18 



fairest flower of Scotland's beauty, whose uttered name 

 has so long awakened, and will forever awaken, every 

 romantic emotion in the human bosom ; of that lovely 

 Mary, less a queen than a woman, whose melancholy 

 story, after the lapse of nearly three centuries, so stirs 

 the heart that all seems harsh and cruel, which sullen 

 history would dare to blend with the memory of her 

 beauty and her wrongs. Yet in spite of her loveliness 

 and misfortunes, the pious and transmuted Abbot, strick- 

 en, it is true, somewhat into the vale of years, struggles 

 hard between his allegiance to his queen, consecrated, as 

 it is, by his duty and devotion to the church, and his 

 affection for his garden-plots, which the rude feet of mes- 

 sengers and soldiers might trample ; for his fruits and his 

 flowers, — his bergamots. his jessamines and his clove- 

 gilliflowers. Let queens escape from prison, or kingdoms 

 pass away, so the season returns in its freshness to his 

 more intimate domain. "Ay. ruin follows us every where," 

 said he, " a weary life I have had for one to whom peace 

 was ever the dearest blessing. * * I could be sorry for 

 that poor queen, but what avail earthly sorrows to a man 

 of fourscore 7 — and it is a rare dropping morning for the 

 early colewort."* 



I know, indeed, of no picture more cheering than that 

 of old age, which the world, if it has robbed it of all 

 things else, has been unable to cheat of its relish for these 

 innocent pleasures. There is nothing to rival it, unless it 

 be the unalloyed delight of children in the midst of a gar- 

 den. How eagerly they scamper along the walks, and 

 stoop over the brightening beds ! At the very approach 

 of spring their hearts are bounding as at some unheard-of 

 joy. To them, the golden hours of summer are laden with 



* The Abbot, \^o!. 11. 



