ry. The whole gives rise to sentiments of the
most pleasing, devotional tranquillity. The place, however, at which I
paused, was St. Mary's Aisle: "here," I said to myself, "will the mighty
minstrel sleep, when his harp shall be silent!"--and here I offered the
votive tribute in anticipation, which thousands will follow me in, now
that he is, too truly, alas! no more. At the little iron palisading I
stood, and said, "here Scott will sleep:" in this, fate has not deceived
me. He rests there now. Peace to his manes!

August 20. Down at the Abbey this night. It would be absolute folly
to note down what I saw or thought of this most remarkable monastic
structure. Every album possesses it, in all the beauty of its fairy
architecture; its tabernacles, its niches and canopies, and statues,
pinnacles, pediments, spires, and the tracery of its vaultings.

The decorated work is most exquisitely executed. The mouldings are
still so sharp, that they seem as lately from the chisel of the mason.
The south transept window and door are the most perfect of the ruins.
The day light of the window is twenty-four feet by sixteen, divided by
four mullions. The tracery and cuspings are all of the decorated style
of the Gothic. It is furnished with crotchets and creeping foliage.
There are a number of niches, canopies, and tabernacles, on the south
transept; and the corbels that support the statues, are carved with
grotesque figures; some representing monks with cowls upon their heads,
others musicians playing upon different kinds of instruments; some are
most hideous to look at. Sir Walter procured casts of many of these
grotesque figures, which on a visit to Abbotsford, I observed placed in
the ceiling of the hall. He has clothed them in a new dress, more suited
to the social scene of their present locality. But, I always ramble
into the _shop_, when I get on architecture. Let me narrate the
occurrence of this night. As I was pacing the great aisle of the abbey,
a carriage drove up to the gate. "Sir Walter Scott!" said the keeper,
brushing past me to receive him. A lady alighted. I heard "good night!"
responded by a person in the carriage, who drove off with it. Who can
this be, thought I to myself. It was dusk--the lady advanced with a
stately step. I moved aside. "In these deep solitudes and awful cells!"
methought I heard her say. She ascended to the bell-tower. "Who is that
lady?" said I to the keeper when he entered. "That, sir," said h