om the old Romance 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 armchair,
with his favorite hound Maida at his feet, and surrounded by
books and reliques and Border trophies, would have formed
{p.190} an admirable and most characteristic picture. When
I retired for the night, I found it almost impossible to
sleep: the idea of being under the roof of Scott; of being
on the Borders on the Tweed; in the very centre of that
region which had, for some time past, been the favorite
scene of romantic fiction; and, above all, the recollections
of the ramble I had taken, the company in which I had taken
it, and the conversation which had passed, all fermented in
my mind, and nearly drove sleep from my pillow.

"On the following morning the sun darted his beams from over
the hills through the low lattice of my window. I rose at an
early hour, and looked out between the branches of eglantine
which overhung the casement. To my surprise, Scott was
already up, and forth, seated on a fragment of stone, and
chatting with the workmen employed in the new building. I
had supposed, after the time he had wasted upon me
yesterday, he would be closely occupied this morning: but he
appeared like a man of leisure, who had nothing to do but
bask in the sunshine, and amuse himself. I soon dressed
myself and joined him. He talked about his proposed plans of
Abbotsford: happy would it have been for him could he have
contented himself with his delightful little vine-covered
cottage, and the simple, yet hearty and hospitable, style in
which he lived at the time of my visit."[75]

[Footnote 75: [That this visit remained a vivid and
delightful memory to the end of Irving's life is shown
in some words spoken not long before his death: "Oh!
Scott was a master spirit--as glorious in his
conversation as in his writings. Jeffrey was delightful,
and had _eloquent runs_ in conversation; but there was a
consciousness of talent with it. Scott had nothing of
that. He spoke from the fulness of his