Dryburgh Abbey

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White Three Years in Europe, or Places I Have Seen and People I Have Met By William Wells Brown Letter fifteen Melrose Abbey Abbotsford Dryburgh Abbey The Grave of Sir Walter Scott Hawick Gretna Green Visit to the Lakes York, March 26, 1851 I close my last letter in the ancient town of Melrose, on the banks of the Tweed and within a stone's throw of the celebrated ruins from which the town derives its name.

The valley in which Melrose is situated, and the surrounding hills together with the monastery, have so often been made a theme for the Scottish bards that this has become the most interesting part of Scotland.

Of the many gifted writers who have taken up the pen, none have done more to bring the Eildon Hills and Melrose Abbey into note than the author of Waverley.

I don't think the Scotch could do better than to purchase Abbotsford while it has some imprint of the great magician and secure its preservation, for I am sure that a hundred years hence no place will be more frequently visited in Scotland than the home of the late Sir Walter Scott.

After sauntering three hours about the premises, I left, but not without feeling that I had been well paid for my trouble in visiting Abbotsford.

In the afternoon of the same day, in company with the Crafts, I took a drive to Dryburgh Abbey.

It is a ruin of little interest except as being the burial place of Scott.

The arched entrance with three receding orders of decorative shafts and corresponding side windows seems to have been the general design for this part of all the Premonstratension abbeys.

Dryburgh Abbey in Scotland is a well-known example.

The crumbling columns are of Purbeck paludina marble and it will be noticed are weathering in longitudinal lines.

The natural strata of this rock is rarely more than seven inches in thickness.

The east wall of the cemetery terminates at its south end against, but is not built into, the north wall of a ruined building.

The significance of this fact is that the building was there before the wall was erected.

The enclosure of the cemetery, as we learn from the records of Dryburgh Abbey, was one of the first duties of the canons.

From the material and nature of the cemetery wall of Tor Abbey, there is no reason to doubt that it dates from the foundation of the abbey.

Abbotsford.

Dryburgh Abbey.

The Grave of Sir Walter Scott.

Hawick.

I don't think the Scotch could do better than to purchase Abbotsford while it has some imprint of the great magician, and secure its preservation; for I am sure that a hundred years hence no place will be more frequently visited in Scotland than the home of the late Sir Walter Scott.

After sauntering three hours about the premises, I left, but not without feeling that I had been well paid for my trouble in visiting Abbotsford.

In the afternoon of the same day, in company with the Crafts, I took a drive to Dryburgh Abbey.

It is a ruin of little interest except as being the burial-place of Scott.

Today we're visiting somewhere very different from the great castles and peel towers we've explored before.

Standing quietly beside the River Tweed, hidden amongst ancient trees, are the beautiful ruins of Dryburgh Abbey.

It's a place of remarkable tranquility, where birdsong echo through roofless stone arches, where the graves of famous Scots lie beneath weathered masonry, and where almost nine centuries of history still linger among the ruins.

But beneath today's peaceful surroundings lies a story of war, destruction, faith, royal politics, literary giants, and even a ghost or two.

But there is an intriguing twist to this story.

Hugh de Morville's great-granddaughter became the mother of John Balliol, the King of Scots, whose disputed claim to the throne helped trigger the succession crisis that drew Edward into Scotland in the first place.

So in an extraordinary coincidence, the family that founded Dryburgh Abbey became directly linked to the political crisis that sparked the wars of Scottish independence.

and sadly, being a spiritual centre, offered little protection from violence.

The arched entrance, with three receding orders of decorative shafts and corresponding side windows, seems to have been the general design for this part of all the Primonstratension abbeys.

Dryburgh Abbey in Scotland is a well-known example.

The crumbling columns are of Purbeck paludina marble and it will be noticed are weathering in longitudinal lines.

The natural strata of this rock is rarely more than seven inches in thickness.

The Norman Orla The east wall of the cemetery terminates at its south end against, but is not built into, the north wall of a ruined building.

