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Project Gutenberg's Abbotsford and Newstead Abbey, by Washington Irving#7 in our series by Washington IrvingCopyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check thecopyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributingthis or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this ProjectGutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit theheader without written permission.Please read the "legal small print," and other information about theeBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included isimportant information about your specific rights and restrictions inhow the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make adonation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts****eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971*******These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****Title: Abbotsford and Newstead AbbeyAuthor: Washington IrvingRelease Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7948][Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule][This file was first posted on June 4, 2003]Edition: 10Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: ASCII*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ABBOTSFORD AND NEWSTEAD ABBEY ***Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Tiffany Vergon, Charles Franks,and the Online Distributed Proofreaders TeamABBOTSFORD AND NEWSTEAD ABBEYBYWASHINGTON IRVING
 
CONTENTSABBOTSFORDNEWSTEAD ABBEYARRIVAL AT THE ABBEYABBEY GARDENPLOUGH MONDAYOLD SERVANTSSUPERSTITIONS OF THE ABBEYANNESLEY HALLTHE LAKEROBIN HOOD AND SHERWOOD FORESTROOK CELLLITTLE WHITE LADYABBOTSFORD.By WASHINGTON IRVING.I sit down to perform my promise of giving you an account of a visitmade many years since to Abbotsford. I hope, however, that you do notexpect much from me, for the travelling notes taken at the time are soscanty and vague, and my memory so extremely fallacious, that I fear Ishall disappoint you with the meagreness and crudeness of my details.Late in the evening of August 29, 1817, I arrived at the ancient littleborder town of Selkirk, where I put up for the night. I had come downfrom Edinburgh, partly to visit Melrose Abbey and its vicinity, butchiefly to get sight of the "mighty minstrel of the north." I had aletter of introduction to him from Thomas Campbell, the poet, and hadreason to think, from the interest he had taken in some of my earlierscribblings, that a visit from me would not be deemed an intrusion.On the following morning, after an early breakfast, I set off in apostchaise for the Abbey. On the way thither I stopped at the gate ofAbbotsford, and sent the postilion to the house with the letter ofintroduction and my card, on which I had written that I was on my wayto the ruins of Melrose Abbey, and wished to know whether it would beagreeable to Mr. Scott (he had not yet been made a Baronet) to receivea visit from me in the course of the morning.While the postilion was on his errand, I had time to survey themansion. It stood some short distance below the road, on the side of ahill sweeping down to the Tweed; and was as yet but a snug gentleman'scottage, with something rural and picturesque in its appearance. Thewhole front was overrun with evergreens, and immediately above theportal was a great pair of elk horns, branching out from beneath thefoliage, and giving the cottage the look of a hunting lodge. The hugebaronial pile, to which this modest mansion in a manner gave birth wasjust emerging into existence; part of the walls, surrounded byscaffolding, already had risen to the height of the cottage, and thecourtyard in front was encumbered by masses of hewn stone.
 
The noise of the chaise had disturbed the quiet of the establishment.Out sallied the warder of the castle, a black greyhound, and, leapingon one of the blocks of stone, began a furious barking. His alarumbrought out the whole garrison of dogs:"Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,And curs of low degree;"all open-mouthed and vociferous.--I should correct my quotation;--not acur was to be seen on the premises: Scott was too true a sportsman, andhad too high a veneration for pure blood, to tolerate a mongrel.In a little while the "lord of the castle" himself made his appearance.I knew him at once by the descriptions I had read and heard, and thelikenesses that had been published of him. He was tall, and of a largeand powerful frame. His dress was simple, and almost rustic. An oldgreen shooting-coat, with a dog-whistle at the buttonhole, brown linenpantaloons, stout shoes that tied at the ankles, and a white hat thathad evidently seen service. He came limping up the gravel walk, aidinghimself by a stout walking-staff, but moving rapidly and with vigor. Byhis side jogged along a large iron-gray stag-hound of most gravedemeanor, who took no part in the clamor of the canine rabble, butseemed to consider himself bound, for the dignity of the house, to giveme a courteous reception.Before Scott had reached the gate he called out in a hearty tone,welcoming me to Abbotsford, and asking news of Campbell. Arrived at thedoor of the chaise, he grasped me warmly by the hand: "Come, drivedown, drive down to the house," said he, "ye're just in time forbreakfast, and afterward ye shall see all the wonders of the Abbey."I would have excused myself, on the plea of having already made mybreakfast. "Hout, man," cried he, "a ride in the morning in the keenair of the Scotch hills is warrant enough for a second breakfast."I was accordingly whirled to the portal of the cottage, and in a fewmoments found myself seated at the breakfast-table. There was no onepresent but the family, which consisted of Mrs. Scott, her eldestdaughter Sophia, then a fine girl about seventeen, Miss Ann Scott, twoor three years younger, Walter, a well-grown stripling, and Charles, alively boy, eleven or twelve years of age. I soon felt myself quite athome, and my heart in a glow with the cordial welcome I experienced. Ihad thought to make a mere morning visit, but found I was not to be letoff so lightly. "You must not think our neighborhood is to be read in amorning, like a newspaper," said Scott. "It takes several days of studyfor an observant traveller that has a relish for auld world trumpery.After breakfast you shall make your visit to Melrose Abbey; I shall notbe able to accompany you, as I have some household affairs to attendto, but I will put you in charge of my son Charles, who is very learnedin all things touching the old ruin and the neighborhood it stands in,and he and my friend Johnny Bower will tell you the whole truth aboutit, with a good deal more that you are not called upon to believe--unless you be a true and nothing-doubting antiquary. When you comeback, I'll take you out on a ramble about the neighborhood. To-morrowwe will take a look at the Yarrow, and the next day we will drive overto Dryburgh Abbey, which is a fine old ruin well worth your seeing"--ina word, before Scott had got through his plan, I found myself committed
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