These home-bred feelings to restrain, "ANNE GRANT Wednesday, July 21st. — Dined and spent yesterday night at Craig Crook. The company at dinner consisted of Mr. Murray, one of the leading advocates of Edinburgh, Mr. Morehead, Dean of St. Andrew's, and several others. The conversation was literary and interesting. Of Sir James Mackintosh, Mr. Jeffrey spoke, as the ablest man of his time, a man brimful of learning without being oppressed by it, and gifted with the most prodigious and retentive memory, of which he gave some wonderful instances. He spoke of Professor Wilson as a talented and strong-minded man. Professor Wilson, himself, told me of his own manner of work, that when he did study or write it was generally for fifteen hours at a time, from 6 A. M. to 9 P. M., without moving or eating, which fits of intellectual labor were succeeded by equally immovable fits of indolence. CHAPTER XII. SIR WALTER SCOTT RETURN TO LONDON: 1830. DE EAR Aunt, I now resume my pen here at Rushby Ford, Durham, which at Abbotsford I did not touch, for it seemed a kind of treachery to our kind and noble host. But you must not lose my recollections. At half past nine, Saturday morning, we bade a final farewell to Edinburgh, and to the many kind friends our short stay had given us. Went six miles out of our way to visit Roslyn, with its romantic castle and splendid abbey. This delayed us so long that it was near half past five when we arrived at Melrose, where a note was handed me before we alighted, from Mr. Lockhart, to whom I had written, as I promised, begging us to meet Sir Walter at dinner that evening. Great was the hurry with bags and baggage, and dresses to get ready, and with such success that by six we reached their beautiful cottage. As we approached we had a glimpse of Sir Walter at the door, but when we drove up he had retired, and Mr. and Mrs. Lockhart alone remained to welcome us. On entering the drawing-room, he was standing with his daughter, Miss Scott, leaning somewhat, as I found was his wont, upon his cane. His appearance but I will not speak of that, for I had no time to scan it. All that I saw was the face of the "Great Unknown;" all that I felt was the pressure of that hand which penned "The Antiquary" and "The Lady of the Lake;" all that I heard were the mellow accents of that Northern tongue, which now with courtesy and kindness, welcomed me to Scotland. The company was not large, but sufficiently so to afford a plea for laying the table on the green, an arrangement which, however agreeable it may have been in Arcadia, is but a perilous experiment in the latitude of Scotland; besides, the outer air is no place for quiet talk —it is fitted for merriment, but not for intellectual conversation - so that a lowering sky became by common consent an apology for an early return to the drawing-room, where music and the song awaited us. Sir Walter's great delight is in his daughter's harp, and the ballads of the olden time, which she sings with a most winning grace. Thus passed our evening; and on parting for the night, we received and accepted an invitation to Abbotsford; so that, as you may suppose, with gay hearts, we returned to our inn. Now, if you ask me the impression of this day, I must confess, in regard to Sir Walter, it partook somewhat of disappointment. He was kind and when he and courteous, but did not say much; did speak, I missed somewhat of that precision of thought and power of language, which had so recently charmed me in Southey and Sir James Mackintosh. But further acquaintance has enabled me to see that I was then in the heresy of ignorance. I was bringing to the measurement an inapplicable standard. It was like measuring weight by length it was requiring in a boundless scene of natural beauty the polish and proportions of a Grecian temple. The next day being Sunday, we attended service at the kirk, occupying Sir Walter Scott's pew, which was very near the pulpit. "How did you like the preacher?" said Sir Walter, when I again met him. "I confess," I replied, "I did not hear a single sentence. "You must not complain," said he; "you have heard as much as any of his hearers for ten years past." This voiceless preacher, as I afterwards found, was the father of the original Dominie Sampson. Had delicacy permitted it, the father would himself have made no bad "study." On approaching Abbotsford a second time, we paused not, as before, at the gate; but driving down through the rich young woods that embower it, and, passing through an arched and turreted gateway, found ourselves in a noble court or quadrangle. On our left rose the mansion in its rich and irregular architecture, bearing in some parts the choice remains of an earlier chisel, which Sir Walter has rescued from the contiguous ruins, but generally the result of native genius, working under his own eye, and passing rapidly, as he told me, "from the models of art to those of nature." In front a rich and lofty court from the gardens, Gothic screen separated the - happily attaining what Sir Walter said he had al court. them; while on the right runs an arcade or cloister, embanking the rising ground behind it, and forming a sheltered walk nearly around two sides of the On this occasion Sir Walter met us at the door, again welcomed us to Scotland and Abbotsford, and, taking E― by the hand, led the way to the library. But of that way, I must give a little descrip tion. The entrance is through an octagonal turret, raised but a step from the ground, into a hall occupying the central front of the building: such a hall as transports you at once into the regions of romance, and the days of baronial chivalry. Its walls and ceiling are of dark oak wainscoting. At either end, on a raised pedestal, stands forth a mailed knight, with visor down and spear in rest, like sentinels to challenge all who enter these are formed of complete suits of ancient armor; one of steel, inlaid with gold, the same which was borrowed by the champion of England at the coronation of George IV.; it cost Sir Walter one thousand guineas. Along the walls hang" shield and spear and partisan," intermixed with horns of the bison and the elk, and the skins of beasts of prey, as if to mark its lord equally ready for the foray or the chase. The windows, too, throw "a rich and storied light," being of stained glass, bearing the armorial escutcheons of the whole clan of Scots, the Laird of Buccleuch, as I think, standing at their head. Around the circuit of the walls, near to the ceiling, run those again of the Border families, richly carved in oak, and underneath |