Whatever might be the sensuality of the monks of Melrose, it is certain that some of their power was sometimes matter of real inconvenience to the public. The abbot had such an extensive jurisdiction, and the privileges of girth and sanctuary interfered so much with the execution of justice, that James V. is said to have once acted as baron baillie, in order to punish those malefactors in the character of the abbot's deputy, whom his own overeign power, and that of the laws, were unable to reach otherwise. But whatever may be thought of this, there can be no doubt that the protection extended to criminals by the ligious was a true blessing in the main, at a fine when the law could neither inflict punsament nor protect a criminal from the rash and unmeasured retribution of those whom he had offended. After the Reformation a brother of the Earl of Morton became commendator of the abbey, and out of the ruins built himself a house, which may still be seen about fifty yards to the north-east of the church. The regality soon after passed into the hands of Lord Binning, an eminent lawyer, ancestor to the Earl of Haddington: and about the middle of last century the whole became the property of the Buccleuch family.2 THE RIVER. [Caroline Anne Bowles (Mrs. Southey), born at Buckland, Hants, 6th December, 1787; died 20th July, 1854. She was a daughter of Captain Charles Bowles, and her poetical gifts were early manifested, although for many years she continued to publish her poems anonymously. In 1839 she married Robert Southey, the poet-laureate. Her principal works are: Ellen Fitzarthur, a metrical tale; The Widow's Tale, and other Poems; Solitary Hours; Chapters on Churchyards (her only prose work); The Birthday: Tales of the Factories, &c. "Mrs. Southey is the Cowper of our modern poetesses. She has much of that great writer's humour, fondness for rural life, melancholy pathos, and moral satire."-H. N. Coleridge.] River! River! little River! Bright you sparkle on your way, O'er the yellow pebbles dancing, Through the flowers and foliage glancing, Like a child at play. River! River! swelling River! On you rush o'er rough and smoothLouder, faster, brawling, leaping Over rocks, by rose-banks sweeping, Like impetuous youth. River! River! brimming River! Broad and deep and still as Time, Seeming still-yet still in motion, Tending onward to the ocean, Just like mortal prime. River! River! rapid River! Swifter now you slip away; Swift and silent as an arrow, Through a channel dark and narrow, Like life's closing day. River! River! headlong River! Down you dash into the sea; Sea, that line hath never sounded, Sea, that voyage hath never rounded, Like eternity. 2 The late George M. Kemp, the celebrated architect of the Scott Monument in Edinburgh, made a drawing of Melrose Abbey, showing the edifice as it is supposed to have appeared when in its perfect condition. This Corbells, the projections from which the arches drawing (now in possession of the publishers of the spring, usually cut in a fantastic face or mask. 2D SERIES, VOL. I. Casquet) represents a building of rare beauty. 115 TOBY WILT. [Dr. M. E. Engel, born at Planen, 1767. He was professor of philosophy and town's deacon of his native Most probably that he was a very shrewd, wise old gentleman," said Mr. Till. "No; you are somewhat on the wrong side; place, and was the author of Moral Tales: Mottoes for they called him an old fool. So, so! I used Youth, &c. &c.] One of the chief ornaments of a little provincial town, his native place, flourished Mr. Toby Wilt. At no period had he evinced a desire to travel, and never, on any occasion, exceeded his prescribed limits round the adjacent hamlets. In spite of this, however he knew more of the world than many who had travelled a great deal farther, and some who had expended the best part of their fortune on a fashionable trip to Paris or Italy. He was possessed of a rich fund of little anecdotes of the most useful class, which he had obtained by observation, and retailed for his own and his friends' edification. And though these showed no great stretch of genius or invention, they possessed considerable practical merit, and were, for the most part, remarkable for coming before company coupled together, always two and two. Among his acquaintance was a careful young gentleman of the name of Till, a great admirer of Mr. Toby Wilt for his known prudence and stock of observations. On one occasion he ventured to express his high opinion of them, to which his old friend replied in his stuttering style, "Ha! hem?