The significance of this fact is that the building was there before the wall was erected.

The enclosure of the cemetery, as we learn from the records of Dryburgh Abbey, was one of the first duties of the canons.

From the material and nature of the cemetery wall of Tor Abbey there is no reason to doubt that it dates from the foundation of the abbey.

I, I could not find any info on how this cryptid or entity was given its name, but continue.

Uh, so Fat Lips is a supernatural figure from Scottish folklore said to haunt the ruins of Dryburgh Abbey.

Um, it's described as a small being wearing heavy iron shoes, and believed to roam the vaults, stomping across the stone floors with an ominous clatter.

[laughs] So it's a little person in big shoes.

When you come back, I'll take you out on a ramble about the neighborhood.

Tomorrow, we will take a look at the Yarrow, and the next day, we will drive over to Dryburgh Abbey, which is a fine old ruin well worth your seeing.

In a word, before Scott had got through his plan, I found myself committed for a visit of several days, and it seemed as if a little realm of romance was suddenly opened before me.

After breakfast, I accordingly set off for the abbey with my little friend Charles, whom I found a most sprightly and entertaining companion.

As he was about to depart, she dressed him with many courtesies and said she understood he was the gentleman that had written a bonny book about Loch Katrine.

She begged him to write a little about their lake also, for she understood his book had done the inn at Loch Katrine a muckle deal of good.

On the following day, I made an excursion with Scott and the young ladies to Dryburgh Abbey.

We went in an open carriage, drawn by two sleek old black horses, for which Scott seemed to have an affection, as he had for every dumb animal that belonged to him.

Fortunately, a previous visit by rail two years before had solved the problem for us, and we were fairly familiar with the more salient features of the city.

There is one side trip that no one should miss, and though we had once journeyed by railway train to Melrose Abbey and Abbotsford House, we could not forego a second visit to these famous shrines and to Dryburgh Abbey, which we had missed before.

Thus again we had the opportunity of contrasting the motorcar and the railway train.

I remembered distinctly our former trip to Melrose by rail.

It was on a Saturday afternoon holiday when crowds of trippers were leaving the city, packed in the uncomfortable compartments like sardines in a box, not one in a dozen having a chance to sit.

We were driven from Melrose to Abbotsford House at a snail's pace, consuming so much time that a trip to Dryburgh Abbey was out of the question, though we had left Edinburgh about noon.

By motor we were out of the city about three o'clock, and though we covered more than eighty miles, we were back before lamplighting time.

The road to Dryburgh Abbey runs nearly due south from Edinburgh, and the country through which we passed was hardly so prosperous-looking as the northeastern section of Scotland, much of it rather rough-looking country, adapted only for sheep grazing and appearing as if it might be reclaimed moorland.

When you come back, I'll take you out on a ramble about the neighborhood.

Tomorrow we will take a look at the Yarrow, and the next day we will drive over to Dryburgh Abbey, which is a fine old ruin well worth your seeing.' In a word, before Scott had got through his plan, I found myself committed for a visit of several days, and it seemed as if a little realm of romance was suddenly opened before me.

After breakfast I accordingly set off for the abbey with my little friend Charles, whom I found a most sprightly and entertaining companion.

He had an ample stock of anecdote about the neighborhood, which he had learned from his father, and many quaint remarks and sly jokes evidently derived from the same source, all which were uttered with a Scottish accent and a mixture of Scottish phraseology that gave them additional flavor.

As he was about to depart, she dressed him with many curtsies and said she understood he was the gentleman that had written a bonny book about Loch Katrine.

She begged him to write a little about their lake also, for she understood his book had done the inn at Loch Katrine a muckle deal of good.

On the following day, I made an excursion with Scott and the young ladies to Dryburgh Abbey.

We went in an open carriage, drawn by two sleek old black horses, for which Scott seemed to have an affection, as he had for every dumb animal that belonged to him.