vibration of the lyre, though the minstrel had departed forever!

Plucking a wild rose that grew near the walls, I left Abbottsford, embosomed among the trees, and turned into a green lane that led down to Melrose.

Melrose is the finest remaining specimen of Gothic architecture in Scotland. Some of the sculptured flowers in the cloister arches are remarkably beautiful and delicate, and the two windows-the south and east oriels—are of a lightness and grace of execution really surprising. We saw the tomb of Michael Scott, of King Alexander II., and that of the Douglas, marked with a sword. The heart of Bruce is supposed to have been buried beneath the high altar. The chancel is all open to the sky, and rooks build their nests among the wild ivy that climbs over the crumbling arches. One of these came tamely down and perched upon the hand of our fair guide. By a winding stair in one of the towers we mounted to the top of the arch and looked down on the grassy floor. I sat on the broken pillar, which Scott always used for a seat when he visited the Abbey, and read the disinterring of the magic book, in the "Lay of the Last Minstrel." I never comprehended its full beauty till then; the memory of Melrose will give it a thrilling interest, in the future. When we left, I was willing to say, with the minstrel :

"Was never scene so sad and fair!"

ALICE LEE-MISS LANDON.

. Through the dim and lonely forest
Comes a low sweet sound,
Like the whispering of angels

To the greenwood round,

Bearing through the hours of midnight,

On their viewless wings, Music in its measure telling

High and holy things.

Through the forest lone and dim
Swelleth soft the twilight hymn
Of the old knight's lovely daughter,
The gentle Alice Lee.

On the grass the dews unbroken
In their silver lie,

And the stars are out in thousands
On the deep blue sky;

Bright as when the old Chaldeans
Held them as the shrine

Where was kept the varying fortune
Of our human line.

Would that o'er their mystic scroll
Better hours may have to roll

For the old knight's lovely daughter,
The gentle Alice Lee!

Time was, coming forth together,
She and Spring might seem
Like the beautiful creations
Of a morning dream;

Each went through the quiet greenwood
Wandering alone,

With the green leaves and wild flowers
O'er their pathway strown.

Of the seasons in the year
Spring seemed fittest to be near
The old knight's lovely daughter,
The gentle Alice Lee.

Round her head the locks are golden,
So the sun in June

Pours his glory o'er the summer

At his crystal noon;

From that shining hair, when parted,

Came the pure high brow,

With the carving of a statue,

With the mountain's snow.

Blue her eyes as yon blue heaven,
Nature every charm had given
To the old knight's lovely daughter,
The gentle Alice Lee.

But it was the inward beauty
Breathing from her face,

That gave every look and motion
Its diviner grace;

Thought was on the high white forehead,
In the deep blue eyes,

And it was the quick warm feeling

Bade the blushes rise,

Which could such sweet light impart
Writing on the cheek, the heart,
Of the old knight's lovely daughter,
The gentle Alice Lee.

Lovely was the high-born maiden,
Happy were the hours

Gathering in the oak-tree's shelter

Mosses and wild flowers;

When the deer from each green coppice

Fled, a startled band,

Save when some familiar favorite

Fed from her small hand.

Danger now, and fear, and wrath,
Are around the woodland path
Of the old knight's lovely daughter,
The gentle Alice Lee.

Others evil fortunes move,
Deeper, dearer, is the love

Of the old knight's lovely daughter,
The gentle Alice Lee.

'T is her voice that now is raising
Words of praise and prayer,
Heaven will consecrate the worship
Of this hour of care.

Earthly care and earthly sorrow

Only purify;

Such a heart as that uplifting

Its best hopes on high.

Heaven will bless the faithful maid,
Heaven will bless the duty paid
By the old knight's lovely daughter,
The gentle Alice Lee.

THE CARELESS WORD.-MRS. NORTON.

A word is ringing through my brain:
It was not meant to give me pain;
It had no tone to bid it stay,
When other things had passed away;
It had no meaning more than all
Which in an idle hour fall:

It was when first the sound I heard

A lightly-utter'd, careless word.

That word-oh! it doth haunt me now,
In scenes of joy, in scenes of wo;
By night, by day, in sun or shade,
With the half smile that gently play'd
Reproachfully, and gave the sound
Eternal power through life to wound.
There is no voice I ever heard
So deeply fix'd as that one word.

When in the laughing crowd some tone,
Like those whose joyous sound is gone,
Strikes on my ear, I shrink-for then
The careless word comes back again.
When all alone I sit and gaze
Upon the cheerful home-fire blaze,
Lo! freshly as when first 'twas heard,
Returns that lightly-utter'd word.

When dreams bring back the days of old,
With all that wishes could not hold;