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We cannot agree with our friend of the Record. In our idea, one of the pleasantest features of a College periodical is the opportunity of hearing the Prosessor's thoughts on current topics.

-What has become of the LAFAYETTE MONTHLY? We have received the October number only. We hope it has not suspended. -Dalhousic Gazette.

We still live.

-The Swiss historical society has declared the story of William Tell to be a myth.-Ex.

-Washington's tomb is adorned with one of the neatest codliver oil signs that a gifted fence-dauber ever slapped on any prominent object in that vicinity.-Southern Collegian.

-Some years ago, an Amherst youth, taking dinner at a young ladies' seminary, was called upon to ask a blessing. He rose, and prayed fifteen minutes, and, not knowing how to end, in all his confusion of mind and heart, blurted out, "I am yours truly, John Smith," and sat down.-Ex.

-Three-fourths of the Boston women wear false teeth and things. -Dartmouth, among its many wonders, has a 423 point billiardist. -Make money fast and honorably, by at once applying for a territorial right, (which are given free to agents) to sell the best, strongest, most useful and rapid selling Sewing Machine and Patent Button-Hole Worker, ever used or recommended by families, or by one for your own use; it is only $5. Sent free everywhere by express. Address for particulars, A. Cately, Superintendent, corner Greenwich and Courtland streets, New York.

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NO. 57 NORTHAMPTON STREET, EASTON, PA.,

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HATS, CAPS, GLOVES,

Umbrellas Valises, Carpet, Bags, etc., at

S. P. SANDT'S

Southeast cor. 4th & Northampton Sts, Easton, Penna.
Silk Hats and Class Caps made to order at Short Notice

HEADS MEASURED FOR SILK HATS WITH THE PATENT
FRENCH CONFORMATOR. A

sept72-

DATESMAN & ANGLE,

MERCHANT TAILORS!

AND DEALERS IN

MEN'S FURNISHING GOODS

No. 53 NORTHAMPTON STREET, EASTON, PA.

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THE

LAFAYETTE MONTHLY.

Editors for March-E. N. BARRETT, W. C. ANDERSON, N. TAYLOR.

7942

VOL. III.

MARCH, 1873.

MELROSE ABBEY.

BY H. G. M.

NUMBER 7

It is a curious little town, this Melrose. Probably I would not think so if I could see it with a Scotchman's eyes. But everything about it is so quaint. It seems, when walking about the streets, as though you were wandering through a forgotten age. These same streets, beautifully macadamized, are very narrow, and serve for pavements as well as carriage ways. Some of the buildings are very neat three-story dwellings; others, and these are the majority, are low thatched-roof cottages, some of the roofs even harboring neat patches of green grass. Then we have the "green-grocery" store, the post office, the dirty children, the loafer. A short distance from the depot, and in the middle of the main street, is the public pump or fountain, rather, for the water is running continually from four iron pipes into a huge reservoir underneath. To this place all the people come when in need of water, filling their ungainly buckets by putting them under pipes. Near these pipes is a large stone cross which has stood here for centuries, and to which every passerby once upon a time" would bow. Old fellow! thou hast had all thy homage paid thee, and now there are none so poor as to do

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thee reverence. I must not forget to mention the hotels, which are a conspicuous part of the town; but I do this principally to tell you what I found in one. It was the hotel where I breakfasted. The walls of the hall and dining-room are hung with old engravings, with stags' horns planted here and there, and mementoes of Sir Walter Scott not lacking. Being a stranger I naturally wanted to know the "why and wherefore" of some of these. What was my surprise, on glancing at the first picture, to find written under it, "The American Senate." There were those old giants of our land, sure enough. Farther on was a rainbow-colored picture of the "Presidents of the United States," beautiful gorgons every one of them. While I was looking for the next an old woman bade me remember that the Abbey, from which Melrose takes its name, was to be seen.

Here it is, one of the heroes of "The lay of the last Minstrel." What a giant it must have been in its day. And how old it is, too. King David I. founded it in 1136; in ten years it was completed and dedicated to the Virgin Mary. The monks having charge of it were the first of the Cistercians who came into Scotland. Edward II. ordered it destroyed, in 1322, when he retreated into England; but four years after it was rebuilt by Robert Bruce, when king, at a cost of $250,000. The magnificence of the structure, as it now was, defies description. It was builded in the best age of ecclesiastical architecture. This was gothic, and it, with the gothic sculpture, was the finest that Scotland could boast. There it stood in that little valley-a monument then, a monument now. I wonder if the Romans, when they looked down from yonder Eildon Hills, which they called their Tremontium, ever dreamed that such a structure as this would some day rise here and vie with their grandest works.

"And far beneath, in lustre wan,

Old Melros' rose, and fair Tweed ran;
Like some tall rock, with lichens gray,
Seem'd dimly huge the dark Abbaye.
When Hawick he passed, had curfew rung,
Now midnight lauds were in Melrose sung.'

No midnight service of the Catholic church is sung there now. By a wooden door we enter the inclosure. Turning to the right we go down the south aisle and walk in and out the eight little chapels that crowd it, each separated from the other by thin parti

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