iving each dog a
cuff beside the ears as he went by. This clapper-clawing was always
taken in good part; it appeared to be, in fact, a mere act of
sovereignty on the part of grimalkin, to remind the others of their
vassalage; which they acknowledged by the most perfect acquiescence. A
general harmony prevailed between sovereign and subjects, and they
would all sleep together in the sunshine....

After dinner we adjourned to the drawing-room, which served also for
study and library. Against the wall on one side was a long
writing-table, with drawers; surmounted by a small cabinet of polished
wood, with folding-drawers richly studded with brass ornaments, within
which Scott kept his most valuable papers. Above the cabinet, in a
kind of niche, was a complete corselet of glittering steel, with a
closed helmet, and flanked by gantlets and battle-axes. Around were
hung trophies and relics of various kinds; a simitar of Tipu Sahib; a
Highland broadsword from Flodden field; a pair of Rippon spurs from
Bannockburn, and above all, a gun which had belonged to Rob Roy, and
bore his initials, R. M. C.,[56] an object of peculiar interest to me
at the time, as it was understood Scott was actually engaged in
printing a novel founded on the story of that famous outlaw.

[Footnote 56: Robert McGregor Campbell was the real name of Rob Roy.]

On each side of the cabinet were bookcases, well stored with works of
romantic fiction in various languages, many of them rare and
antiquated. This, however, was merely his cottage library, the
principal part of his books being at Edinburgh.

From this little cabinet of curiosities Scott drew forth a manuscript
picked up on the field at Waterloo, containing copies of several songs
popular at the time in France. The paper was dabbled with blood--"the
very life-blood, very possibly," said Scott, "of some gay young
officer who had cherished these songs as a keepsake from some
lady-love in Paris."...

The evening passed away delightfully in this quaint-looking apartment,
half study, half drawing-room. Scott had read several passages from
the old romances of Arthur, with a fine deep sonorous voice, and a
gravity of tone that seemed to suit the antiquated black-letter
volume. It was a rich treat to hear such a work, read by such a
person, and in such a place; and his appearance as he sat reading, in
a large armed chair, with his favorite hound Maida at his feet and
surrounded by books and relics, and