of the cottager, and of the farmers' servants, consisting of bannocks, made of the meal of peas or of barley, but more generally of the two meals together, and more rarely of oats. The meal is made into dough with water without leaven, and the dough is formed into circular cakes of from seven to nine inches in diameter, andto of an inch in thickIt is then toasted, first on one side and then on the other, upon the girdle; and two or three days' provision are made at once. The bread has but a doughy taste. ness. The oat cake, known by the sole appellation of cake, is the gala bread of the cottager. The meal is made into dough with water, without leaven, as little water being used as is merely sufficient to make the meal stick together; the dough is then kneaded, or rolled out as thin as possible, into a round cake, or diameter, corresponding to the size of the girdle; the cake is then cut into four quadrants, and toasted on the girdle, alternately on both sides, care being taken, both with cakes and bannocks, to prevent the girdle from being so hot as to burn the surface. When the cake is so hardened as to stand on edge, it is placed upon an iron heater, linked upon a bar of the grate, where it toasts leisurely till it be perfectly dry, though no way burnt. If it has lain some days unused, it is toasted anew before it is eaten it thus constitutes a hearty species of bread, of a tonic quality, to judge by the taste; and which, by many Scotsmen in the higher ranks, is preferred to wheaten bread. There is just one other utensil indispensable to the cottager, which is a very small barrel or can of stone water to hold his salt, which he keeps in a hole in the wall, close by his fire, to prevent its running, from the moisture in the air. He must also have a wooden pail to carry water; in which also his cow is milked, if he has one; on which supposition, too, he must have three cans of stone ware, or vessels of cooper's work, in which the milk is set in the ambry, to stand for casting up the cream. Like many other of the author's productions, the romance of the Monastery embraces an important period in history. It outstrips the task of the grave historian, in the lively and spirit stirring picture of manners and morals which it presents, and shews from what causes and into what forms, principals, and institutions of the highest character were moulded. The mind is thus drawn into the very web and texture of the existing society; it is taught the true feelings and existence of the people; and is thus enabled to survey public transactions exempt from the exaggerations of party zeal. These excellences shine conspicuously in the present work; and no where could they be more fitly employed than in the delineation of the features of that fierce and distracted period, out of which the reformation arose. The author has brought into view the struggles of the catholic and the protestant-the one party exerting every nerve to continue the fetters of superstition, and the other striving to dash them to pieces. The contest, however, was far from equal. The liberal opinions of the age had every where damped the ardour of devotion, towards the Romish faith, and combining with reasons of state, gave the reformers a vast advantage over their adversaries. But the zeal of the latter in maintaining their rights, seemed only proportionate to the decline of their influence. The thunders of excommunications fulminated far and near. Bulls of damnation were scattered profusely, and all the refinement of Italian intrigue put in practice, to check the growth of new opinions. But these spiritual weapons, which might once have shaken the throne of the greatest potentate in Europe, were now treated with contempt. The light which had broken in upon the human mind, enabled it to discern the dark and insidious policy of the catholics. The national spirit was roused to its highest pitch of desperation, and events followed in thick succession, which exhibited a mingled scene of bigotry and ferocity, hitherto unknown in the annals of Scotland. These evils were aggravated by the weakness of the reigning powers. The reins of government lay neglected in the hands of the feeble and irresolute Arran; the nobles were divided by bitter feuds, and seemed more solicitous to ferment than to allay the discord of the kingdom. The natural consequence which followed these distractions was the unrelenting fury with which private quarrels were prosecuted. Feudal retainers swarmed on every side, ready to plunge into the greatest atrocities; distrust and alarm pervaded every mind. The mild precepts of the christian religion, delivered in the simple language of scripture, to hearts capable of feeling and practising them, abated the rancour of persecution, and restored in some degree peace and liberty to our unhappy land. But soon after these bright prospects had begun to dawn, the ravages of the restless became apparent, in the demolition of those sumptuous fabrics which had been so long the strong hold of catholic tyranny. Various indeed have been the apologetical replies for the Gothic infatuation of the reformer for having laid violent hands on these works of art. Into the question of right or wrong, it were needless to enter. We must remain satisfied with the melancholy consolation of beholding their shattered fragments, fast mouldering into decay; from them to body forth lively images of their quondam magnificence. Nor have our poets slumbered over the mournful task: Sir Walter Scott has made the most strenuous efforts to collect the fragments of border antiquity. The names of places are concealed under fictitious designations; and their peculiarities are beautified above reality by the glorifying lights of his imagination. These, however, as far as the means goes, we must discover and strip off, that Scotland may hereafter know where to drop the classic tear over scenes that erst had been visited by the most favoured of her poetic children. The first and most prominent object of the romance now under consideration is the monastery (Melrose) itself. § VISIT TO MELROSE. THE ORIGINAL The romantic and picturesque scenery of some parts of Scotland is universally and deservedly admired. As you approach Melrose from the west, and come all at once along the base of the Eildon hills (the probable Trimontium of the Romans) upon the magnificent sweeps of the Tweed, and all that richness of landscape, which old forest trees, gentlemen's seats, neat cottages, and hedge enclosed fields produce, you experience an exultation of spirit which can only be conceived by those who have felt it. Here you rise from your saddle, make one bold sweep of the vast amphitheatre before and underneath you; cut two or three most magnificent curvatures through the air with your whip, and exclaim in all the pith of exulting heart, "Who would not fight for such a land.” eye At least, if you have one remaining spark of humanity and Scottish spirit in your bosom, such will be the reality and demonstration of your feelings. Having reached the old village of Melrose, you will not be at a loss to discover the presence and presenting influence of that ancient and noble erection, which still exhibits evidences of its former magnificence. Towards the south side, and immediately adjoining, and, as it were, fixed to the town, a range and clus |