Abbotsford and Newstead Abbey | Page 3

in passing through the cloisters, he made me remark the beautiful
carvings of leaves and flowers wrought in stone with the most exquisite
delicacy, and, notwithstanding the lapse of centuries, retaining their
sharpness as if fresh from the chisel; rivalling, as Scott has said, the
real objects of which they were imitations:
"Nor herb nor flowret glistened there But was carved in the cloister
arches as fair."
He pointed out, also, among the carved work a nun's head of much
beauty, which he said Scott always stopped to admire--"for the shirra
had a wonderful eye for all sic matters."
I would observe that Scott seemed to derive more consequence in the
neighborhood from being sheriff of the county than from being poet.
In the interior of the Abbey Johnny Bower conducted me to the
identical stone on which Stout "William of Deloraine" and the monk
took their seat on that memorable night when the wizard's book was to
be rescued from the grave. Nay, Johnny had even gone beyond Scott in
the minuteness of his antiquarian research, for he had discovered the
very tomb of the wizard, the position of which had been left in doubt
by the poet. This he boasted to have ascertained by the position of the
oriel window, and the direction in which the moonbeams fell at night,
through the stained glass, casting the shadow to the red cross on the
spot; as had all been specified in the poem. "I pointed out the whole to
the shirra," said he, "and he could na' gainsay but it was varra clear." I
found afterward that Scott used to amuse himself with the simplicity of
the old man, and his zeal in verifying every passage of the poem, as

though it had authentic history, and that he always acquiesced in his
deductions. I subjoin the description of the wizard's grave, which called
forth the antiquarian research of Johnny Bower.
"Lo warrior! now the cross of red, Points to the grave of the mighty
dead; Slow moved the monk to the broad flag-stone, Which the bloody
cross was traced upon: He pointed to a sacred nook: An iron bar the
warrior took; And the monk made a sign with his withered hand, The
grave's huge portal to expand.
"It was by dint of passing strength, That he moved the massy stone at
length. I would you had been there to see, How the light broke forth so
gloriously, Streamed upward to the chancel roof, And through the
galleries far aloof! And, issuing from the tomb, Showed the monk's
cowl and visage pale, Danced on the dark brown warrior's mail, And
kissed his waving plume.
"Before their eyes the wizard lay, As if he had not been dead a day: His
hoary beard in silver rolled, He seemed some seventy winters old; A
palmer's amice wrapped him round; With a wrought Spanish baldrie
bound, Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea; His left hand held his book
of might; A silver cross was in his right: The lamp was placed beside
his knee."
The fictions of Scott had become facts with honest Johnny Bower.
From constantly living among the ruins of Melrose Abbey, and
pointing out the scenes of the poem, the "Lay of the Last Minstrel" had,
in a manner, become interwoven with his whole existence, and I doubt
whether he did not now and then mix up his own identity with the
personages of some of its cantos.
He could not bear that any other production of the poet should be
preferred to the "Lay of the Last Minstrel." "Faith," said he to me, "it's
just e'en as gude a thing as Mr. Scott has written--an' if he were stannin'
there I'd tell him so--an' then he'd lauff."
He was loud in his praises of the affability of Scott. "He'll come here
sometimes," said he, "with great folks in his company, an' the first I

know of it is his voice, calling out 'Johnny!--Johnny Bower!'--and when
I go out, I am sure to be greeted with a joke or a pleasant word. Hell
stand and crack and lauff wi' me, just like an auld wife--and to think
that of a man who has such an awfu' knowledge o' history!"
One of the ingenious devices on which the worthy little man prided
himself, was to place a visitor opposite to the Abbey, with his back to it,
and bid him bend down and look at it between his legs. This, he said,
gave an entire different aspect to the ruin. Folks admired the plan
amazingly, but as to the "leddies," they were dainty on the matter, and
contented themselves with looking from under their arms. As Johnny
Bower piqued himself upon showing everything laid down in the poem,
there was one