ide table, or something which
served that purpose. The spaces between the windows were decorated with
pieces of armor, crossed swords, and stags' horns, each one of which
doubtless had its history. On each side of the door, at the bottom of
the hall, was a Gothic shrine, or niche, in both of which stood a figure
in complete armor.

Then we went into the drawing room; a lofty saloon, the woodwork of
which is entirely of cedar, richly wrought; probably another of the
author's favorite poetic fancies. It is adorned with a set of splendid
antique ebony furniture; cabinet, chairs, and piano--the gift of George
IV. to the poet.

We went into his library; a magnificent room, on which, I suppose, the
poet's fancy had expended itself more than any other. The roof is of
carved oak, after models from Roslin Castle. Here, in a niche, is a
marble bust of Scott, as we understood a present from Chantrey to the
poet; it was one of the best and most animated representations of him I
ever saw, and very much superior to the one under the monument in
Edinburgh. On expressing my idea to this effect, I found I had struck
upon a favorite notion of the good woman who showed us the
establishment; she seemed to be an ancient servant of the house, and
appeared to entertain a regard for the old laird scarcely less than
idolatry. One reason why this statue is superior is, that it represents
his noble forehead, which the Edinburgh one suffers to be concealed by
falling hair: to cover _such_ a forehead seems scarcely less than a
libel.

The whole air of this room is fanciful and picturesque in the extreme.
The walls are entirely filled with the bookcases, there being about
twenty thousand volumes. A small room opens from the library, which was
Scott's own private study. His writing table stood in the centre, with
his inkstand on it, and before it a large, plain, black leather arm
chair.

In a glass case, I think in this room, was exhibited the suit of clothes
he last wore; a blue coat with large metal buttons, plaid trousers, and
broad-brimmed hat. Around the sides of this room there was a gallery of
light tracery work; a flight of stairs led up to it, and in one corner
of it was a door which the woman said led to the poet's bed room. One
seemed to see in all this arrangement how snug, and cozy, and
comfortable the poet had thus ensconced himself, to give himself up to
his beloved labors and his poetic dreams. But there was a cold and
desolate