-what, do you indeed think me such a wiseacre, then?" "Why, all the world says so, Mr. Wilt; and I should be glad to become your pupil." Would you so, young man? Nothing more easy. If you really wish to be a prudent youth, in fact, you have only to study the conduct and deportment of fools." "In what manner do you mean?" "What manner! by trying to act differently, to be sure." "May I beg an anecdote, or example, for the sake of illustration?" "I believe I can accommodate you with one, Mr. Till. When I was a young man, there resided in this town a Mr. Veit, an old mathematician, rather a meagre and morose sort of personage. I used often to see him walking about, muttering to himself as he went along, and never stopping to salute any of his neighbours and acquaintance; much less would he look them in the face and converse with them; being always too earnestly engaged in solving the problem of his own perfections. Now what do you suppose, Mr. to think within myself-for this sort of title, however general, was not at all to my tasteI must take care how I imitate my old friend Mr. Veit. I see that will never do; one must not appear to be too full of one's self. Perhaps it is not well-bred, at all events, to go muttering with one's self; I see we must be more sociable, and talk a little to our neighbours. Let me hear your notion on the subject, Mr. Till; did I judge rightly?" Oh, indisputably; I think you were in the right." "Nay, I am not so sure of that; not exactly so, as you will find. For we had another genius, a finical kind of personage, and a dancing-master, the very converse of the old postulating mathematician; and yet he did not please, though he used to stare in everybody's face as he skipped along. He was glad to talk to every one who would listen to him, as long as their patience lasted. Well, Mr. Till, and what do you suppose people used to say of him?" Most likely they would call him a wild, merry sort of fellow; somewhat of a bore withal." 66 There you are not so very wide of the mark, Mr. Till; for they called him a fool. You see he won the same title by a very opposite kind of merit. Here's for us! I thought to myself; this is odd enough. What must one do? how in the world must one contrive to win the reputation of a wise man? It is plain one must take neither Mr. Veit nor Mr. Slight for our model. No: first of all, Mr. Till, you must look persons full in the face, and salute them like the dancing-master, and then you must have your eyes upon yourself, and reflect seriously, talk with your neighbours, like Mr. Slight, and think of your own affairs afterwards, like Mr. Veit. That was my mode of arguing, Mr. Till. I compounded the gentleman, sir: people called me a prudent, longheaded fellow; and this is the whole of the mystery." On another occasion our prudent citizen received a visit from a young merchant of the name of Flau. He, too, came to consult; and, after making some wry faces, he began to lament the extent of his losses and misfor on the shoulder, "and what does all this fell sick, and was confined to his garret for amount to?" several weeks. "You must be on the alert, sir, and pursue fortune more diligently. She is a shy bird; and you must be on the look-out like a sportsman." "So I have, my dear sir, this long time past, but all to no purpose. One unlucky blow followed another, till I was fairly tripped up by the heels. For the future, I shall fold my arms, and rest quietly at home." "In that you are wrong again, young gentleman; you must be on the look-out, I tell you; you need only to have a care how you carry your head." "How I carry my head!" repeated Mr. Flau; what do you mean, Mr. Wilt, by that?" "Only what I say; you must have a care how you carry your head, and the rest will follow of course. Let me explain how. When my left-hand neighbour was employed in building his new house, the whole street was paved with bricks and beams and rubbish, not very pleasant to pass over. Now one day, who should happen to be going that way but our worthy mayor Mr. Trick, then a young fashionable alderman. He always carried his head high, and thus he came skipping along, with his arms dangling by his side, and his nose elevated towards the clouds; yet the next moment he found himself sprawling upon the ground; he had contrived to trip up his own heels, to break one of his legs, and obtain the advantage of limping to the end of his days, as you may often see. Do you take? do you comprehend me, Mr. Flau?" "Do you comprehend my meaning yet, Mr. Flau? How would you carry your head when you passed?" "I! I would keep it in just equilibrium, to be sure." "True; we must not cast our eye too ambitiously towards the clouds, nor fix it too demurely upon the ground. Whether we look above, around, or before us, Mr. Flau, let us do it in a calm, becoming sort of manner, and then we shall get on in the world, and no accidents will be likely to befall us. Let us preserve our equanimity: you comprehend me? Good morning, Mr. Flau." On a third occasion a certain Mr. Wills waited upon his friend Mr. Wilt, for the purpose of borrowing a sum of money to complete some little speculation he had in hand. "It is quite a prudent step; very sure," he said to old Mr. Wilt, though