There were fragments of tracery, of mouldings and cornices, and grotesque bits of architecture there, which I would have given a good deal to be the possessor of. Stepping into a little cottage hard by to speak to the guide about unlocking the gates, when we went out on our moonlight excursion at midnight, I caught a glimpse, in an inner apartment, of a splendid, large, black dog. I gave one exclamation and jump, and was into the room after him. "Ah," said the old man, "that was just like Sir Walter; he always had an eye for a dog." It gave me a kind of pain to think of him and his dogs, all lying in the dust together; and yet it was pleasant to hear this little remark of him, as if it were made by those who had often seen, and were fond of thinking of him. The dog's name was Coal, and he was black enough, and remarkable enough, to make a figure in a story--a genuine Melrose Abbey dog. I should not wonder if he were a descendant, in a remote degree, of the "mauthe doog," that supernatural beast, which Scott commemorates in his notes. The least touch in the world of such blood in his veins would be, of course, an appropriate circumstance in a dog belonging to an old ruined abbey. Well, I got home, and narrated my adventures to my friends, and showed them my reliquary purchases, and declared my strengthening intention to make my ghostly visit by moonlight, if there was any moon to be had that night, which was a doubtful possibility. In the course of the evening came in Mr. ----, who had volunteered his services as guide and attendant during the interesting operation. "When does the moon rise?" said one. "O, a little after eleven o'clock, I believe," said Mr. ----. Some of the party gaped portentously. "You know," said I, "Scott says we must see it by moonlight; it is one of the proprieties of the place, as I understand." "How exquisite that description is, of the effect of moonlight!" says another. "I think it probable," says Mr. ----, dryly, "that Scott never saw it by moonlight himself. He was a man of very regular habits, and seldom went out evenings." The blank amazement with which this communication was received set S---- into an inextinguishable fit of laughter. "But do you really believe he never saw it?" said I, rather crestfallen. "Well," said the gentleman, "I have heard him charged with never having seen it, and he never denied it." Knowing that Scott really was as practical a man as Dr. Franklin, and as little disposed to poetic extravagances, and an exceedingly sensible, family kind of person, I thought very probably this might be true, unless he had seen it some time in his early youth. Most likely good Mrs. Scott never would have let him commit the impropriety that we were about to, and run the risk of catching the rheumatism by going out to see how an old abbey looked at twelve o'clock at night.