I am sensible it is not one of your lucrative speculations; but, as it happens to come very apropos, I should like to turn it to account, and make the most of it." Old Wilt did not much relish this style of salutation, and seeing whither it would lead-- "Pray, my dear Mr. Wills," inquired he, "how much money, do you think, will serve your turn?" "It is nothing much of a sum, a mere trifle; some hundred dollars will suffice." "So! if it be no more, I will directly comply with your request. Indeed, to show how much I have your interest at heart, I will also present you with something else, which, between ourselves, is worth more than a thousand dollars." "Ah! pray explain yourself, my dear Mr. Wilt.' 66 Nay! it is only a short story; but it will serve our turn. In my younger days, I had rather an eccentric kind of man for my neighbour, a Mr. Grell. He had continually a certain cant phrase at his tongue's end, which at last proved his ruin. it." You surprise me! I should like to know "Not long afterwards Mr. Schale, the poet, was passing the same dangerous way, Mr. Flau. He was, perhaps, spouting verses, or brooding over his res angustæ domi-I know not which; but he came jogging forwards with a woeful "You shall. When any of his acquaintance aspect, 'eyes bent on earth,' and a stooping, used casually to accost him, observing, 'Well, slouching gait, as if he would be glad to lower Grell, how does business go on; how much did himself into the ground, sir. Well! he walked you clear by the last bargain?' 'Pshaw!' he over one of the ropes; smack it went, and one would say, a mere trifle-some fifty dollars of the great beams came tumbling about his or so, but what of that?' Then again when ears from the scaffolding above. But he was he was asked: Well, Grell, how much are too miserable a dog to be killed; he unluckily you minus by the last bankruptcy?' 'Pshaw!' escaped; but was so terrified and nervous, poor he would answer, it is not worth speaking of; devil, with the shock, that he fainted away, a mere trifle, some five per cent.' Now, though Grell was a warm man in his day, I can assure you, this cursed foolish phrase of his brought him to ruin. He was at length compelled to decamp, sir, bag and baggage." "What was the sum, Mr. Wills, which you stated?" "I think I requested the loan of one hundred dollars." "Exactly so; but my memory is growing treacherous. Well, Mr. Wills, but I had another neighbour, one Mr. Tomms, a corn-dealer. By means of another sort of saying did that man build the fine mansion you see yonder, with all its offices and warehouses to boot, sir. What say you?" "I say it is very strange indeed, Mr. Wilt: I have a great curiosity to hear this second phrase." "You shall, Mr. Wills. Why, when his friends accosted him, 'Well, Mr. Tomms, how does business proceed? what cleared you by your last concern?' 'A good round sum -a hundred, that I did!' was his invariable answer, at the same time you might see that he was in high glee. When they perceived on the other hand that he was low, very low in spirits, they would inquire: What is the matter, Mr. Tomms? how much have you lost?' 'No joke indeed! a good round sum; some fifty dollars, I assure you.' Now this man began his career with a very small capital; but, as I told you before, he has built that large house with all its offices, I say, and warehouses round it. Now, Mr. Wills, which of these two phrases seems best suited to your taste?" 66 Why the last of them, Mr. Wilt, of course." "Yet," replied old Wilt, "this Mr. Tomms does not quite suit me. He had the knack of saying a good round sum, to be sure, even when he was paying his poor-rates or his taxes. Then, I think, he ought to have employed, like a humane and loyal man, the saying of my other neighbour-‘a mere trifle, nothing worth speaking of.' The truth is, Mr. Wills, that as they were both my near neighbours, I carefully preserved both their phrases, and apply them according to the circumstances of time and place; sometimes speaking like Mr. Grell, and at others like Mr. Tomms." "Not so with me," cried Mr. Wills; "I admire Mr. Tomms' phrase; I do from my soul, sir." "What was your demand-the sum you have occasion for, Mr. Wills?" "A good round sum of money-one hundred dollars: no trifle, my dear Mr. Wilt!" "There you talk like a man of sense-a very prudent man, Mr. Wills: you have really learned your monied catechism very well. Your answer was quite correct. Had you come to request really only a small trifle, I might perhaps have listened to you; but, as you observe it is a good round sum, allow me to pause. I wish you a good morning, Mr. Wills."-But, having thus amused himself, old Mr. Wilt lent him the sum of money. THE HOURS. BY THOMAS ATKINSON. Hours-minutes-moments are the smaller coin Nay, Pallet, paint not thus the hours,— WITHIN AND WITHOUT. Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men, |